Hammer Mill Days

I thought the light was on your side of the stable. Jesus ... just reach over and click it on, will you? What? No electricity? I paid the light bill, damn it. Oh ... I see. No wiring in the barn. Got it. Well, friends, you know what they say - if you're planning on spending years in a squathouse, it's a good idea to spend the night there before you sign the paperwork. (Yes, even squathouses require paperwork. Look it up.) That's what we elected to do, since our nasty third-floor neighbors in the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill started driving us out of our longtime squat with their loathsome habits and noisy weekending. It's not easy to contemplate giving up the home you've known for nigh onto twenty years. But if nothing else, we of Big Green are practical. That's why we only tour venues that are deep in interstellar space - it keeps the competition down. Anyway, we got a tip on an old horse barn a couple of minutes from the hammer mill; apparently no one has

We all knew he would get an early start, and true to form, sixteen months before the general election, Donald Trump has completely poured himself into being Drunk Uncle Twitter Troll, spewing overtly racist attacks on duly elected members of the House of Representatives while his Republican colleagues lamely play rhetorical defense, desperate to hold onto their party's precious rubber-stamp chief executive who is giving them all they ever wanted and more. Pretty amazing to hear the likes of GOP congressman Tom Cole on NPR gaslighting us all on the issue of whether or not Trump is race-baiting (clue: Cole says "no"), then engaging in some truly ridiculous what-about-ism (speaking to NPR correspondent Noel King): KING: You just don't think it was racist. COLE: No, I don't. KING: OK. COLE: And frankly, I also think that if you - you have to remember here, too, there's - we've had colleagues that are routinely called down by presiding officers for using i