Monthly Archives: September 2004

Thumbs-Up Thumbs-Down

    After a series of single-topic columns, this one will run the gamut, be a sort of clearing house. It’s an occasion to take care of much pending business.
     So, to Cris Trujillo, I have not forgotten the idea of writing about what life was like in the O50s, from the perspective of someone who grew up in Old Town;
     To Mary Ann, an associate at Wal Mart, who chides me for ending too many columns with, “But that’s a topic for a future column.” I promise to write soon about some of those incidents that remain cemented in my cranial storage unit;

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Some talk-show hosts shout-down listeners

    It’s like the double-take a person makes when passing an accident scene: we’re disturbed by the possibility of seeing blood, but we still turn our heads to look.
     In a similar way, I confess to listening to a lot of radio and watching TV that’s bothersome. It started in late 1999, when I took a job as a recruiter for the U.S. Census Bureau. That job kept me on the road six days a week, through six northern counties.

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Santa Fe drivers have a different set of rules

    We visited another country last week: Santa Fe.
    Let me explain: A leisurely drive to and in Santa Fe isn’t what it used to be. It’s as challenging as racing around the “glorietas” in Mexico City, in which a curbed circle, filled with flowers, appears in the middle of busy intersections.
     Rather than using on- and off-ramps, traffic in Mexico City stays on one level (or at least it did when we visited): if you want to make a U-turn, stay in the inside lane; to go straight, take the middle lane and work your way around the glorieta, and if you’re turning right, stay on the right.

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This family has sticking power

    Great minds run along the same gutters.
    In this vein, it’s obvious that my mind got raided Wednesday as Optic Managing Editor Dave Kavanaugh wrote on a subject I had planned, all about how the media get embroiled in politics.
    No, we don’t exactly confer on what’s in the hopper for the week; yet I wonder whether it is possible that as I slept (at work) Dave was able to “read” my mind: or perhaps I talked as I dozed.

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