Secret of the Montauks

I have an alternate reality that, in a certain light or summer air, pokes a hole in this one. It’s the parallel universe in which I did graduate from Brown, married a jerk who nonetheless made a very good living that enabled the purchase of a second home, had kids driven neurotic by the fact that their parents hated each other, got a divorce by reason of (his) adultery, and received the Montauk house, my designated place of privacy and solace, in the settlement.

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Fact – and Fiction

CNN and CareerBuilder.com published a story yesterday about yet another research study – this one, by econ professors Daniel Hamermesh of the University of Texas and Jeff Biddle of Michigan State University – that proves, once again, the advantage that good-looking people have in the workplace, or maybe it’s more the disadvantage the rest of us mere mortals haul around like a dead carcass.

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War Zone

I have some sociopathic neighbors who think it’s fun to set off fireworks until well after 10 or even 11:00.
Here’s a suggestion, meatheads: if you like the sound of bombs so much, why don’t you take yourselves to Afghanistan, or even better, Iraq.
And as for the loud-mouthed punk who was on Route 28 tonight and pulled in to one of those low-rent condos by the dump: I’m really REALLY sorry I didn’t make life better for the rest of us by following you the rest of the way home and crushing your ignorant, worthless ass into a blob of insensate protoplasm – sort of like the goo that sloshes around in that Neanderthal skull of yours.
Then again, I’m glad I didn’t soil my new truck.