A large part of the interest in having a blog was as a ready reference of sorts to store my things scattered hither and yon on the web.

For example, during the mid to late 1990s, I wrote book reviews for a perpetually broke leftist sheet in Columbia, SC known as The Point. The paper never made a dime and was distributed free, as leftist rags often are; presumably because no one wanted to soil themselves with making a profit. They assumed I'd write for free and I never let them down. The Point has long since shut down and not a few of us miss seeing it on the street; particularly those wonderfully vicious cover images of whatever lowlife bastard happened to be in power. Curiously, the the entire run of the last years of its existence is still on-line. (Doesn't web-space cost money? Is there a liberal sugar daddy out there I don't know about?)

Anyway, The Point let me write about whatever I chose, never once asked me to tow this or that party line, and for that I'm grateful. Here, then, while they last, are my perhaps overly-kind thoughts on Everclear and my adoring hymn to Love -- the acid band, not the emotion. At the tip-top of the literary scale is the man I can't stop quoting, his most famous student, his latest pretender, and a guy whose connection with any of the above is only tangential but still kinda, you know, there. Here is my last article for The Point, on Stanley Kubrick's last movie. I was too kind.

Oh, and here's a book I read for reasons that weren't real, real literary.