Pirke Avot, verse seventeen: Silence
In Which Your Humble Blogger returns to the sages for help. Hello, sages! Are you there? Hello?
In Which Your Humble Blogger returns to the sages for help. Hello, sages! Are you there? Hello?
In Which Your Humble Blogger just shoves the whole thing in one note.
In Which Your Humble Blogger puts on a happy face.
In Which Your Humble Blogger plays to his strengths, which involve strong lungs and powerful typing fingers, and not so much the git-r-done stuff.
In Which Your Humble Blogger gets lots in the weeds, a bit, but will be home soon.
In Which Your Humble Blogger gets to the root of things, the bitter nasty root.
In Which Your Humble Blogger takes what is probably a common or garden coincidence of sound and phrasing, and turns it into a whole big thing.
In Which Your Humble Blogger starts in at the Big One.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is stumped, although not as badly as England v. Windies today. Did you see that? I mean, that was just sad.
In Which Your Humble Blogger would rather have cake, please, if there’s any left.