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Flirting in Science Class: Boys, Bunsen Burners, & Bad Thought Experiments

It is with not inconsiderable risk that a fellow chooses to weigh in on the Tim Hunt faux pas, but it was the following article from The Guardian that caught my attention and emboldened me. It was not that I too attended a “single-sex school in the 1960’s” as Hunt’s wife, the immunolo
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Now, Don’t Get Me Wrong: Truth, Hidden Agendas, and Subway Phatics

Yesterday afternoon in the subway, I overheard one fellow say to another, “Well, you know me, I…“ Why is it that when I hear phrases like this – phrases intended to make doubly sure that the listener knows who one is and/or what they’re up to – my reaction is t
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Philippe Petit, Limestone Cliffs, and R. W. Emerson: The Discrete Shudder of A Twittering WASP

Before writing As It Is On Earth, I did not have a Facebook page, a Twitter account, a Blog, or a website that relied on me as the “Admin”.  I scoffed at the first, did not understand the meaning of the second, shrank in horror at the third, and thought web administrators
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A Caesura in Dies Iovis: Ergo . . . The PEN/Hemingway Awards at the JFK Library – March 24, 2013

I thought visitors to Dies Iovis: Ergo… might enjoy some shots of the day at the JFK: Yes, that’s the back of Colm Toíbín’s head. He gave an endearing Keynote on Hemingway’s “unsaid.”               Cathy Chung (aut
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Devotions upon Emergent Occasions, Anxiolytics and The Hemingways: For Bloom The Bell Tolls

This weekend, I’m off to receive my PEN/Hemingway nod at the JFK Presidential Library in Boston. It’s a public ceremony, so come by and say hi if you’re in Boston. I say “nod” for a reason. That’s all Catherine Chung (Forgotten Country) and I – the
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Schroeder on Page 20, ‘I’ Tunes, and Julie Andrew’s Solfège: Nitpicking in Pandora’s Box

Do you like to sing? I do. My singing voice is not great, but it’s serviceable enough for the local chorale. Recently, we’ve been working on Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis. Frankly, that tune is a bitch. Did you see page 20 in the picture? Absolutely no place to take a breath.
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Eternity ShuffleBottom, Cuckolds, and The Descent of Man: Vlad the Impaler Dougies in Cambridge

This week I thought I’d write about one of our country’s great national pastimes – one that spans the centuries, gathers the family around its lush field of dreams, and courses through our very being. Now, those of you who don’t like sports or – more understandably –
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Tennyson’s Bar, Planking at Yaki Point, and Bad Bat Renderings: Texting Pictures Across the Corpus Callosum

Some news: The Pen/Hemingway Award for Literary Excellence in Debut Fiction is issuing a press release today. Here’s a hint: If Yellow Birds is to Open City, then As It Is On Earth is to The Art of Fielding.  But enough about me. It’s Thursday; I’ve a bat in the belf
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The Chebarkul Meteor, iRobot Vacuum Cleaners, and A Prius in Flatland: The Atmosphere of Objects

In a previous post, I wrote about “Things“. This week, I want to make some points about a certain class of Things, namely…Objects. Why?…On Saturday, I will be moderating a panel at an interior design conference, entitled Aftertaste: The Atmosphere of Objects. T
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Cracking Wise with Seneca, Eyes That Hear, and Jack London’s Boat: Bell Labs meets The Pleasure of the Text

You might consider this Part II of DI:E…explaining itself to itself. A few followers have questioned the tone I’ve taken in my weekly mull.  Comments have ranged from “your tone is a bit snappy for my taste“, then gone downhill to “it’s really,̷
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