In Which Your Humble Blogger still doesn’t really understand that so many Americans believe that tax cuts are inherently good.
In Which Your Humble Blogger knows that your yiddish lyric is different from his, but gave up on sorting through which is original. The one I’ve got isn’t the one Pete Seeger sings, that’s for sure.
In Which Your Humble Blogger had never previously imagined Cary Grant as Mattithias/Matisyahu but is now far too amused.
In Which Your Humble Blogger gets a lot of stuff off the old proverbial.
In which Your Humble Blogger does not suggest doing an internet search on the phrase [the heart pants life glows].
In Which Your Humble Blogger just wants everyone to read this book, so we can talk about it together.
In Which Your Humble Blogger suspects that in the fullness of time it will be remembered similar to Tommy Smith and John Carlos at the 1968 Olympics, with historical surprise about the reaction to it, rather than to the act itself.
In Which Your Humble Blogger doesn’t really do the whole interacting-with-other-academic-librarians thing, and so doesn’t know if this has already been hashed out endlessly elsewhere.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is unsure what category to call this. I mean, I could turn it into a Book report, I suppose, as I read the thing just to be sure.
In Which Your Humble Blogger lightly entertains and was lightly entertained himself, withal.