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The New Yorker


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I meant to make a laudatory post last week to the effect that, where other than The New Yorker might you find a smart, funny, informative article on a literary figure as obscure as Alfred Lord Dunsany

I took that test when we applied to adopt! Picture was from the 30's: any idiot could tell that you were supposed to translate the stallion and the shirtless man in the picture into something sexual.

Mitchell is right on this precise point, though: as a classical music fan, I find its use in classical venues to be an outrage.

I think Joe's having a heart attack.

 

It's funny because a lot of the women I know from Long Island love Billy Joel. And all the guys I know from Long Island, ummmm, don't.

One night when a bunch of people were over and getting rather drunk, Sig Eater decided to play some Billy. That was the end of the party.

 

Of course, how can you not like a guy who was married to Christie Brinkley and has always been such a good driver...kidding.

 

In his dotage, he's not so bad.

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I'll no doubt read the piece but I must say that Billy Joel's music sends me right up the wall. I really loathe it. Its ubiquity (as in I, Not A Fan, got all the jokey references above) has no doubt contributed to my loathing.

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