Other Peoples’ Memories

I have other people’s memories. No, it’s not like I’m some sort of psychic or telepathy or any sort of crap like that, It’s just that when I think I know someone or connect with them, (“rapport” I think they call it) I can access their own memories as easily
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This is Design School

It would be a lie to say I don’t derive some childish enjoyment out of being included in events for design academia when I didn’t actually study design. Not formally, at least. It’s not that I don’t respect the discipline and pursuit, it’s that I tend to get in trouble for
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Identifying with the ID

It was probably the dragon dancers and fireworks that got her excited, but even not being Chinese, my daughter got so excited at the dedication of the First Hill Streetcar that she was begging her Mom to let her join the drill team  when she makes it to the fifth grade.
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This is Eric

  Eric is a very kind gent into whom I ran last weekend with my family at Uwajimaya. That was important to note in case you thought this was taken in Japan, which would have really been spectacular. But no, it was taken right here at home in Seattle. This
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Bleezer’s, please!

Among the many great, if little, joys of having children about is that you get to enjoy the things intended for them. So as not to test the bounds of one’s sanity, I will refrain from listing them in full, but one can easily imagine the enjoyment such things as: • being
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Shorthand

I lived in a house ruled in the day to day by a beautiful, fiery Asian woman who’d knuckle your skull in an instant for any infraction. My mother dealt justice swiftly and efficiently. She brooked no fools nor foolishness; and still doesn’t. My mother was the first of my
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