Monday, September 19, 2005

TalkTeach Like A Pirate Day 

Parents night went swimmingly (the trick: talk enough to ensure that parents get a good sense of your teaching style but have no time to ask how little Mary is doing). This afternoon's teacher-wide GradeQuick training is ready to go. I've fallen behind a bit on grading, but the kids are rarin' at the bit for content, so ahead we go with reserach projects for 7th and 8th, which will get us through everything from Inspiration to Access, Publisher and PowerPoint.

Good: found a sneakaround to access gmail at work, so no more once-a-week. Especially useful, since the in-law dial-up was dead over the weekend (hence the bloglessness).

Better: T'was our penultimate weekend at the in-laws, as we've ten days to houseclosing! Woohoo!

Better still: the newschool practices Talk (and Dress) Like A Pirate Day, charging kids two bucks a head for circumventing the dress code; cash goes to Katrina victims, specifically the family of a kid in my homeroom. Arrrrr! This damn eyepatch makes me walk into walls!

Oh, and I've decided to take on yearbook advising. It'll pay for just under half of our heating oil this winter. Yarrr!

posted by boyhowdy | 8:40 AM | 6 comments

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Small Morning Poem 

I grow accustomed to the dawn,
fond of the sunrise, the way the fog
lifts slowly, whirls around the light
traffic on the turnpike, the sun
like an orange low on the hills
larger than life above the truckbeds.

posted by boyhowdy | 7:35 AM | 5 comments

Monday, September 12, 2005

On The Fly 

Parent visiting night coming up Thursday, my own parents coming up tomorrow, plenty of grading to do in the intervening evening, and our temporarily local library is open 'til 9:00 tonight, so everclever I chose procrastination over the two-hour screaming fiasco that has become our children's bedtime ritual. To be fair, it was my wonderwife's sggestion that we each take a night off this week. Pity I left the iPod at home.

Surely the girls are glad to get me out of their hair. Monday it may be, and the scholday short, but I've been coming home drained, still struggling to ration the adrenaline as the job comes together. Where other teachers teach four classes, broken up by a full-period prep and a full lunch, I teach thre of my own, two of someone else's, and in the tween hours flit throughout the building, planing for more to come, laying board in front, building the bridge as I cross it.

It's my kind of work, to be sure: a wide mandate, free reign to fulfil it as I see fit, supportive and trusting supervisors on each of the myriad weblines that radiate out from my frenetic center. I've made a name for myself as a solver of long-standing cultural stagnation, a creator of situations, a pitter of problems against problems where'er possible. The Math teacher I partnered with today and tomorrow asked for my instructional support in part because "the kids think you're so much fun" -- not a bad commendation for a metateacher and co-conspirator less than ten days into the job.

They care, too. The principal asks me to please keep myself from burning out, though I'm just geting started, and love the hot flame, the tapdance on the edge of sanity. My assigned mentor suggests that I keep my ear open for mention of "tacos," this institution's cultural code (every business has one) for drinks after work, perhaps at the Ground Round, where our hardworking faculty are known for closing the bar. The administrators offer me coffe, though I haven't joined the club.

And as go the supervisors, so go the served. Teachers wait patiently, ask questions, adapt to my new rules about library lab sign-ups with little resistance. The kids bug me about the nicotene gum (but really, I remind them, would you want me to be the kind of teacher who follows the rules to the letter, and in doing so keep them on my side for one more hilarious rendition of "FAQ is not an obscenity."). The janitors board up the broken shelves without a work request just because "you looked like you deserved it."

It's my kind of work, to be sure: my throat burns at the end of the day and I love it.

Walking into a mass of ready-to-drop blood-of-my-blood, undismissable and often cranky, can be a tough end, especially when I walk in the door squeezed dry, a full day's energy expended before the shadows stretch even past the classroom perimeter.

But it's great, too, to come back at day's end to a grinning infant sprouting new red hair like her daddy; a thre-year-old in her underwear runing to the door for a hug; a calm and centered wonderwife reading furniture catalogs at the center of the whirlwind.

