Because most of the (3) readers of this site aren’t fiction writers by trade, I usually don’t link to blog post lamentations about the tough life of the literary fiction writer. But it occurs to me that those who’ve never published a book may be operating under the delusion that those of us who have inhabit a world of far travel, tweed, and sucking absinthe soaked grapes out of the navels of author event groupies. (Okay, once. And who are you to judge me?) Actually, most of us are a lot more like the failed salesmen in Glengarry Glen Ross. In case you think the hustling ends when the contracts are signed on dotted lines, read this, by Fan Wu, at the Ploughshares blog. Any aspiring authors reading this may well find the wisdom to abandon ink-stained wretchedness forever and start learning their parents’ liquor store business.

Yeah, I know. Who are we kidding?

The Oakland Raiders’ offensive line finally dominated an opponent, inasmuch as anyone, with a straight face, can describe the Kansas City Chiefs as an NFL opponent. The Raiders shouldn’t get too happy until they’ve beaten a team that can muster simple competence.

NASA is about to crash two probes into the Moon to gain further insight into our satellite’s composition. To ensure that the probes crash into the Lunar surface at sufficiently high speed, NASA will turn the controls over to Lindsay Lohan. (Whackety-Schmackedy Doo)

Oh, by the way, no winners for the most recent photo contest, which required identifying this place:

Here’s a much more famous shot of the location, taken from a different angle.

This apartment building at center once served as Lee Harvey Oswald’s domicile. The famous photograph above was taken in the backyard of this locale: 214 W. Neely Street in Dallas.

Later.