Embittered Tsarist Sanitation Worker

All the cool kids seem to have blogs, and I have comps to read for -- clearly it was time. Plus I'm hoping it will encourage others who really need to have a blog (S., I'm looking at you) to start one. Fernando was the one who pushed me over the edge. Naming it was tricky -- I came up with a few random options (see above -- yeah, I have no idea), but in the end I figured stealing from greatness is always the best choice. One of my all-time favorites, by that inimitable Irish bastard W.B. Yeats:

Remorse for Intemperate Speech (1931)

I ranted to the knave and fool,
But outgrew that school,
Would transform the part,
Fit audience found, but cannot rule
My fanatic heart.

I sought my betters: though in each
Fine manners, liberal speech,
Turn hatred into sport,
Nothing said or done can reach
My fanatic heart.

Out of Ireland have we come,
Great hatred, little room,
Maimed us at the start.
I carry from my mother's womb
A fanatic heart.

If you know me at all you know why I love that second stanza. Hating my betters is my sport of choice.