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About a week ago, I was feeling pretty happy with myself. I was a proofreading machine. I was marking things in red and sending corrections to our designer. I was as clear as last Saturday, as succinct as a pushpin. I was downloading files, naming folders, and clicking and dragging stuff like nobody's business. I was shipping things to prepress like I knew what I was doing. I was shipping things to prepress like I knew what prepress was!
But that was last week. This week, I'm sick and tired of the October issue. I wish it would die. The Ad Index came in and…
Ten years after Big Blue beat Garry Kasparov, people are still fighting over the definition of "really playing chess" is.
When it comes to trash talk, it would seem so. Numbers two and four completely cracked me up.
B. R. Myers is fightin' mad about high-faluting writin'.
Gosh, I do love a good rant.
Paul West writes the first aphasic memoir. As a writer, I find the loss of language skills the most terrifying boogie man of them all.