It has to be stated for the record . . .

. . . that as fine as Rooney's goal against Man City was, Yakubu's goal for Leicester City against Derby was better.

On this day in history . . .

. . . in 1981 Slade were number 17 in the charts with 'We'll Bring The House Down'.

I hated that song.

Jersey Shore is dead to me

Hat tip to Morgan.

No shit

Excellent.

Via this bod who got it from this other bod.

Drama City by George P. Pelecanos (Phoenix Books 2005)

Lorenzo was intending to go to the Tahoe, radio in, and check on the status of the MPD when he saw a man and a young man coming toward him. He recognized the older of the two and tried to place him. As he was doing this, Lorenzo realized that he had been leaning against the silver BMW. He moved off the car.

The two got nearer, and it came to Lorenzo who the older one was: Melvrn Lee. Lee and Lorenzo had both come up in Park View. Lee had worked for Deacon Taylor, done time, come uptown, and was rumored to be workrng for Deacon again. Lee had made himself a rep when he was young. But looking at him now Lorenzo realized that prison had broken him, even if Lee drd not know this himself. Lee and his running partner stopped a few feet shy of Lorenzo.

Lee was all arms and legs wrth a small torso, as if God had run out of the right size the day he'd made him. Lee's head was tiny, and his eyes bulged slightly. He looked like something that crawled up a wall. He wore a baseball cap cocked sideways on his head. He wore the oversize jeans. He was trying for that youth thing but it was never going to work for him again. Man his age to be dressed that way, it was just pathetic. He was going for down, but the vibe he put out was defeat.
The boy standing beside Lee had slack posture and nothing eyes.

Dubbed Twist and Crawl

And with this, it was nine.

Clandestines: The Pirate Journals of an Irish Exile by Ramor Ryan (AK Press 2006)

The modern history of Mayday in Berlin follows this model. Mayday is a ritualistic confrontation between rebels and authority. As West Berlin became a haven for those avoiding the military draft, so an oasis of civil defiance, a pirate utopia, a quilombo of sorts was created by the dispossessed youth and the resident bohemian artists. The theatre of confrontation became Kreuzberg, traditionally a workers’ and migrants’ neighborhood now colonized by a multitude of politicized squatters. Anarchists, autonomes, punks, Turkish, and Kurdish youth fought pitched battles with armies of riot police. Burning barricades, tear-gas-filled streets, fierce combat, mass arrests, and police brutality became standard fare for Mayday in West Berlin.

So this day in East Berlin, the conflict has kicked off early. As the convoys of police vans descend on the park to witness the smoldering ruins of the burnt-out carcass of this dead beast, we have all already taken off. Now is the hour of the Black Bloc, the insurrectionary anarchists, the Maoists, the Trotskyites, the political hooligans, the casares (a reference to French rioters) and the drunken punks.

Mayday and I, aligning ourselves with one of the above categories (not sure which), cycle down to Oranienstrasse, the heart of historical Kreuzberg. There is a full-scale riot in progress and we arrive on the wrong side, behind the police lines. The sky is filled with flying objects raining down upon the besieged police lines. lt is a truly astonishing sight as paving stones, bottles, cans or whatever beat down like a medieval barrage. The lines and lines of riot cops are under intense pressure and occasionally one cop or another is carried behind, nursing an injury. "A handful of skilled stone-throwers can fend off a whole battalion of cops” explained Ringrose my elder sister’s boyfriend, years before when I was still a kid. He was of the earlier generation of Berlin Anarchists, who had raised the stakes in the early 1980's by taking to the street with combative resolve. And today, years later, his words resound as we witness maybe 50 stone-throwing militants holding off this street-full of riot cops. The tight street is a chaotic boiling pot of bedlam and as usual, the press is out in force, cameras everywhere, vultures stealing images to sell.

A Question of Blood by Ian Rankin (Back Bay Books 2003)

Jack Bell nodded, and the two men's eyes met for the first time, then both heads turned to face James, who was seated across the table.
"Well, James?" the lawyer said. "What do you think?"
The teenager seemed to be considering the offer. He returned his father's stare as if it were all the nourishment he needed and he had a hunger that would never be stilled.

Hilarious

Oh to be a fly on the wall in the home dug out at St James Park right now. 15 minutes in and 3-0 down. Love it.

Democracy Live

Happening now. It's like '68 but this time in colour.

Does it make me a centrist if I could say - hand and heart - that I could support all the motions listed?

(See 'labels' for an explanation for this post.)