By chennecy
01/13/2013
As I was reading an interesting story about loud pipes today, my father’s voice boomed over my shoulder: “Turn that @#$%! noise down!” He’s been dead for seven years, but it was a reflex—both mine and his, I suspect.
By chennecy
01/07/2013
Readers opening the first Roundel of the new year found new faces among the columnists: Nikki Weed and Chris Wright. Another Roundel Weekly writer, Paul Duchene, has broadened his efforts to organize news items for the magazine, too.
By chennecy
12/31/2012
… and there we were, once more at the twilight of the year: As everyone knows, the end of one year and the beginning of the next is a time to be feared—chiefly because of how much nauseatingly bad writing it produces. It’s like a charming little tradition: at Christmas we get the whole goodwill-to-mankind thing, but just a week later, we are mercilessly shelled with dangerously unimaginative thoughts from virtually every publication in existence.
By chennecy
12/21/2012
The temperature in Chicago hadn’t reached above 5ºF in almost three weeks, and the snow had turned into an impermeable ice cap over the Midwest. Most construction workers had been laid off, my dad included. Cold isn’t a severe enough term to describe that winter for me, and to this day I still look back on that Christmas and shake my head in amazement.
By chennecy
12/17/2012
I think of a spare tire as a horizontal parachute: When you need one, you really need one. If it’s missing, or flat, you can kiss off about three hours of your life—and that’s if it happens close to home. What brings the subject to mind, as usual, was a personal incident: I ran over a nail, but I didn’t notice it at first.

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