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Of Politics, Sports and Sex

OK, so there won't be a LOT on here about sex, but tell the truth, that's most of the reason you entered this site, right? So, I'll slip some things in from time to time just to keep you coming...back.

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Monday, December 6, 2010

Rewards for reading this...mebbe

Andy Hachadorian, the editor of The Daily Local News, and more importantly, a local ice hockey referee, has asked me to post this and since they are kind enough to include me on their website, the least I can do, and also hopefully it's also the most I can do, is help them out here:

"The Daily Local News has dozens of gift cards to Chester County restaurants and other merchants that we are set to give away just in time for the holiday season. All you have to do to have a chance to win is follow @wcdailylocal on twitter."

Practically makes me wanna find out how to tweet...in fact the very idea makes me all a-twitter, tho mostly I think of it as just for twits. <-- Those are all in case the national media has overlooked any lame variations on the word that they must have exhausted by now judging from the articles and headlines I've read.

Friday, December 3, 2010

Jamie Be Not Proud

I never did get poetry, I don't now get poetry and I doubt I ever will get poetry....especially unless it rhymes, or unless it's in the form of lyrics by Springsteen, and I need look no farther to remind myself of it than one of the greatest poems ever written, or so they tell me.

John Donne
"Death be not proud, though some have called thee"

DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

Heck, he loses me in the very first sentence. So, anytime I'm feeling particularly intellectually superior or pretending to be so, and you see it, please just utter these words: "Death Be Not Proud"