I was reminded about this by Kevin Wolf and then followed Blogging New Orleans to this interactive site at the NYTimes.
Look, I can't remember all of my brothers' birthdays, much less my parents', so don't expect me to be Johnny on the Spot about every anniversary of BushCo's fuckups.
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That would make a nice desk calendar. Every day of the year would contain a little write-up of the anniversary of some particular fuck-up. God knows there's enough material to keep me in calendars until I die.
It could be like the mother I never had. Whining and bitching me out for not remembering shit.
That sounds worse now that I read it. My mother is a wonderful person, so that is why I never had a horrible harridan of a mother wheedling me to remember shit I would rather not.
Not that I would prefer to forget my relatives' birthdays. I'm going to stop typing while I am way behind.
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