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Time to answer some letters...
letter one
Larry Houck 70 proof: Hey, life's tough all over. The 70 proof staff is very busy, what with the parole hearings, AA meetings, and stints in detox. If only there were 24 hours in a day. But it's our solemn promise to you, our valued readers, that we will keep the site running no matter what... unless, you know, something better comes along.
letter two
Virginia Rowse 70 proof: Hmm ha. James Joyce is a tricky subject. Let's start with "Ulysses." There's not enough alcohol in the world to get me to like this book. It's a one-way ticket to Boresville. It's just not my kind of thing. I know a lot of people love it, and it was ranked as the best novel of the 20th century by the Modern Library and whatnot, but I wouldn't even use it to prop up a broken chair in fear it would fail to hold dead weight's attention. Although, I reckon it would be a good selection if you had to like crack open a walnut or squash some sort of insect. Consulting my notes on the text, the only thing I deemed necessary to jot down was "Greatness can be hollow." Take that for what it's worth. "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man" was equally grueling. It didn't exactly make an impact. The only thing I can remember for sure about the book is that I never want to read it again. It's times like these that I'm thankful for blackouts. I gave Joyce one more crack with "Dubliners." I'm glad I did. It's a collection of short stories that doesn't always hit the mark, but "Eveline" and "The Dead" are exceptional. Both deal with the maddening topic of love. "The Dead" may be one of my favorite pieces of literature. It looks at the specter of loves past and the effect death has on life. I actually purchased a copy of "Dubliners" for "The Dead" alone, so that should tell you something. Sure, it was only like five bucks, but that's two shots of house gin.
Janet Wood 70 proof: Bolivia (Simon Bolivar).
Nicole Cassidy 70 proof: I've only ever read "Fountainhead." I thought the first 350 pages or so were amazing and then Ms. Rand just went buckwild with theory, clubbing the reader over the head with her Objectivism philosophy. Subtlety was no friend of hers. Sonny Liston wasn't so heavy-handed. I actually have a copy of "Atlas Shrugged" sitting in my palatial office at this very moment, but I have a new rule that I don't read anything that weighs more than I do. So unless I start eating more solid foods, Atlas is gonna keep on shruggin' without me.
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