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The Art of Lies

It helps to know what is true and the truth is a slippery fish. What is truth exactly and how do we know it when we see it? Is there a core area somewhere in the center of an idea in which the truth resides? Or is it spread thin like a pancake, a layer wrapped around detritus and filling, the clutter of living? Can anyone have it?

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A Bubbling Conundrum

“Better appreciate it while you can!” said the old man while he added salt to his popcorn.

The friendly stranger was referring to the massive 32 oz. cup I was filling to the brim with Coca-Cola. My date and I were about to watch a three-hour long epic movie and it was decided that an epic amount of snacks were needed to go along with it. We had bought the large soda/large popcorn combo to share.

“Uhg, I know it,” I said. I shook my head disapprovingly, emphasizing my exasperation at the situation. The old man put down the extra sodium with a slight shake in his hands and flashed me a big yellow toothy grin.

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Distractions

Brownface was a term altogether unfamiliar to me. I grappled for comprehension. The closest term I had available to use as a reference was Blackface. But that couldn’t be true, right? Yes, Governor Mitt Romney was appearing on a staple Latin-American television network, Univison. And yes, at first glance, the hue of his face appeared to be darker. But did Governor Romney really use make up to appear relatable to a Latino audience?

Subway Ladybug

The subway stop at 181st Street was an odd place to see a ladybug. She boarded the train and flew directly to perch on the edge of my upended book. I stayed very still, staring at the shiny red and black of her wings, while she rested there. After a few minutes I gently moved the book into a flat position on my lap, and she obliged me by crawling over the lip and onto the surface. I put my hand in front of her for protection against any jostling that might shake her.