Though the tiny nest we've borrowed chafes at our psyche, the cool wooded end is near. Soon, my family, the whirlwind will cease, the balance will be struck, the home will be a haven. Peace is on the tip of our tongues, our horizons, or Christmas stockings. I can feel it in the air, as sure as Indian Summer.

posted by boyhowdy | 6:23 PM | 13 comments

Saturday, September 10, 2005

Lost Blogs 

Still struggling to return to the daily blog. It'll be a while, I think: no time at work, and no net access in the borrowed skinny-traincar condo I return to each afternoon to find my wife and children just about to go stir crazy. I save my email for the weekend, wonder who's still out there following our long gypsy walkabout.

In the meantime, the brain still percolates oblogatory. Each early morning as I drive the L of first on highway, then another, through the sunrise and fog, the words and phrases that once became the daily blogentry jostle in my head.

Backed-up entries now too stale to write properly will forever exist as small fragments penned on paper scraps against the steering wheel. At night before my increasingly early bedtime, I empty my pockets of the prompts of a universe not yet settled, the cues of an actor who never takes the stage.

Recent lost blogsubjects, each sure to be beautiful in their own way if given proper time and attention but now lost to the ages, include:
  • The curious and somehow sinister coincidence of Willow's new tendency to cringe from me when she is tired or fighting "because I don't want you to hit me" (I have never hit her and hope always to contain the beast inside me that constantly threatens to override my conviction as parent and human), and my immediate reaction to the huge bruise she sports from falling out of the bathtub. To wit: as a teacher, I KNOW this is how kids get taken away from their parents, seeing bruises and hearing however-unfounded concerns or abuse, and can a parent do anything about it?

  • Some sort of 9/11 reflection in the context of Katrina, starting with the reminder that there is no hierarchy of disaster.


  • How much we enjoy living in the smalltown downtown bustle of Northampton, just around the corner from everything, and the irony of doing so en route to a new home in the middle of absolutely beautiful rural nowhere.


  • How damn good I am at both fulfilling and interweaving all the sundry parts of this seen-as-impossible new job, especially in setting one problem against another to solve them both with little fuss but much amazement; how nice it is to be recognized daily for the work, and how wonderful it is to be exhausted from it all.

We'll settle soon. Yesterday's inspection of the new house turned up little but a few easily sprayed-for carpenter bees and a few loose wires in the basemenet. The homeowners have signed the official paperwork; the loan has come through. We'll close by the end of the month, move in over the weekend, find furniture through October. And then, oh, then, almost ten months after we began to plan our gypsy life, we'll be settled again.

And when that final piece of the puzzle falls in place, and the celebrations are over, I'll be dammed if I don't start blogging daily again. For the daily blog is after all both my meditation and my muse, both symptom and completion of the recentered life we long for.

In the meanwhile, these lost blogs reflect our lives, I suppose: busy but still unsettled, hovering in the eaves of the mind, waiting for the universe to come together like a thousand bees displaced.

posted by boyhowdy | 10:35 AM | 46 comments

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

No Mo' Mail... 

It appears that, as of yesterday, the kind folks at the old prep school have stopped forwarding email from my old address. Because, you know, it took up so much space on their server and everything to leave that tiny automated forward in place. [/sarcasm]

Bad news is anyone still trying to hit my old addy will have no idea they're dropping mail into a black hole. If that's you, PLEASE change your address book entry for yours truly to boyhowdy@gmail.com ASAP.

Good news is I've suddenly stopped getting megaspam sent over from the old address. They can have it -- I've moved on, and gladly.

posted by boyhowdy | 3:57 PM | 2 comments

Monday, September 05, 2005

Keeping Up With Katrina 

If you're like me (and who isn't), the recent disaster in the American South has been preying on your mind, but you're not yet ready to risk your own recently settled life and family to drive a thousand miles to offer help you honestly aren't qualified to give.

But you want to do something, right? So, first, make sure you're getting the facts, so you can spread the word to those who can help more directly. For up to the minute details on the truth you won't see on the nightly news, BoingBoing provides a great snippet of bloggiverse-fodder (check the archives for all of September for a pretty full picture).

From numerous firstperson blogs (ongoing and recently deserted) at Ground Zero N'awlinz to horror stories about military mindsets gone awry to neat stories about how anthropological throwback social systems are emerging in the vacuum created by the lack of the other social structures to ongoing analysis about why and how fixing broken communications infrastructures are vital to a quick turnaround, you'll feel better informed by this evenhanded crosssection of the world's first totally flattened reporting system.

