Love the online version of The New York Times . Love, love, love it. However—and this has a big capital H, followed by a long pause wherein I don’t type—however, a recent mailing they sent caused me to heartedly question our future together. First off let me share with you that I am grateful every time I peruse their online edition, and have been for more than five years. There is no paper to unfold and fold, no ink smearing my fingertips, no yellowing newsprint stored in my recycle bin, and no trudging said paper off to the Duxbury town dump. (I don’t abide calling it a “transfer station.” “Dump” gets us where we need to go 75% quicker.) Most enjoyable, though, is not having to pick through murders and robberies and other garbage to find my science and health news. Unlike the printed paper, online I see only headlines and snippets until I click a specific article that I choose to read. This makes for less junk going to my subconscious. I keep a clean mind, see. So, I’m reading th...
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You shouldn’t encourage me you know!
Hey, I’m willing to bet they rent by the hour rather than the night. Unless you’re using the honeymoon suite which is a four hour minimum. No pets though.
You had me looking up Davey lamp: A safety lamp lit by a candle. Enough Davey lamps in a room would lend a real romantic atmosphere. Demand pumpkin scented ones, for nothing says Thanksgiving and Your Money's On the Dresser like pumpkin.
Say, were you named after the lamp?
Yes. That’s how I came to be named. My parents were both miners and I was conceived in a deep shaft. The lamp was used so that my dad could see where he was drilling.