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I owe some clerk, juggins, or dogsbody at the Supreme Court a heartfelt thanks.

As I attempt to wean myself off social media, the recently leaked draft decision (you know which one) has helped me immensely. I’ve barely been on Twitter at all the last two days, because I’m 100 percent not interested in getting smacked over the head with people’s takes and countertakes.

(Is the erosion of personal freedom and individual rights worth getting strident over? Sure it is. I just don’t feel like being hosed down with it.)

I stay in touch with an old friend via Twitter messaging and that’s the hook in my mouth that keeps me there. I feel like I’m getting more and more comfortable with not sharing any of my own useless commentary in 240-character chunks with the world at large. I’m at the post-rarely, delete-mostly stage.

Will it keep up? I can only hope.

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If you were to discover two bookmarks in the same book, would that tell you that the book in question must be well-loved? Or would it tell you the opposite, given that the book had clearly been put down half-read at some point and never resumed?

(This is the sort of worthless observation I would post on social media. And yes, it is inspired by actual events.)

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The ceaseless Internet nostalgia factory today coughed out a revisit of The NFL Fun Book II, which I bought at a Scholastic book fair in 1981 and read numerous times. It was an interesting forty-five seconds to browse through it again. The NFL was fun, once. Or maybe I was just a kid attracted by the bright colors and creative wordmarks and didn’t know better.

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CD of the nonce: Chick Corea’s 1968 Now He Sings, Now He Sobs, which I bought for my dad many years ago and then ended up with when he ditched his CDs.

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