Great teachers. Teenage boys. The Gettysburg Address.  A box of Kleenex. Watch The Address, a new film by Ken Burns.

Up In the Frackin’ Air, and It’s No George Clooney Movie, Y’all

Dear Kay, OK. OK. I’m all settled now. But if you’d seen me about twenty minutes ago, you would have mistaken me for one of those beleaguered airport residents who had LOST IT, one of the travel zombies, the undead, who left their homes at four dark o’clock, intent on reaching a destination and feeling sort of good about how the day was going to lay out. One of the pale, underfed, over-be-bagged wretches who disembarked...

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