A Modest Proposal
It is a melancholy object to those, who walk through this great town, or travel in the country, when they see the streets, the roads and cabbin-doors crowded with beggars of the female sex, followed by three, four, or six children, all in rags, and importuning every passenger for an alms. These mothers instead of being able to work for their honest livelihood, are forced to employ all their time in stroling to beg sustenance for their helpless infants who, as they grow up, either turn thieves for want of work, or leave their dear native country, to fight for the Pretender in Spain, or sell themselves to the Barbadoes.
Dear Weird Al…
Dear Weird Al,
I want to thank you.
Words will never fully express my gratitude for the things that you do and the songs that you sing. I grew up on a farm in the country, and this reality was so perfectly echoed in your song “Amish Paradise.”
Just Walk Away, Reneé
I lifted my eyes momentarily from the yawning entrance to the medicine bag and met his gleeful expression with what I hoped was a look of cool confidence and a low whistle of appreciation. Smiling as best I could, I rose from my crouch at his side and gave him room to dig around amongst tinkling vials and a dozen torn bags slowly leaking a hundred wonderful and terrible chemicals.
Learning
Our daily experience is of a local world viewed through many expectations, and for good reason; it would be overwhelming to approach every social situation as totally new, without an ability to make predictive use of dispositions attributed to others. It is this ability to consistently form accurate expectations of the behaviour of others which allows us to find comfort in a home community.
Forgotten
Our daily experience is of a local world viewed through many expectations, and for good reason; it would be overwhelming to approach every social situation as totally new, without an ability to make predictive use of dispositions attributed to others. It is this ability to consistently form accurate expectations of the behaviour of others which allows us to find comfort in a home community.
Some People Call Me Maurice
As for so many, the year preceding my acceptance into university was a very confusing one in many ways, but relatively straightforward in others. Although my future was a tangled mess of possibilities and uncertainty, the question of my ‘identity’ seemed like an easy enough one to answer: I was a metalhead, a drunk, a video gamer, and a music store employee, plain and simple.
Your Hypocritical Motivations
Elsewhere in this issue, you’ll be berated for not caring enough, for not caring correctly, for not caring at all. But you do care – or at least most of us tell ourselves, each other, and polling agencies that we do. But why do you give a shit about global warming?
