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Paul Hertneky's Writings

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Article
Feb.19.2010
Women Who Mowby Paul B. Hertneky When I do yardwork, I mutter. I'm usually cursing the grass or the leaves as if they are enemies hiding in foxholes. "Take that... Get over here you rotten bastard... hey, where do you think you're going... you can run but you can't hide..." On the other hand, my heart sinks when I behead a daisy or a violet that couldn'...
Article
Feb.19.2010
Being Boring by Paul B. Hertneky Throughout the years, I have bored nearly everyone I've met. I can't be certain of this, because most people are too polite to tell me. I suspect misplaced curiosity attracts them to me in the first place and I will happily lavish attention on anyone who shows the slightest interest in me. In my thirties, after enduring several...
Article
Feb.18.2010
The Exquisite Corpse
The struggle to control my emotions over Spooner's aging and eventual death leads me to recommend that dog owners never allow themselves to be seduced by affection for a dog. Next time, I will always refer to the dog as "the dog" to keep our relationship from becoming too...
Article
Feb.18.2010
The Best Travel Writing 2008
“The secret of Crete is deep. He who sets foot on the island feels a strange strength penetrating through his veins and his soul widens.” —Nikos Kazantzakis Go ahead and think of Greek islands as sun-baked bliss in blue and white. I had fallen into the habit of hopping to Athens and hightailing to Crete, accustomed to the way the light, the culture, and a skin-...
Article
Feb.18.2010
PopMatters.com
If anyone wonders what happens to sexual appetite as we grow out of our 20s, the answer can be found in the media and the marketplace. As our libido becomes less urgent, we direct our lust and anxiety to another delicious and potentially ruinous obsession: food. Rather than fretting about unwanted pregnancy and crabs, we begin to worry about cholesterol and carbs...
Article
Feb.18.2010
Where the Mountain Stands Alone (anthology)
Every time I asked locals about the Italian neighborhood in Keene, New Hampshire, they answered with a question: the Italian what?  Granted, most of those I asked grew up elsewhere. But even natives, on the whole, couldn’t tell me much.  They had heard of the Italian Club, but they couldn’t say exactly where it might be. And Keene is a small city.  At one of its...