It's forty-one degrees, windy, and raining sideways--but I can't complain. In the upper Midwest, some people got snow.
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Something is going down in the vestibule of the church next door, the one that is a popular sleepover venue. Church ladies, cops, and homeless guys have been arguing for the last forty minutes.
Now two of the guys are cuffed and being put in the back of the squad car. Everybody looks tired.
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I'm being interviewed today! In the word of Liz: neat!
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Once you've been blogging in vignettes, it's hard to force yourself to come up with connective tissue. Maybe cohesiveness is overrated. Or maybe I'm just lazy on blustery Saturday afternoons.
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Summer class is starting to find its shape. I have devised a point system for assignments that will either make my grading incredibly easy or my life insanely complicated. Let's hope that everyone can follow directions.
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This is a crazy few weeks for new music. I have this half-baked thought rattling about in my head: what it's like to be getting older along with artists, and what it's like to have their getting-older albums be the soundtrack to my getting older.
In my brain, it sounds more profound.
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Last night I dreamed that James Franco and I were on a water slide, holding court on the merits of the song "Slow Show." Have you had this dream? BECAUSE IT IS AWESOME.
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