
I look over some photos with Western Kentucky University student Brittany Greeson at the Mountain Workshops. (photo by Cassidy Johnson)
There’s a teaching job open at a nearby university. I half-considered applying for it, until I realized a couple things. One, it requires that you teach poetry. My appreciation of poetic form basically starts and ends with “There once was a man from Nantucket.”
The last gray glimmer of day fades behind the storm that made our electricity go out on a blind date without us. Like the pioneers, I sit and write by candle light. Unlike our forefathers, my iPhone sits next to me, pinging alerts about my Facebook friend’s power outages and pictures of other’s food or funny selfies. Tesla and Steve Jobs must be rolling their eyes and L-ing out L.
This blackout has also served to remind me why I got high grades throughout Elementary School in every subject besides penmanship (well, I blew at Math too, but for the purposes of this narrative, let’s just confine it to handwriting).
Things I Take For Granted, in no particular order:
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When one of the Admissions Counselors at my daughter’s college asked her to write a letter to a prospective student — who was also a zombie aficionado — this is what she came up with. Yes, the counselor let her send it.
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Kyle was frightened. Was that the ghost of Old Man Punderson disturbing his slumber at 4:00 am?
Nope, it was just me coming back from the toilet.
I was the one who first publicized St. Petersburg’s Church By The Sea as looking like a chicken. Now if you search “Florida Chicken Church” it will pop up internationally. (photo copyright Rodney Curtis/Rodney Curtis.com)
After writing this and posting it on social media, news outlets across the country featured the story.
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I’ve heard about this happening, but it’s always been to other people, not me. My brothers have talked about it; my cousins have experienced it. Heck, I first heard about it from my father, of all the awkward ways to learn about something like this.
But I’m turning 50, and like every other guy out there (and yes, women too) it’s just a natural inevitability. Read More
Don’t get me wrong; it’s not like I mind watching women in bikinis rolling around in the sand. But it seems as though there’s so much more to see during these Olympics. Yes, I realize this is the XXX Olympiad, but that’s probably not why we’re tuning in.
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When the injustices pile up so high that you can’t see over them, it’s time to act. If you’ve been wronged again and again, to stay silent and not speak is untenable. Where others have fallen, you must stand up and march forth.
I’m referring, of course, to Pizza Hut.
NOTES FROM LONDON
King Falafel wanted his son to take over the family business, but Prince Falafel just wanted to dance.
Many years ago, during the first uprisings, King Falafel was deposed from his tiny sheikdom. After a tearful farewell, he moved his young family and old mother to London’s Camden Town to begin a new life.
He built a thriving sandwich business and dreamt of the day he would pass it down to his teenage son. But Prince Falafel only wanted to dance.
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