That presidents, much less presidents-elect, have no jurisdiction over college football’s postseason.
Dogs.
Ju-co transfers at nose tackle.
At the moment, Pale Fire.
Those little wasabi crunchy things in high-end trail mix.
My hazy memories of the 1979 Sugar Bowl.
America’s growing number of ethic restaurants beyond Chinese and Mexican (really, you should try an Ethiopian restaurant if you have one in your town ((and if your first thought is “how do they have food in Ethiopia?” then you should expand your knowledge base outside an elementary-school playground and I fear your perception of Helen Keller))).
In general, David Markson.
“. . . the scent of the upturned earth, most heartily appreciated in early spring. The smell of a ploughed field is perhaps the best of all earthy scents” (Alice Morse Earle, Old Time Gardens, Newly Set Forth [London: MacMillan, 1902], 300).
That Derrida’s work was as long-lasting as it was clearly written. (Deconstruct that.)
My clearer memories of the 1992 Sugar Bowl.
Amendment XXI to the United States Constitution.
Therefore, the city of Loretto, Kentucky.
Johnny “Guitar” Watson.
Javier Arenas.
The wall briefly yet purposely built around one’s harried life for the few hours each Saturday in the fall when one’s rooting interests can thrive or fail without consequence, where one’s mood can sour but one’s hope will rise for the next kick-off.
That even the worst of us may yet be salvaged.
OK, cats too.
Bye weeks.
Roll Tide.
