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John Baker's Blog

Reflections of a working writer and reader

When I was nine, my fountain pen (packed in cotton) arrived as a "sample of no commercial value" all the way from Aachen, where my grandmother (the kindly donor) used to live. I lay in bed with the flu, while the February winds howled around the apartment house. This splendid fountain pen came in a red leather case, and I showed it to my girlfriends the first chance I got. Me, Anne Frank, the proud owner of a fountain pen.

Presque vu LXI

‘We’re not on a plantation, Clint.’ Spike Lee hits back in war of words over black soldiers.

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The optimist says, This is the best of all possible worlds. The pessimist says, You’re right. Anon.

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Yes we can. Yes we can elect another Republican president. Un.fortun.ately.

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