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29 June 2015
Vol. V, No. 253

From Elizabeth Boleman-Herring: Five years ago, I was introduced to Tim Bayer, Weekly Hubriss long-suffering designer and webmaster, and we have proven, over the hectic interim, that an engineer and an English Major can create a thing of coherence and beauty, despite their tacit lack of a common language. (Thank you, Tim, for putting up, for years now, with your Luddite editor!) Tim’s video-offerings lend another dimension to our magazine, and today’s origami-in-motion is representative of the wonders he chooses to share with us: stop-motion poetry “written” in thin air. Skip Eisiminger, on the other hand, is fluent in multiple tongues, many of which are in his cheek and here, in his latest essay, he executes a pas de deux with Mrs. Malaprop, mixing the cucumbers with the concubines for a particularly Eisimingerian salad . . . or Zungensalat. Both columns are delicious summer fare, so enjoy, Weekly Hubrisians! (Also here, I re-post a poem I wrote in the winter of 2012, when I knew for certain what fate awaited my other homeland. Since then, my inchoate fears have come to fruition: Alas, indeed, for the egg that is Greece . . .)

Won Over By Reality

“Animated Paper” By Tim Bayer

Tissue comes to life.

Tissue comes to life.

BRIGHTON New York—(Weekly Hubris)—6/29/2015—The pinnacle of my origami expertise is the paper airplane, but I have an appreciation for the skill of the experts in the art form. Previously, I had only seen origami created using flat, smooth paper, until Elizabeth Boleman-Herring shared this video with me. (Read more . . .)

Mrs. Malaprop: “She’s as headstrong as an allegory on the banks of the Nile.”

Mrs. Malaprop: “She’s as headstrong as an allegory on the banks of the Nile.”

Skip the B.S.

“When Cucumber Vines Tangle with the Concubines: MalapropismsBy Skip Eisiminger

CLEMSON South Carolina—(Weekly Hubris)—6/29/2015—The first time I telephoned Sue, she, suspecting an interior motive, said, “I’m not interesting.” But, of course, she was. And so was her mother, a person of gender, who told me once that New York needs a way to purge the effluent from their den of inequity. And when I asked Sue’s father what he did for a living, he said he mounted bugs in the NYU etymology lab. (Read more . . .)

Snapshot of Athens, my other home.

Snapshot of Athens, my other home.

By Way of Being

“Alas, Still, for the Egg That Is Greece” By Elizabeth Boleman-Herring

PETIT TRIANON Florida—(Weekly Hubris)—6/29/2015—What most readers (my few; my treasured), who know me as an essayist, a writer of non-fiction, may not know is that I also write poetry, that I began writing as a poet . . . and that I then wrote (and published) jazz lyrics to tunes written by such composers as Thelonious Monk, Bill Evans, Kenny Dorham and Hank Mobley. (Read more . . .)

Skip the B.S.

“Tried and Found Wanton: The Language of Sex” By Skip Eisiminger

CLEMSON South Carolina—(Weekly Hubris)—6/15/2015—So, exactly how do humans reproduce if we don’t bifurcate, pupate, or molt? I’m glad the answer to the overwhelming question of my adolescence was not left entirely to my parents.

Mother never said a word, which wasn’t coded, on the subject, and Dad bought me a copy of The Stork Didn’t Bring You, which he quietly left on my bedside table. Though it was the first and last book he ever bought me, it was never discussed and eventually passed along to my encrinolated sisters. Indeed, they had a code of their own: walking to Sunday school once, I overheard one tell the other, “It’s snowing down south.” (Read more . . .)

Quoth Raven: never quite . . .

Quoth Raven: never quite . . .

The Highest Cauldron 

“Honking” By Anita Sullivan

CRESWELL Oregon—(Weekly Hubris)—6/15/2015—Raven is the one chosen to do the honk, which he’s always trying to perfect; which he’s always trying out a one-more-time, brand-new version of that never quite works. Still, we stop and listen every time he flies over, because we can hear his lordly mind working up there, convinced that this latest batch of airborne croaks is the real thing at last, at last.

And if it were, it would indeed be magnificent. (Read more . . .)

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