moving the middle

This week on TVLand or one of those channels, I stumbled upon an old episode of All in the Family, when Edith’s cousin Liz died. At her funeral, Edith and Archie learn that Liz’s longtime roommate, Veronica, was actually her… you know. Yep, they were “like that,” as Edith said; Archie of course commented it was entirely unnecessary, a shame really, because she was attractive and should be able to get a man.

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I have no sense of humor.

So I've been told. Again.

It was to be expected. I even warned you in my “about me” section: I’m a serious person. I take things seriously, often looking for underlying realities or subtleties. And let’s be honest: women and others who want – who insist on and work for – equal rights for all people, have long been accused of lacking a sense of humor.

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Redneck Central

Lately, I’ve noticed the escalating assault of crafts bearing the name ‘redneck.” Redneck windchime made of beer cans; redneck wineglasses made of mason jars; you get the idea. An entire industry is developing around the use of toothpicks, shotgun cartridges, peanut shells and hub caps.

Maybe it’s just me, and maybe I’m being overly sensitive, but this makes me really uncomfortable.

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What's your manifesto?

This week I read that Chris Dorner, the LA police officer who sought revenge by killing some people, had a manifesto. "Like the Unabomber," wrote the news reporter. Manifestos aren't only about destruction, you know, though they seem to get a bad rap. They can give us focus. They can speak our heart's lovely desires and our life's creative purposes.

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In defense of knowledge.

Jon Stewart always makes me laugh when he chastises his audience for not connecting with a classic cultural reference (like the ending of Les Miserables). “Read a f***ing book!” he bellows in mock disgust (sometimes at me, since I don’t understand everything he says) and everyone laughs. But the larger truth isn’t really that funny.

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