Word: mothers
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...bloggers and newspapers that took Eisenstadt’s extremist rhetoric and ran with it, but in reality this is no laughing matter. The Eisenstadt hoax reveals numerous newspapers that failed to do basic fact-checking and a coterie of liberal bloggers such as those at “Mother Jones” and “Talking Points Memo” who saw utterly absurd reactionary rhetoric and believed it to be authentic, no questions asked—and then used Eisenstadt’s blog posts to pillory his party...
...mother too had been excited that night, spreading maps over the dining room table, commenting on our route. When she was in her 20s she had driven to California with a friend. They came across a rowdy biker rally in Sturgis, North Dakota, and my favorite part of the story is the motel itself that was like a biker paradise: bikers at the pool, tattooed and lounging, with girlfriends, wives and kids. They were still there when she left to get on the road in the morning. You see, traveling is my one inheritance...
...ticking away. Summers were starting to disappear, and in the not so distant future I’d have to get a job that, unless I became a teacher like my parents, would involve a sprinkled dribble of vacation days. Not enough time to circle the country, like my mother had, or to traverse a continent across the sea, the act my father had repeated for so many summers...
...left, and when I did, my mother said to take lots of pictures and my father said to write down the good things, so I did that too. The point was (they implied) to prevent the country from passing in a blur of bus station lines; the idea being that otherwise, I would soon forget...
...after my mother stayed with the bikers, she stopped at an overlook to take pictures. The pull-off was nearly empty. The only person there was a biker by himself all in dusty black, a wild beard, parked and marveling at the scenery. This is something that she remembers with a laugh and has told us often...