Jordan Peterson is my homeboy?

Well… not exactly.

Don’t get me wrong, I’d totally hang out with the guy — and I am very interested in much of what he has to say — but I throw my endorsements around like manhole covers.

That is to say: I like his work, but I certainly have some concerns and ideological quibbles here and there.

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Virgil Eugene Minor IV (1977-2018)

We buried you today, Virgil. It was a hot, humid, and miserably typical East Texas day in late July.

The ceremony was a blur, leaving all of us feeling worn out, raw, and yet numb at the same time.

Indeed, it was a high school class reunion from hell.

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XLI (reflections upon my 41st year)

41st birthday cakeToday is my forty-first birthday, and it feels… well, anti-climactic. There is absolutely nothing significant about turning 41.

Of course, my birthday falling on a weekday probably didn’t help. This morning I just got up, went to work, ate dinner, went to church, and now I type these words sprawled out on my bed.

Having eclipsed most age-related milestones, it would seem the only birthdays that still “mean something” will be when I surpass another decade. Turning 40, or 50, or 60, or 70, or 80… may be a big damn deal, but add a year and it’s suddenly anti-climax.

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