Yesterday, as I was reading an article by two Stony Brook psychiatrists in the
Journal of Child and Adolescent Psychopharmacology, I came across a word I had not heard before.
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When Alice told me that she would read James Joyce's
Ulysses for her class in Modernism during the coming semester, I decided to prepare for her late-night telephone queries by reading it ahead of her.
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You have to hand it to Wendy—she stays on top of things. When the initial review of The Book of Mormon appeared in the New York Times, she went upstairs and ordered matinee tickets for a mere $137 each.
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Whenever I develop one of those nasty digestive disorders that destroys the taste of food, I think of Phineas, son of Agenor, whom Jason met on his quest for the golden fleece.
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Last November, when the Long Island Philosophical Society issued a call for papers, I decided to give it a shot. I would take as my subject an essay by Immanuel Kant titled Dreams of a Spirit Seer Elucidated by Dreams of Metaphysics. Its obscurity gave me confidence that my ignorance would not be too broadly exposed, and its brevity gave me hope that I might master it before the March due date.
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For years I've disliked containers that stand bottom side up. When they first came out, I didn't trust them. I imagined the honey escaping its plastic jar, spreading among the spices, gluing them to the shelf...
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Soon after Wendy told me we had tickets to see Orlando at the Classic Stage Center in Manhattan, The New York Times published a review. I discovered that the play is an adaptation by Sarah Ruhl of a novel by Virginia Woolf in which "a young English nobleman goes to bed one night a duke and wakes up a duchess."
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William's dream blog put me in mind of a similar venture I undertook a few years ago. For several months, I was fascinated with my dreams, recalling and recording them each morning. Hoping to share my treasure, I searched out an on-line dream forum, only to discover thousands of dreams exactly like mine.
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I arrived in St. Louis late Saturday morning to find my sister Sharon waiting for me at the airport. We had no plans, except our usual visit to Shaw's Garden. But this weekend 24,000 visitors were expected at the garden for a Japanese festival. We decided to spend the afternoon with Mom at Forest Park instead.
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This past Friday, Larry and Anne Reinstein treated us to a performance by Banjo Dan and the Mid-nite Plowboys at the Charles R. Wood Theater in Glens Falls, NY. A poster in the window of the theater billed them as "New England's Best Bluegrass Band." Perhaps they are.
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Early last Wednesday morning Wendy and I set out from St. James to attend a conference in Conway South Carolina.
Our first stop was the Cinnabon at the Molly Pitcher Service Area on the New Jersey Turnpike, where we paid $3.59 for a bag of Stix...
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This past weekend, Wendy and I attended the Eighteenth Biennial International Workshop/Conference on Teaching Philosophy. It was not as stuffy as it might sound.
About a hundred and twenty philosophy teachers of all ages, ranks, and philosophical stripes gathered for the four-day symposium to share tips about how to entice American undergraduates deeper into the web of philosophical speculation.
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Two weeks ago Wendy gave me a book she picked up during her trip to Oxford. She said it is part of a series in which contemporary authors incorporate myths into their narratives. This one involves Oedipus and Sigmund Freud.
Oedipus and Freud are two of my favorite characters, so I was interested...
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Somewhere in the course of my most recent transformation, I decided to earn a living as a communications consultant. The only problem: I had nothing in print. And so I started a blog.
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Last Saturday, Wendy and I went into the city to see the exhibition of the The Art of Illumination at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I had seen it, but Wendy had not. It was well worth a second look.
Paul and Marion Turgeon had visited the museum the week before, and Paul called my attention to an unusual folio from the Story of St. Jerome
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