Then, if you can, give cash, goods, and time. Most folks recommend the Red Cross, which has been first on the ground and seems to have a pretty high rate of return for your buck. But geeks who followed the last clause in the previous paragraph might do well to consider one or more of the following:

1. Donate time to tightening up missing person databases so they actually work. This basically means logging on to any of these open-data-source sites (like this one), skimming random entries, and making sure the right info is in the right field. Do it freelance. Do it now.

2. Take your extra phones, blackberries, and other older-but-still-working technology and put in in a big box labeled "for anyone you can think of" and send it South via the usual routes (Red Cross, etc.) Heck, you could even send a pre-paid phone card with your old phone.

3. Donate money directly to those working to bring back the communications infrastructure necessary to coordinate subsequent aid and people-finding.

What are you waiting for? Go help.

posted by boyhowdy | 2:22 PM | 1 comments


On Labor 

Note to international readers: today is Labor Day, a national holiday in the US, one of about a dozen wherein most of us don't work. Causes no end of end-of-summer long weekend holiday traffic, especially up here in the "gateway to Vermont." Brits should note two things: first, that we don't put a "u" in labor (take from that what you will). And second, that labor in the US ain't no party. Now, on with the shortshow.


I've always thought of Labor Day as inherently ironic, a day we celebrate work by not going. But the real backstory turns out to involve Grover Cleveland's attempt to appease Pullman workers on strike, and win back public support after a nasty strikebreak. It didn't work -- Cleveland lost reelection -- but the holiday stuck. And now you know the rest of the story.

Also true: I find myself much more appreciative of labor this year. Joni Mitchell knows you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone; being jobless for so long creates no end of appreciation when the right job finally comes along in the nick of time. But being unionless was also a constant cause for stress at the ol' prep school these last seven years. Five major changes of administration later, and my now left-behind oncepeers still look forward to a workload that grows subtly but surely each year, no way to keep employee benefit payoffs from growing a percentage point each time the calendar turns around, and a pisspoor compensation package to match despite a recent overdue raise.

So this year we're celebrating in style. Off to the Guilford Fair with the munchkins for a smalltown celebration of all things agro-rural; back soon to prep for week two teaching, excel workshops with seventh grade math students, schoolwide teacher training on the new grading software, and the geeky excitement of who knows whatall to come.

And, on my lunch break tomorrow, I'm joining the teacher's union. Any group that can create such a wonderful package of benefits and high pay while maintaining excellent relations with local taxpayers and school administration, especially when most surrounding town teachers are starting the year with no contract at all, is worth my five hundred a year. Never thought I'd say so, but hoorah for the union; may its banner yet wave.

We'll be back in netless Northampton as of tonight. More soonest, with union card to prove it.

posted by boyhowdy | 9:50 AM | 2 comments

Sunday, September 04, 2005

Fall Stories 

September's still summer but the nights are like Fall...
- Girlyman, Fall Stories



The best of intentions can get you pretty far when you've got the freedom to direct yourself. Life at the newschool continues to rock in all ways: the kids are high-energy and hilarious as only seventh and eighth graders can be; the teachers are friendly and eager for my integrative interpretation and instructional partnerships; the administration continues to check in primarily to reinforce that I'm doing great and publically visible work, and are you sure you're not in over your head?

Even those areas most vague in their expected implementation seem to be moving along faster than anyone expected, and mostly at my urging. Set up a social bookmark cluster for my co-integrators at other schools to share ideas and resources, and recieved much hurrahs in response for bringing 21st century technology to the service of our 21st century mandate. Looks like I'm in the right place at the right time.

On the other hand, of course, though you can pick your own surfboard and learn to ride with aplomb, no one can manage the waves. Major scare over the past few days as the house-to-be became a house that might not be; it's a long story involving an insane seller's agent and her extraordinarily stupid secretary, but the short version includes a hectic drive to Boston and back through Friday afternoon rush hour traffic on Labor day, and the horrifying realization that, until next Tuesday at the earliest, it is still perfectly legal for the sellers to decide that they'd rather sell the house to someone else.

