Poetry & Prose

I saw in the paper the other day that a guy died while working on his car when it slipped off the jack stands and killed him.

I work with a guy whose name is, for the sake of this story, Art. Many years ago, Art and I had a lot of common work-related projects, so we’d be in meetings together quite often.

There’s a subgenre of jokes called “the three wishes,” which you might have heard from time to time.

You often see sentinels on the side of the road, sad reminders of a tearful tragedy, on a busy street corner in the city, or out in the middle of nowhere.

In the lobby along the south wall of the Original Headquarters Building of the CIA stands a statue of Maj. Gen William “Wild Bill” Donovan.

Living in the Capital District is heaven if you’re a motorcyclist (except for when they salt the roads).

The French existentialist philosopher and playwright John-Paul Sartre’s 1943 play “No Exit” (Huis Clos in French), contains one of the most celebrated lines in literary and philosophical history: “

If you’ve been reading my column for a while, you know that I’m a voracious reader. I generally have two books going at all times, usually from the library.

The great American western “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance” is a cinematic paradox. It’s set in the Old West but it’s a movie that reaches our times.

There’s a bit that legendary comedian George Carlin used to do that went something like this: If you don’t like AT&T, build your own.


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