tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44629908584619064762024-03-13T08:25:20.335-04:00I LIE TO YOU ABOUT TWICE A DAYSAMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07722626025473535761noreply@blogger.comBlogger501125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4462990858461906476.post-10222392903807926872014-06-15T10:02:00.000-04:002014-06-15T10:02:14.748-04:00<blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
You know it's time<br />
That we grow old and do some shit </blockquote>
</blockquote>
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</blockquote>
--Broken Social Scene, <i>Lover's Spit</i>SAMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01625893515882347649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4462990858461906476.post-13391622634188369682014-03-08T22:30:00.000-05:002014-03-08T22:30:00.269-05:00<blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
But I don't have to know an answer. I don't feel frightened by not knowing things, by being lost in the mysterious universe without having any purpose--which is the way it really is, as far as I can tell. It doesn't frighten me.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<div>
--Richard Feynman<br />
<br /></div>
SAMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01625893515882347649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4462990858461906476.post-35799120221461259662013-11-24T22:46:00.002-05:002013-11-24T22:49:27.808-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJH58Z-NyjkH7gjekxoxw0qKmxjtQLpOMLbRsNw0-pL66uWKOuVQWlFm66s9MLpd-mrEnxBCMWeJAduL4XtShx_Z7D_ghJ8Q4B3TuER1ngz9ajiCAMsJ78h6W8sLTbIU3X2JXFaRSATi26/s1600/Screen+Shot+2013-11-24+at+10.40.25+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJH58Z-NyjkH7gjekxoxw0qKmxjtQLpOMLbRsNw0-pL66uWKOuVQWlFm66s9MLpd-mrEnxBCMWeJAduL4XtShx_Z7D_ghJ8Q4B3TuER1ngz9ajiCAMsJ78h6W8sLTbIU3X2JXFaRSATi26/s1600/Screen+Shot+2013-11-24+at+10.40.25+PM.png" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 24px;">Remember when you first discovered that hypocrisy existed?</span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 24px;">You </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 24px;">wanted to take on the world, cure it of dishonesty single-handedly, by force. </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 24px;">And then you got older, your interests shifted. You settled. That process seemed </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 24px;">to have passed Columbus by. I kept meeting thirty-, forty-, fifty-year-old men </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 24px;">who never outgrew the impractical, combative, unspecific yearning that accompanies </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 24px;">one's first awareness that this world is not as it should be. It felt like I </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 24px;">was </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 24px;">having really important conversations, but maybe I was just soused.</span></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;">--Lisa Carver, <i><a href="http://www.nerve.com/personalessays/carver/columbusohio" target="_blank">Goodbye Columbus</a></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;">I should photocopy this essay and hand it to anyone who asks me where I'm from. Also, Larry's.</span></div>
SAMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01625893515882347649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4462990858461906476.post-11367336869974045712013-10-13T13:33:00.000-04:002013-10-13T13:33:33.030-04:00<blockquote>
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The newest girl's called Samantha and she's a problem. She's dark and heavy-browed and has a mouth like unswept glass--when you least expect it she cuts you. </blockquote>
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--Junot Diaz, <i>Otravida, Otravez</i>SAMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01625893515882347649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4462990858461906476.post-79233654301586386382013-08-03T03:14:00.000-04:002013-08-03T03:16:02.577-04:00<blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
There comes a moment, when you get lost in the woods, when the woods begin to feel like home. </blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"> --Jeffrey Eugenides, <i>The Marriage Plot</i></span>SAMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01625893515882347649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4462990858461906476.post-23054042165751393342013-06-02T15:02:00.000-04:002013-06-02T15:02:21.699-04:00<blockquote>
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He has no wish to upset what must be…a precarious double life. He is all for double lives, triple lives, lives lived in compartments. </blockquote>
</blockquote>
--J. M. Coetzee, <i>Disgrace</i>SAMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01625893515882347649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4462990858461906476.post-28321043815459548922013-05-19T21:45:00.001-04:002013-05-19T21:46:15.636-04:00LEAPFROG THAT PROBLEM! FIND THE REAL PROBLEM!<blockquote>
<blockquote>
