Exhaustion
There's lots to blog about on the failure of the Ledbetter Amendment and the idea of equal pay. Also, I could go over the (false?) dichotomy of organizational culture vs. organizational structure.
But I'm too tired and busy. This blog will be bad for a few weeks.
So I am going to take to posting up other people's stuff in lieu of original, long-essay posts from me.
I am actually too tired to even post stuff on equal pay/employment discrimination/wacky org theory, so initially I think I'll just keep posting poems until someone asks me "hey, I thought you had a law blog." And then I'll just post other people's legal analysis, until someone asks me, "hey, I thought this was a personal blog!" And then I'll probably tell them that I'm taking a break from being too personal, for various reasons.
In periods of great time compression, I could either not blog, or blog badly. The last time I went on a blog hiatus, it lasted for months and I had to take a year to rebuild my readership. Don't let that happen again.
Another option would be to engage in blog performance art, like my equally time-pressed, also dissertating buddy Scott Eric Kaufman, who is blogging like G/enn Reyno/ds today. Genius. I would blog like La A/thouse, but that would be painful.
It Is Later Than You Think
Lone amid the café’s cheer,
Sad of heart am I to-night;
Dolefully I drink my beer,
But no single line I write.
There’s the wretched rent to pay,
Yet I glower at pen and ink:
Oh, inspire me, Muse, I pray,
It is later than you think!
Hello! there’s a pregnant phrase.
Bravo! let me write it down;
Hold it with a hopeful gaze,
Gauge it with a fretful frown;
Tune it to my lyric lyre ...
Ah! upon starvation’s brink,
How the words are dark and dire:
It is later than you think.
Weigh them well .... Behold yon band,
Students drinking by the door,
Madly merry, bock in hand,
Saucers stacked to mark their score.
Get you gone, you jolly scamps;
Let your parting glasses clink;
Seek your long neglected lamps:
It is later than you think.
Look again: yon dainty blonde,
All allure and golden grace,
Oh so willing to respond
Should you turn a smiling face.
Play your part, poor pretty doll;
Feast and frolic, pose and prink;
There’s the Morgue to end it all,
And it’s later than you think.
Yon’s a playwright—mark his face,
Puffed and purple, tense and tired;
Pasha-like he holds his place,
Hated, envied and admired.
How you gobble life, my friend;
Wine, and woman soft and pink!
Well, each tether has its end:
Sir, it’s later than you think.
See yon living scarecrow pass
With a wild and wolfish stare
At each empty absinthe glass,
As if he saw Heaven there.
Poor damned wretch, to end your pain
There is still the Greater Drink.
Yonder waits the sanguine Seine ...
It is later than you think.
Lastly, you who read; aye, you
Who this very line may scan:
Think of all you planned to do ...
Have you done the best you can?
See! the tavern lights are low;
Black’s the night, and how you shrink!
God! and is it time to go?
Ah! the clock is always slow;
It is later than you think;
Sadly later than you think;
Far, far later than you think.
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