OK, she’s done now. Dead at 53. She was born in Memphis, of Irish and Native-American descent. The genes fell right into place. I remember her from Twin Peaks. Didn’t see her in much else. Married three times — never happily. No kids.

I can’t come up with a photo that conveys how pretty she was. These are in the ballpark.

Rest in peace Shannen.

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I’m not going to discuss the you-know-what that is the main news story of the day, other than to share a comment that was posted on Rex’s blog that football fans circa 1991 should understand. The poster said the shooter must have been a Buffalo Bills fan because the shot missed wide right.

That’s Scott Norwood missing the kick that lost Super Bowl XXV for the Bills to the Giants. It lives in infamy, for sure, but life goes on. Norwood remained the Bills’ kicker for the following season. They returned to the Super Bowl and Norwood was perfect in the post-season, although the Bills lost the SB again, to Washington.

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Ever have a BOCA BURGER? They’re not bad. It was in the puzzle today, clued with “Barbecue option for a vegetarian.” It inspired me to compose this limerick.

The Boca’s a very odd bird
To try to emburger it: absurd
It’s too hard to cook
It says in this book
And it tastes a bit rubbery, I’ve heard.

It predates the more popular plant-based burgers out there today, but it never caught on. Maybe this nod in today’s NYTXW is just the boost it needs. Just kidding, of course — it doesn’t stand a chance.

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This poem is by Jackie Sabbagh. It’s called “Having a Great Time Being Transgender in America Lately.” Kudos to The Poetry Foundation for making it their poem of the day today.

It is day infinity
of everyone wanting me dead. People are having fun
bringing lemon squares and automatic artillery to the anti-trans community meetings.
Divorced legislators harangue
about pedophile cults and surgeried infants and what ever happened to forever ago.
I am more beautiful than you and I would like to be loved.
I am getting concerned
about the monomaniacs who make their entire lives about deadnaming and transvestigations:
obviously it’s working but aren’t you exhausted, don’t you remember
when someone loved you without knowing what you were?
I am eating shortbread on a patio table overlooking the enormous green ocean.
Somewhere an octopus is being eaten by an octopus and not panicking.
Black dress to the floor, red acrylic nails, silver teardrop earrings, waterproof mascara.
I am excited to do this for the rest of my life and be terrified.
I hear a noise behind me and I don’t turn around.

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Gonna keep it short today — a little tired from schlepping into the city in the heat. Thanks for popping by. See you tomorrow!