Similarly, teaching in the only air-conditioned classroom in the building mitigates the low-tech computing inside, but it won't for long -- though my primary goal (teaching about computing's place in student's lives, and ultimately establishing a platform for them to better adapt to newer technologies as yet unrecognized) can be taught with any PC, it's harder to keep the kids on your side when you know, and they know, that the computers you're teaching them on are a bit too old to really support the best of what they could be doing. Teachers cite the lack of projectors and reliable computers as the primary obstacle to integration, and I may not be able to do much about either for a while.

Short-term solution for both constituencies, then, will include teaching them about how far computers have come in the last three decades, and how to identify the standard signals of computing -- title bars, windows, iconography, et. al. -- that will likely remain in place as long as we continue to use visual interfaces. At least they can do better with what they have. Oh, and hoorah for early adopters -- I'll be in all seventh grade math classrooms next week turning a jumping-jack tracking exercize into a lesson on both excel and, more importantly, the various ways to represent date and how to select the best representation for a given data-set and audience.

The horizon holds the potential for Tsunamis as always: politically, a district vote for building a new high school could create an easy excuse to withhold funding for technology growth in the schools, while the usual teacher busy-ness is a perennial stumbling block to my work. The world could end, of course, as it always can. The house could burn.

But life is good. I become the whirlwind once again, and embrace the winds of change whipping around me as best as I am able. The horizon looks sunny and clean, and so we move forward as if the world was eternal; build sand castles, design and build better surfboards, keep our beaches combed.

And I place my trust in God that no real estate agent would be so dumb as to cost her sellers an easy and eager sale just becuse her secretary can't figure out that crossing off all menu items but one in a draft Purchase and Sale agreement means we agree to the one item remaining.

posted by boyhowdy | 11:18 AM | 1 comments

Thursday, September 01, 2005

Oh...My... 

MAJOR apologies for being offline for so long. We're staying in Northampton weeknights for a while, and there's no computer; no time at work to blog (usually, heh) and gmail is blocked by firewall so I've not even been able to communicate 1:1 with cyberfolks all week. We'll get this ironed out eventually; for now, I've got fifteen minutes 'til my next class shows up, so here's a week's worth of bullets:

1. Housing: Signed paperwork on the loan yesterday and expect to close by end of month once inspections etc. are finished. Happy happy! In the short term, the commmute from Northampton isn't bad, all things considered. Ginny opens her coffee shop early so I can stop in for a much-needed latte on the way in.

2. Work: rocks. Seventh graders are tiny, but they're all bright. We're on day two of defining "computer" right now, which has been instructional for all of us. On the specialist side, teachers are coming in voluntarily -- it helps to have the only air conditioned classroom in the building ('cause computers need 'em, don'cha know). Great stuff to come, great place to be.

3. Family rocks too. Darcie made me lunch today; pre-crawler Cassia and I stayed up late babbling at each other. Willow is a mess from too many moves but has her moments good and bad like the rest of us.

Back in Brattleboro for tomorrow night and through Sun. More then!

posted by boyhowdy | 11:27 AM | 7 comments

Sunday, August 28, 2005

Life Trifecta Complete 

This morning, after three days of agony, our realtor called with a final no-we-won't-go-lower price on the house, which we promptly accepted. There's oodles of paperwork and inspections to come, but we're pretty much homeowners as of today.

In celebration, we spent an hour arguing over paint and wallpaper at Sherwin Williams with the baby, and then, after picking up the three-year-old, headed up into the wilds of mid-state Vermont for the brother-in-law's first annual pig roast and all-around jamfest -- a damn good party.

Work starts Monday with an all-district professional development day. I'll be attending a full-day workshop/discussion on technology in the district. Rumor has it most of the folks in our group have heard great things about me, are really looking forward to meeting me. Kids arrive Wednesday, and my classroom is a bare bones disaster.

And to think that five months ago, I had no job, no home, and a family of three.

We'll be nomads for six-to-eight while we close on the house, and all my school clothes remain too deep in storage to retrieve before moving. But it's all downhill from here, folks. Thanks to all who stuck by us. We now resume normal blogging, whatever the hell that might look like.

posted by boyhowdy | 1:07 AM | 4 comments

Friday, August 26, 2005

Worst Album Covers...Ever 

And they're not kidding. Easily worth the half hour on dial-up.

Still waiting to hear something, anything, re: our offer on the house. Can you tell?

posted by boyhowdy | 11:30 PM | 27 comments


The Waiting Game 

It's been 48 hours since we made an offer that's supposed to be good for only 24, and still no news from the seller's agent.

