I sheepishly declare I already miss those blankets of albino secrets, the snowy terrain of silvery silence, muffling the ruffling of earthly murmurings. Snow what? I miss you.
I miss you like that vacant hour we were forced to surrender at 2 a.m., like it or not, with some vague promise of getting it back this fall. I miss that hour. I hardly knew ye, EST. And now DSY comes barging in here, al naked and primal, all quasi-equinox and all, all artificial-like. Poseur.
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Today has been a banner day: solid work prospects and a Washington Post Style Invitational three-peat : Report From Week 749 in which we ask...
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It's not year's end, but we're nearly halfway there. Here's my running list of books read so far this year, in the order of ...
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We know society exhibits moral outrage over serial killings, as well it should. But why the widespread apathy over the death throes of the s...
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