Beauty Is In the I-Pod of the Beholder

Sadly, it’s over. It is clear to me that the bond I believed existed between us was a mere figment of my imagination. I am embarrassed, naturally. For a time there, it seemed as if you could read my mind, anticipate my every whim, each passing desire. I see now that I was horribly mistaken. In an instant, it is if I am suddenly in the presence of a stranger who does not know the first thing about me. Or, more to the point, one who does not know the first thing about my musical preferences. I’m sorry to say this but, dear ‘Recommendations for You’ on the iTunes store, you don’t understand me at all.
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An Open Letter to the Treasurer of Australia

Dear Wayne,

We are from different generations, you and I. I’m just that little bit younger and, as a result, cannot count myself as part of the ‘Springsteen Generation’. Whereas you claim you were ‘born to run’, in contrast, having grown up in the 1980s I am ‘born to RUN DMC.’ This means that I am committed both to keeping it real and to kicking it old school style. Word up. And because I am a member of the hip-hop generation, allow me to give it to you straight. I like Bruce Springsteen. I even have a couple of his albums. I understand completely that people draw their inspiration from the most unlikely of sources and if I had you pegged more as a ‘Popcorn’ by Hot Butter kind of guy, then allow me to be the first to admit I was wrong.
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Saddle Up! Taking the High Horse out for a Gallop

Dust off the saddle. Strap on the riding boots, prepare the bridle and slip into your best pair of jodhpurs. While you’re at it, oil up the spurs and fix your preferred crash helmet firmly to your noggin. Why? Because it’s time to get on the high horse. And once firmly seated astride that mighty steed, I plan to ride that thing into the sunset; its hooves cracking against the bedrock of reason and logic, together we will gallop great distances until all those who resist us collapse with exhaustion.
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