I've walked to the end of the drive and back a hundred times. I am in agony. Tums is no solace.

Please, God. Just this one more thing. For my children.

posted by boyhowdy | 12:53 PM | 2 comments

Thursday, August 25, 2005

Waiting For Godot House 

The last piece of the puzzle has the highest stakes.


I feel funny tonight. Alive. Back on the roller coaster. And I’ve just now realized why the adrenaline’s running so high.

I’ve gone and got my hope back.

I’m of two minds on this. On the one hand, the last couple of times I allowed myself to get hopeful everything went arse over teakettle. And there’s more to lose now than ever before.

On the other hand...damn, I missed hope.

My stomach’s all aflutter. My face burns. The brain starts to overload, like a constant state of overanxiety and burnout. I phonewatch, spend hours staring at photos and floorplans, check the real estate listings a hundred times a day. I walk out and wish on the stars for just a single moment when everything finally comes together. Darcie's already started designing the deck-slash-sunporch.

Tempting fate never felt so good. Nor so terrible.

posted by boyhowdy | 9:44 PM | 0 comments


The Waiting Game 

No reply from the realtor yet. Darcie seems calm, but inside I'm jumpy as a madman, our futures in the hands of some folks whose house we know but whose faces we've never seen. Hoping the homeowners came back willing to negotiate rather than hysterical laughter, of course; the kids will need new clothes soon, so something under asking price would be ideal. Full acceptance of our real-for-us but low-for-them bid would be wonderful, but at eleven percent below asking price, I'm trying not to get my hopes up too high.

In the meantime, I spent the morning two hours south (gotta fix that commute ASAP) at a district-wide training for the new school database software -- you know, attendance and scheduling and things. I'll never have to handle that side of it, but it seemed useful to know the entire information trail from teacher to secretary and back again if I'm to train teachers on grading and attendance input software in a week's time. Happily, Kay (our own school's front office datagoddess) spent the entire time touting me to a whole mess of front-office types from other schools in our district fs as the next best thing since sliced bread.

Followed that with a few hours in my new digs, wiping down surfaces and slamming unhinged drawercovers back into almostplace. The thought of trying to prep and personalize my new classroom in time for kid-arrival Wednesday brings despair, but I'm a trooper. Plus, most of the curriculum I'm thinking involves lab design and mind-to-tool literacy discourse with 8th graders, so maybe it's for the best that the place is ready to be taken apart again.

Bumped into some other teachers, who seemed happy to have me there, though. All were collegial, cheery, and genuinely nice folks to chat with. Looking like this is, indeed, the right place to be. And the constant ego-boosts don't hurt.

Now if only the realtor would call. C'mon, house...

posted by boyhowdy | 8:49 PM | 0 comments

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

A Different House 

It was our last look at the house, a final pre-purchase walk-through with parents in tow just to show off a little, spread the good cheer, get their blessing on this miracle that had, from the first moment we saw it, seemed too good to be true. We marveled at the finished basement, the humongous add-on family room, the extra bedroom. We wondered at the carefully cultivated yardage, the wide swaths of lawn, the far side of the neighbor’s fences.

And then we thought about how nervous we were, and how much work we’d have to put in, both short-term and eternally, to mold and keep the house into its greatest potential.

And then we walked away.

And went back to a much smaller home on the back of two high-canopy wooded acres, just two plots down from a beautiful waterfall, abutting a hundred undevelopable shaded walking trails put down by the army corps of engineers.

And examined every inch of the property from basement to backyard, from front porch to master bedroom.

And stood in the rooms, and thought of ourselves there, and smiled.

And in the end, we went for it. Despite sliding glass doors that opened out into a three foot drop where the previous owners had never bothered to build a deck; despite steep and narrow hardwood staircase up to the second floor. Despite a hole in the yard, round with sand and gravel fill, where a pool had until recently stood.

We almost took the house that represented all that we always said we never really wanted. But bigger isn’t better. It costs too much to keep the yard from encroaching; too much to think of the neighbors on the other side of the fence, too much to think of home as merely the interior of a house just starting to lean into the wind.

More, it costs too much to try to be the people who live in big suburban houses too much alike from the next one. Too much to worry that the big yardtree might fall, leaving us bereft of shade. Too much, indeed, to pretend that we can afford oil for twelve. Too much to spend our lives and weekend hours desperately holding back the encroaching weeds and self-imposed expectations of grandeur.