Afterward, when most of the students had left, he was franker with the few who hung around to talk. “You’re still not really getting it,” he said gloomily. “You’re thinking in terms of ideas. I don’t care about ideas. Find a <i>problem</i>, not an idea. Then solve the problem. Somebody had an idea to help stores in India so the food touched by untouchables didn’t have to be thrown away. No—leapfrog that problem! Find the real problem! Forget about the thrown-away food—make it possible for the untouchables to be <i>touchable</i>! It’s all about empathy! Right now you’re attempting small things. I want something fantastic. Not something good, not even something great—something fantastic. Find a problem so outrageous in its scope that it’s probably impossible. Start on it right away—next class. You have only seven more weeks in the semester.”</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
--Ian Frazier, <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2013/05/20/130520fa_fact_frazier" target="_blank"><i>Form and Fungus </i></a>SAMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01625893515882347649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4462990858461906476.post-71511334970045777132013-05-10T10:54:00.000-04:002014-05-26T09:16:10.075-04:00~*~*~*~*~*~OLD SHIT // NEW SHIT~*~*~*~*~*~I transferred this blog to <a href="http://fridtjofnansen.tumblr.com/" target="_blank"><b>Tumblr</b></a>. But I dunno, this format has been treating me well for four years. We shall see.SAMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01625893515882347649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4462990858461906476.post-31750576312228161732013-05-08T09:40:00.000-04:002013-05-08T09:43:36.664-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://25.media.tumblr.com/c3dd33f3b0243395af5869a86dac6ae5/tumblr_mmflif3Grh1qz4v5ho1_400.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://25.media.tumblr.com/c3dd33f3b0243395af5869a86dac6ae5/tumblr_mmflif3Grh1qz4v5ho1_400.png" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Horned lizards shoot jets of <span class="highlighted2">blood</span> from their eyes for distances of up to five feet. I don’t know <em>why</em> they do this because whenever I reach the phrase “shoot jets of <span class="highlighted2">blood</span> from their eyes” in an article I just stop there and stare at it until I need to lie down.</span></span></blockquote>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">--</span><a href="http://what-if.xkcd.com/44/" style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" target="_blank">What If?</a> (<a href="http://ayjay.tumblr.com/post/49854422784/horned-lizards-shoot-jets-of-blood-from-their-eyes" target="_blank">via</a>)SAMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01625893515882347649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4462990858461906476.post-82697524305212955762013-04-30T20:29:00.000-04:002013-04-30T20:29:15.436-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWyhDCsKl821RWCymtodQSvaJdJsjPzNo11H57x_JTaStq7ZqnlBneZ0m5IIGCWCXRdVLuKY5e99HISFdrWqEm0MnIrw-C7zlqRGtbG0HzMmLUgaTtXcWTAwNRxheZGa0Q3D8MyEsbS_AG/s1600/tumblr_mju88943Ro1r8wluzo1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWyhDCsKl821RWCymtodQSvaJdJsjPzNo11H57x_JTaStq7ZqnlBneZ0m5IIGCWCXRdVLuKY5e99HISFdrWqEm0MnIrw-C7zlqRGtbG0HzMmLUgaTtXcWTAwNRxheZGa0Q3D8MyEsbS_AG/s1600/tumblr_mju88943Ro1r8wluzo1_500.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />SAMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01625893515882347649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4462990858461906476.post-80521906028313192442013-04-26T13:28:00.000-04:002013-04-26T15:23:27.078-04:00<blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Once I wanted to be the greatest<br />
two fists of solid rock<br />
with brains that could explain<br />
any feeling</blockquote>
</blockquote>
--Cat Power, <i>The Greatest</i>SAMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01625893515882347649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4462990858461906476.post-7633768620208244192013-04-15T00:00:00.000-04:002013-04-15T00:00:09.605-04:00<blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
What we were arguing about that night--and it was late, very late, 3:10 A.M. by my watch--was something that had happened nearly twelve hours earlier. A small thing, really, but by this time it had grown all out of proportion and poisoned everything we said, as if we didn't have enough problems already. Mallory was relentless. And I was feeling defensive and maybe more than a little paranoid. We were both drunk. Or, if not drunk, at least loosened up by what we'd consumed at Chris Wright's place in the wake of the incident and then at dinner after and the bar after that. I could smell the nighttime stink of the river. I looked up and watched the sky expand overhead and then shrink down to fit me like a safety helmet. A truck went blatting by on the interstate, and then it was silent, but for the mosquitoes singing their blood song, while the rest of the insect world screeched either in protest or accord, I couldn't tell which, thrumming and thrumming, until the night felt as if it were going to burst open and leave us shattered in the grass.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
--T. Coraghessan Boyle, <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/features/2013/04/15/130415fi_fiction_boyle" target="_blank"><i>The Night of the Satellite</i></a><br />
