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How We, at “Weekly Hubris,” Met
“How did the writers of ‘Weekly Hubris’ come together, readers often ask me? This month, I asked my Contributors to weigh in, in order of appearance in my life . . . and…
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The Aerophytes Take Wing
“We will rise up from this place as though we had never been here in the first place, nesting within our sturdy hearts the neighbors we have come to love, but never, I…
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Quislings in Pinstripes
“My sole original thought this spring is this: what’s with the god-awful pinstripe suits now being worn by every pol, pundit, and latter-day-Pétain in Washington, DC? I long for the mavens of ‘Queer…
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Blown Away: Boats within Boats
“There are times when words are the last things on my mind. These times are rare (and rarefied), as immersed as I have been, since the age of three, in language. But, on…
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In The Ear of The Beholder: Stories
“I like the monologue even more than the duet, when it is good. It’s like watching a man write a book expressly for you: he writes it, reads it aloud, acts it, revises…
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Down On My Knees Before The Grinch (Best of “Hubris”)
“Where we live, in north-central Florida, patience is not a virtue but an absolute necessity. The community here, especially at such emporia as Hallmark, is largely in its late 70s and 80s, and…
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The Face in My Nightmares: Trump
“Usually, it takes decades for people to cross over from my present-tense, analog life, into my dreams . . . and nightmares. But Trump has jumped my blood-brain barrier in record time.”—Elizabeth Boleman-Herring…
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Our Evil, Our Shadow, Our Trump
“This past year, and over the entire course of the US presidential campaign, we have all borne witness, whether conscious, less conscious, or unconscious, to yet another dangerous dance with Wotan, with the…
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Love, Fear & Loathing, Etc.: In The Eye of One Beholder
“Most emotions, and perhaps all—and I posit there are thousands of them, shared to a greater or lesser degree by many sentient beings on this planet—have something in common: they depend on .…
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After One Was Three
“My ‘advice,’ the crone-wisdom of 2016, differs dramatically from what I had to impart, to say, as a young adult mother in 1987. For our world—that of my granddaughters and me—has morphed quickly…