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Chris Rodell's Blog

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wry Ray Davies
It was about a year ago when my computer blew up. I didn’t lose anything, but it wiped out the play count from my iTunes library. This is not insignificant. I try to play every one of my 7,857 songs at least once a year. The play count function helps me realize if I’m overlooking something worthy....
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The "Ehhh!!!" Twins
Our oldest daughter is getting to an age when peer pressure starts to sink its insidious claws into 9-year-old psyches. I urge her at every turn to resist it. She should never follow the crowd. She should be independent. “Being cool isn’t cool,” I advise. Of course, this is an outrageous whopper....
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I guess for me the tipping point came as the checker-sized spider began its descent into my beer mug. That’s when I thought, “Gee, I’m looking forward to winter.” It’s been five months since I was last up to my butt cheeks in snow and five months hence from when I could again be in that same bitter...
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I don’t for a minute believe BP when it says it’s capped the well. I think they have a stage set with a Top Hat rig in a pool about 20-feet deep they’re using to simulate competence. Look carefully enough at the tape and in the dim background you can glimpse BP men walking around on their way to...
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eagle scout
It was more a wish than a prayer, more an expression of dissatisfaction that I was unable to have more of an impact on humanity. I thought, gee, I wish I was in position to do more good deeds. That’s the kind of thinking I do on my daily strolls around the neighborhood. I’m not talking about saving...
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all ears
I peered deep into our 9-year-old’s right ear the way germ-detecting scientists peer into microscopes.  I was looking for Michael Phelps.  “I don’t see any swimmers in here,” I said. Nine is an age when “Dad” becomes a two-syllable word. “Da-ad! Swimmer’s ear doesn’t mean there’s a swimmer in my...
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l'll man/l'll TV
Readers who enjoy vicarious woe are in for a splendid couple of weeks because a wave of woe is crashing upon me. First off, car trouble. The very day I sent in the final payment on my 2007 Saturn Vue, I had to spend $783.57 to fix something that sounded vaguely pancreatic to me. I understand as...
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hard at work
Conflicting reports from my observant daughters mean I’m either the hardest working man in America or the laziest. Either way, the gig doesn’t pay squat. I’ve based much of my identity on a sunny summer afternoon from 2006 when our oldest daughter, then 5, presented me with a Hallmark moment I’ll...
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sea of humanity
I passed up an opportunity to frolic with the family at the local water park this weekend and it was all because of one stranger’s big toe. The offender’s neighboring toes weren’t about to win any beauty contests. They looked like witch’s teeth. But it was the big toe on his right foot that has me...
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This weekend we’ll be shooting off fireworks, waving sparklers and saying solemn prayers of thanks that we’ve survived so much deadly tumult. Coincidentally, it is the Fourth of July. The 234th birthday of the greatest nation in history is secondary to the reason we’re celebrating. This is bigger...
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Dep. Lone Bullet
Monday’s Supreme Court decision pretty much convinces me I’m going to die in a hail of gunfire. Understand, that’s just the optimist in me talking. I’d much rather die of multiple gunshot wounds than terminal illness, flesh eating bacteria or chronic boredom. The 5-4 decision roughly thrills half...
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tweet! tweet!
This morning I posted my 250th tweet (http://twitter.com/8days2amish/) since signing up on January 8. Know what that means? I now have more than enough to go back and rerun posts that people forgot seconds after they read them months ago. That news will be of microscopic consequence to the 46...
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I-95 in 2025
It pains me to offer so many sensible solutions to so many global problems when the ideas always seem motivated by pure laziness. Yet, I can’t help it. The world would be a lot better off if everyone was less reluctant to indulge their laziness. Lazy people don’t start wars, instigate Ponzi schemes...
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No boob
I pay no attention to either of the $4,000 boobs as they sashay into the bar, nor to the girl to whom they’ve been surgically attached. As I’ve said before, I am not a boob man. I am an ass man. And I drink in a bar with about a dozen other asses just like me. But lots of the Regular Joes notice...
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old tears
Watching my waste-averse wife try to find a stranger willing to take two leftover cuts of pizza reminded me of Oskar Schindler's heroics. When it comes to saving the planet, she’s that earnest. “Please,” she said, “they’re really delicious and it would be such a terrible shame to have to just throw...
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