Elvis, 1973

Presley turned to Red and weaved across the room toward him. He repeated the chant, “Goddamnit, you know he has to die. Red, find someone, somebody to wipe him out. I want the sonofabitch dead.... Make some calls.... Find someone.... I could find a hit man in ten seconds.... You can do it, just do it. This man, Mike Stone, has caused me too much suffering.”

-- Steve Dunleavy, “Elvis: What Happened?”

They open the book with what is perhaps the darkest secret in Elvis’s cobwebby closet. Mike Stone, of course, is the karate expert who stole Priscilla’s heart from the king. The hit man never gets called. The story is not that bad.

( Pics )

A Sammy Scare?

I hardly see Sammy at all on these dry, warm weeks. I was okay with that, because when I have seen him, he has seemed as content and happy as I have ever known him. Remember, he used to strike me as being particularly remorse, and I imagined that this was due to his neutered condition. So, I have been happy to think that Sammy has overcome that and has become happy with being a free beast in the world with guaranteed food and care and shelter in a storm.

However, I saw something yesterday afternoon that has changed the complexion of my thoughts. I saw him come on the patio and instead of going for the cat plate with a fierce appetite, he suddenly just lies down a couple of yards from the plate and gives off a plaintive wail. It's as if he wants to eat but finds something averse in the food, like he cannot eat, as much as may want to eat. I also haven't seen him drink water in a couple of days.

But here's the thing, since Sammy is not indoors, I cannot be sure about what he is doing, whether he is eating and drinking or not. I like to think that he would come home if he was suffering, but I don't know that. I am worried.

* * * *

Okay, I saw him eat tonight. I need to stop being so quick in thinking the sky is falling.

"Isn't it a little late to start changing now?"

Heh, yeah, I know, but I like to feel the effort sometimes, like I'm in control of my destiny.

"Does it really help?"

No, but I guess this is who I am.

Now the Poisoned Mail

WASHINGTON — The Federal Bureau of Investigation said on Wednesday that a letter addressed to President Obama appeared to contain the poison ricin.

The letter was intercepted at a screening facility outside the White House, the Secret Service said.

It was received on Tuesday — similar timing to a letter addressed to Senator Roger Wicker, Republican of Mississippi, that tested positive for ricin. The letter addressed to the president had similar markings and was similar in appearance to the one addressed to Mr. Wicker, according to a law enforcement official.

-- New York Times

Hmm, after the Boston bombing, it really is feeling a little like 9/11. A much smaller version, but with some of that vibe. The question, of course, is whether the situation is building or is fading out. We still don't have any story about what may be behind the bombing. A little spooky.

C.I.A.

“The C.I.A.’s raison d’être is preventing big strategic surprises. They do not exist to kill third-rate terrorists running around failed states.”

-- Amy Zegart, intelligence specialist at the Hoover Institution

This is from a discussion over whether the C.I.A. is being distracted from its main mission to prevent 'Pearl Harbors'.

GoogleSuck

I hate Google with a passion now. They have forced me into a Google-plus account. How desperate can they be? I might not mind it so much if they did not limit me to 'safe searches', but they do. Even their word-processor program, Google Drive, has become fucky. And I am still dealiing with the fact that they are shutting down Google Reader, which is a very big letdown. Cripes, now I have a little headache because of this shit.

Daily Fun

Champs Elysees, Paris | France (by vexed&confused)

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