<br />
This is such a good way to start a story<i>.</i> This is such a good story. <i><br /></i>SAMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01625893515882347649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4462990858461906476.post-49286760527963502702013-04-08T13:08:00.000-04:002013-04-08T13:08:16.231-04:00ON A YA FICTION KICK, FEELIN GOOD<blockquote>
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Sandy said, "Why does Meg always exaggerate everything? Why does she have to be so cosmic? What's for dessert?"</blockquote>
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--Madeleine L'Engle, <i>A Wind in the Door</i>SAMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01625893515882347649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4462990858461906476.post-57717939118411257242013-04-01T02:04:00.000-04:002013-04-01T02:04:16.504-04:00<blockquote>
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A day after I got my eye cut out, Gus showed up at the hospital. I was blind and heartbroken and didn't want to do anything and Gus burst into my room and shouted, 'I have wonderful news!' And I was like, 'I don't really want to hear wonderful news right now,' and Gus said, 'This is wonderful news you want to hear,' and I asked him, 'Fine, what is it?' and he said, 'You are going to live a good and long life filled with great and terrible moments you cannot even imagine yet!'</blockquote>
</blockquote>
--John Green, <i>The Fault in Our Stars</i>SAMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01625893515882347649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4462990858461906476.post-46709509264280088162013-03-24T23:34:00.000-04:002013-03-24T23:34:21.084-04:00<blockquote>
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...No education is politically neutral.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
-bell hooks, <i>Teaching to Transgress: Education as the Practice of Freedom</i>SAMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01625893515882347649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4462990858461906476.post-67946192830520136722013-03-18T21:59:00.002-04:002013-03-18T21:59:30.535-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE4O5IIkp5gTLUw6A8Utpb0ZK4J6W6KkB1rniWHatZw11xpdk6QNNFe5lNxQgT2romIPNZ_z9EAUjyCFIZ7dOSbgkVykoVFhnJ0uzPjdkItK6teN5idfMdt1134X5LgN-K1OUzUB8T7d9e/s1600/Screen+Shot+2013-03-18+at+6.12.45+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE4O5IIkp5gTLUw6A8Utpb0ZK4J6W6KkB1rniWHatZw11xpdk6QNNFe5lNxQgT2romIPNZ_z9EAUjyCFIZ7dOSbgkVykoVFhnJ0uzPjdkItK6teN5idfMdt1134X5LgN-K1OUzUB8T7d9e/s640/Screen+Shot+2013-03-18+at+6.12.45+PM.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />SAMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07722626025473535761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4462990858461906476.post-17011637455346765812013-01-21T20:18:00.000-05:002013-01-21T20:18:04.014-05:00<blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Some days he was more than that. Some days he could encompass the world. Some days he could see for miles. Some days he climbed over the foothills of indifference to see the landscape of his life and future for what it was: mappable, traversable, achievable. Everything he wanted to do had been done before, so why couldn't he do it? He could. If only he could engage on a continual basis. If only he could draw up a plan and execute it. He could! He had to believe he could. Of course he did."</blockquote>
</blockquote>
--Dave Eggers, <i>A Hologram for the King</i>SAMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01625893515882347649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4462990858461906476.post-30950066442959918272013-01-10T22:50:00.001-05:002013-01-10T22:50:39.819-05:00THERE'S A LOT GOING ON UNDERNEATH, PT. 2<blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Sometimes you are able to keep moving because you are not really yourself anymore."</blockquote>
</blockquote>
--Karen Russell, <i>Swamplandia!</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And:<br />
<br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
"When life knocks me down, I get back up, take a step back, look at it, and say, 'you hit like a bitch.'"</blockquote>
</blockquote>
--Garinger HS studentSAMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01625893515882347649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4462990858461906476.post-76365985417156676262013-01-07T19:02:00.000-05:002013-01-07T19:02:27.126-05:00GO IN PEACE. WE WERE BLESSED TO KNOW YOU.I don't know, I have been hearing these sorts of things too much of late. 2013 was supposed to be the Year of Less Death but someone's not holding up their end of the bargain. SAMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01625893515882347649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4462990858461906476.post-72045790042984327032013-01-02T11:29:00.000-05:002013-01-02T11:29:03.612-05:00HAPPY NEW YEAR<blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“I’ve lived out my melancholy youth. I don’t give a fuck anymore what’s
behind me, or what’s ahead of me. I’m healthy. Incurably healthy. No
sorrows, no regrets. No past, no future. The present is enough for me.
