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Genius and the Art of Symbol-Reading.

The Irony Gods have smiled on my entire life. Each morning, I awaken to a world filled with subtle bits of humor. You know the ones of which I speak. That misplaced pronoun that suddenly makes a news article that much more titilating or the Ice Cream truck driving through a business district filled with…
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The Insanity of Family.

People say that Einstein defined insanity as repeating the same actions over and over again, each time expecting a different outcome. While I may not be able to confirm the speaker, the quote rings true. Sitting here, after just agreeing to help move furniture (again) for a relative, I can’t help but think that I…
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Land of the Plenty…

…anyone who reads this blog regularly will know that I have an absolute love-hate relationship with my local Wal-M*rt. They absolutely love getting my money and I absolutely hate them for taking so much of it. Alas, aside from being an obsessive-compulsive creature of habit, I’m also someone who values being able to get everything…
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Love Diary about America’s Sweethearts With Notting Hill Girls.

Given that I am paying out the nose for a piece of art I could not live without, a really great surrealist abstractionist ode to Holocaust Memory complete with a very haunting inscription, I haven’t been indulging in two of my favorite pasttimes: drinking Irish whiskey at the pub and buying DVD’s. So tonight, I…
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Unmitigated Co-dependants.

So there I am, minding my own business, working hard and trying to get as much of the stuff from my office loaded onto the trailer as possible. Nothing is going to go wrong today–it’s only the light stuff and the stuff we never or hardly ever use. The extra table, the tool-chest, the shelves…
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Crooked Sticks and Windshear. (or, Polo sans Horse.)

Golf is either the most wonderful or the most demented sport ever invented. I can’t over-estimate how difficult it is to successfully play the game. Well, play the game may be too strong a word. Make no mistakes about it: golf is work. That’s probably why my grandfather–who golfs three times a week–doesn’t consider himself…
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Blame Assignment 101.

In Memoriam, Nick Berg I haven’t seen the video. I don’t wish to see the video. The various internet sites via which the gruesome murder of Nick Berg can be viewed all attempt to justify making the video available by way of platitudes like, “We think you should see what humanity is capable of.” Here’s…
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Tiki Torch Tributes

Patios aren’t patios unless they are surrounded by Tiki torches. For over two months, since the arrival of spring, I’ve walked through Wal-Mart, eyeing the bamboo-and-metal concoctions with an envious, intentful glare. Each time, though, I also eye the price tag and simply cannot justify the expense. So I sit outside and let mosquitos nibble…
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Unexpected Happy Memories in a Box of Camel Turkish Golds.

Things happen in life that we have no control over. Car wrecks, for example. While theoretically we hold control over our automobiles, unexplainable forces actually govern the dynamics of auto transit. And periodically those dynamics go haywire. So we do what we can to cope with the day-to-day frustrations of things that are beyond our…
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Workaholics Anonymous, or Why I hate weekends.

I hate weekends. Forty-eight hours of unadulterated boredom. Sitting on the sofa, surfing through seventy-eight channels of absolute nothingness. Forraging in the refrigerator for food that doesn’t have a colony of pre-cognitive lifeforms on it. Two days of pajama pants and CNN’s People in the News. I mean, do I really care that “The DaVinci…
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