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Pimping my Buick
When I worked at Brookstone in (holy crap, I’m old!) the early ’90s, our most popular item — by far — was a nose hair trimmer. It was a small and discreet battery-powered doodad that always caused a great deal of embarrassment for the men who purchased it. You’d be amazed how often the guy
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Aurora Boreal-miss.
Man, that was some Northern Lights display, wasn’t it?! Or so I heard. Didn’t actually see them, because we had a thunderstorm roll through Friday evening, and I naively assumed that meant they wouldn’t be visible. It wasn’t until the next morning, when I was scrolling through my social media feeds, that I learned they
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Tickled pink on State Street.
Yesterday’s drive to work was an interesting one. Three minutes from the office, it looked like I might be whisked away to Oz. I’d been watching the horizon closely; the nearer I drew to CheeseGov, the more ominous-looking the sky appeared. As I merged onto the Beltline, an impressive shelf cloud was bearing down from
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Why not Sheboygan?
I like to read before I go to bed. Well, in theory. Every night, I crawl beneath the sheets intending to plow through a few chapters of digital pages. But inevitably, after 30 minutes — (okay, some nights I barely make it to 10 minutes) —I’ll nod off mid-sentence, awakening when my Kindle bonks me on
TAG! YOU’RE IT.
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