Day by day. Today!”</blockquote>
</blockquote>
--Henry Miller, <i>Tropic of Cancer</i> (<a href="http://slaughterhouse90210.tumblr.com/post/39474589670/ive-lived-out-my-melancholy-youth-i-dont-give" target="_blank">via</a>) SAMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01625893515882347649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4462990858461906476.post-62530927351507728862012-12-30T13:18:00.000-05:002012-12-30T13:18:31.514-05:00KING OF THE BATHTUB<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7h-LQo6zrkqSS0w-ZcxMIt4ijEcKnx0HlvGT3BXgM7X3TfihgCGnqMQ10d-VuS6urZgJ6_nXpPo9QZVJ4T6FZnacvN9qsmmRB-YBol3rRBk80GkV_z3enHnLzlJlkbnWNk1PypuTvULqf/s1600/tumblr_mfekumeTFo1qgl4mho2_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7h-LQo6zrkqSS0w-ZcxMIt4ijEcKnx0HlvGT3BXgM7X3TfihgCGnqMQ10d-VuS6urZgJ6_nXpPo9QZVJ4T6FZnacvN9qsmmRB-YBol3rRBk80GkV_z3enHnLzlJlkbnWNk1PypuTvULqf/s400/tumblr_mfekumeTFo1qgl4mho2_1280.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />SAMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01625893515882347649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4462990858461906476.post-24777497843071338362012-12-29T17:11:00.002-05:002012-12-29T17:11:46.119-05:00I was asked to blog about my thoughts or life, I think Ian covers both pretty well.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_VXSWXYdZgToHBFMtn2HZvaJfDxTbX4Kxe2UQeHEf11wv7kODzaEpPO8hYqdJlq0iAluElWozj01zqy6ipsuOrIZpXTfGghgzw9dKalqt8zrNCbqFC48AvdHQfAX-5z_OFpTFDMgcSZy2/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-12-29+at+5.07.31+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="105" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_VXSWXYdZgToHBFMtn2HZvaJfDxTbX4Kxe2UQeHEf11wv7kODzaEpPO8hYqdJlq0iAluElWozj01zqy6ipsuOrIZpXTfGghgzw9dKalqt8zrNCbqFC48AvdHQfAX-5z_OFpTFDMgcSZy2/s320/Screen+Shot+2012-12-29+at+5.07.31+PM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />SAMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07722626025473535761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4462990858461906476.post-91604035467820814162012-12-10T20:12:00.000-05:002012-12-10T20:12:42.724-05:00<blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I was preparing to leave when I spotted an album with a wonderful title: "More Songs About Buildings and Food." You will probably already know who it was by--I didn't. The Talking Heads. As I stopped to admire it, I was gripped by melancholy, similar perhaps to the feeling a certain kind of man gets while sitting with his wife on a train platform as a beautiful girl--different in all aspects from his wife--walks by. <i>There goes my other life</i>. Is it too late to get into the Talking Heads? Do I have the time? What kind of person would I be if I knew this album at all, or well?</blockquote>
</blockquote>
--Zadie Smith, <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2012/12/17/121217fa_fact_smith" target="_blank"><i>My Epiphany About Joni Mitchell</i></a>SAMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07722626025473535761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4462990858461906476.post-75253385120057560082012-11-07T19:15:00.000-05:002012-11-07T19:15:27.629-05:00BEHOLD, THE NEW JERUSALEM!<blockquote>
<blockquote>
But make no mistake: Change is a motherfucker when you run from it. And
right now, the conservative movement in America is fleeing from dramatic
change that is certain and immutable. A man of color is president for
the second time, and this happened despite a struggling economic climate
and a national spirit of general discontent. He has been returned to
office over the specific objections of the mass of white men. He has
instead been re-elected by women, by people of color, by homosexuals, by
people of varying religions or no religion whatsoever. Behold the New
Jerusalem. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a white man, of
course. There’s nothing wrong with being anything. That’s the point.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
--David Simon, <i><a href="http://www.blogger.com/davidsimon.com/inevitabilities-and-barack-obama/">Inevitabilities and Barack Obama</a></i>SAMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07722626025473535761noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4462990858461906476.post-24069549364487069102012-08-25T16:38:00.000-04:002012-08-25T16:38:12.826-04:00<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“I am, and ever will be, a white socks, pocket protector, nerdy
engineer,” he said in February 2000 in a rare public appearance. “And I
take a substantial amount of pride in the accomplishments of my
profession.” </blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
--<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2012/08/26/science/space/neil-armstrong-dies-first-man-on-moon.html?pagewanted=2&hp&pagewanted=all" target="_blank">Neil Armstrong Obituary </a>SAMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07722626025473535761noreply@blogger.com0