Instead, we went for the house that seemed like us. The house with room to wander and build. The house we could afford to keep and then some.

The house that felt like home.

And for the first time in a thousand days, we feel like the kind of mature, sensible, grounded and centered adults who deserve it.

Because, in the end, it wasn’t about the house. It was about us. And here as in all things, bigger isn’t better. It’s the peace within us, the spirits of love and laughter and adventure we hold over ourselves like a wedding canopy, wrap ourselves in like a wedding blanket, snuggle into four in a bed every night, that mattered.

So we bid this morning on the house we can afford in all ways – financially and emotionally, ego-wise and in its sheer growth potential. Better, though, we bid on the house that already seemed ready to receive us for who we are, a fifth spoke in our wheel, container and core for the love that we share.

And this is it!

Thanks to Mom, Dad, and Darcie’s parents, who took one look at the house and – each in their own respectful way, proactive or subtle – helped us realize that we were neither them nor the Joneses. They’ll always be welcome in our home.

And thanks to them - assuming, of course, that the sellers accept our bid - we’ll always feel welcome there, too.

posted by boyhowdy | 8:40 PM | 3 comments

Sunday, August 21, 2005

So Little To Say 

Most blogging is reporting: internal or external; emotional or analytic; solipsism, true news, or merely mundania. For too long, though, we've been in staisis, drifting on the winds, and there's only so much one can say anew about another late summer afternoon chalking up the old wooden playstructure out back with the kids, another starry moonless night smoking on the back porch after the neighborhood has otherwise fallen fast asleep.

And there's only so much one can say about the future, whether one is reporting fear or merely enumerating plans as yet to go awry. Though I know some will be happy for us when we've finished the dirty deed, too little of you care, I fear, about the utterly dull housebuying process we're about to subject ourselves to. Neither, truly, could you wish to hear about yet another night in a hotel, or the condo we've managed to rent from a friend for the weekdays hence until houseclosing is upon us.

As such, I've got nothin' newsworthy for you. Sorry, folks -- maybe I'll blog from my classroom while I'm setting it up over the next few days, let you have a snapshot of the truly archaic computer lab set-up we're starting with. And I'll certainly let y'all know about Tuesday's projected first offer, if it's recieved well. But do you really want to hear about the agonizing hour I just spent deciding what to wear to meet the district administrators and parents councilmembers tomorrow? No, I didn't think so.

So let there be silence while I head down Wilbraham way for new teacher training tomorrow, sit down with the realtor and make a formal offer the day after if we can get the ducks in the proverbial row. We'll be back for one more round on the ol' in-law dial-up by Wednesday, and I'll be sure to check in.

posted by boyhowdy | 9:10 PM | 3 comments


Top Five: Randomalia 


Top 5 least believable spam senders:
  1. Caked M. Paychecks
  2. Garner T. Cruelty
  3. Diarist J. Slavis
  4. uefkalxcb
  5. Letha

Top 5 questions we've decided not to ask the people selling the house we want:
  1. Which topless bar is closer?
  2. If you weren't moving to South Carolina for work, would you keep the house?
  3. What's the most annoying thing about living there?
  4. What are you hiding?
  5. Can we keep your pool table?

Top five things about this house that make me nervous
  1. .73 acres -- is it really enough long-term?
  2. Those huge animal holes in the front lawn.
  3. Two tiny kids plus a porch that literally drops straight into the aboveground pool equals one horrible disaster.
  4. No garage.
  5. We're going to be spending 40% of my salary on this mother. Is that even possible to work with?

Top 5 stupid things to worry about:
  1. that my seventh graders might not like me
  2. that the dog won't like the new house
  3. that my daughter might realize, someday, that I'm a total dork
  4. that I break a fingernail just as I'm going to shake hands with someone important, like the president or something, and the ragged edge cuts the palm of their hand so hard, the secret service takes me down
  5. that nobody likes me

I was going to do a 5 x 5, but after far too long trying to upload even one of a thousand photos that might look good framed in the new house, it's looking like the Top 5 greatest pix from the last two months will have to wait 'til we're off dial-up.

posted by boyhowdy | 12:19 AM | 6 comments
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