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Notes of a Memory
I was traveling a trip to Ireland when all I wanted to do was stay home with A Guy whom, it turned out, had no space for me yet it would take him some time to inform me of this fact At the time I hung My Everything on him In return, he flattened
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I Thirsty
Bad lighting. Good intentions. [youtube]http://youtu.be/4lbOBJUhNSM[/youtube]
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Don’t Be That Guy
A few years ago, on a frigid winter’s day, I went out for a run on Duluth’s paved exercise trail, The Lakewalk. This trail is wide enough for foot and bike traffic to coexist–although it gets considerably narrower after months of snowfall, when snow-clearing machines have cut a line down its middle and packed rectangular
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Himself Pleases This Mass
Much of this blog has been a love letter to Groom. Himself. Byron. I’ve felt lately, more than ever, that the blogging conceit of pseudonyms can be fairly tiring. Anyhow, so, yea. He’s Byron. Most of you knew that already. If not, here’s your pneumonic device. Byron. As in, Lord Byron. As in, Romantic Poet.
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If These Old Walls Could Speak
It is easier to love humanity as a whole than to love one’s neighbor–Eric Hoffer For years, I watched her wandering the city, talking to herself, hugging her clutch of plastic bags to her chest defensively, avoiding eye contact, wearing dirty and mismatched clothes–her entire being an illustration of unchecked mental illness. I saw
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Autumnal, Not a Summer’s, Eve
There’s a famous tale–if you’re a fan of fantasy or Tertullian, perhaps you’ve heard of it–concerning Eve and a feeling of being dirty. I refer not to the famous douching scene so histrionically dramatized by Bette Davis (with a notable assist from Anne Baxter) in All About Eve. What? You don’t remember that scene? Time
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The Douchebag Counterargument
Sometimes, it alarms me that my job is to teach critical thinking to others, what with my own significant deficiencies as a critical thinker. I mean, I’m still shocked that Roseanne and Tom Arnold didn’t work out. And then there’s that whole much-too-recently-made connection between sunflower seeds and sunflowers. It seems one comes from the
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Swosh from My Nimbles
As a vehement not-morning-person, sometimes I find myself riding the black donkey before noon, and if any pebbly-beached, tallow-breeched sod knocks on my door at too early an hour, I pay him as Paul paid the Ephesians, which is quite a gapeseed, especially if he’s after peck and perch or my spondulicks. Woe to him
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Doohickeys Are My Cosmo
The Jerome Seinfeld situation comedy program that used to fly at us through the rectangular altars in our living rooms was smart. Drawing from their life experiences, the creators, Jerome and his friend Lawrence David, realized that the addition of a wacky neighbor can add dimension to any scenario. Without Kramer’s coffee table book
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The Richest Arrangement of Tints
We’ve been back from Turkey for about two months now, and, to my surprise, I haven’t slammed into any really hard reverse-culture shock moments. Well, wait. Actually. There was this one weekend in early August when, on our way to Wisconsin to meet up with the families of some of my college pals for a
