Legends of the hidden temple

Man Under Bridge

I’ve had my desk since I was in the third grade. It’s seen me through all sorts of things: calculus and Jacques Lacan, puka shells and straightened hair, the death of my cat Milton and the ensuing existential crisis. As desks go, its surface is pretty plain — a natural
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Foot-in-mouth syndrome

Man Under Bridge

God have mercy, doesn’t he know people can hear him? He does, but sometimes words just slip out. Such is the plight of that guy, suffering from the occasional bout of foot-in-mouth syndrome. It happens to a lot of people, but it doesn’t make it any less awkward. The faces reminiscent
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Color me orange, grandma

Man Under Bridge

My grandma has her first scotch around noon. She’s not an alcoholic — her first scotch normally lasts for a few hours. But it’s warm in Huntington Beach, and why not take the edge off with some Johnny Walker and a few ice cubes? She wears orange on St. Patrick’s
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It rained on our parade

Man Under Bridge

In a world without Robert Reich, where would we be? For starters, probably not out on Sproul that cold November night. Reich’s speech was critical in bringing thousands of students to the Occupy Cal protest last semester and was definitely an important moment for the movement to refund the UC.
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Watching the wave crash

Man Under Bridge

My uncle tends to be contrarian. He relishes being able to play devil’s advocate and goes to great lengths to prove the smallest points — I look up to him. We’ll be sitting around drinking coffee, and I swear to God Atlas is shrugging and Ayn Rand is asking for
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‘Can you hear me now?’

Man Under Bridge

I’m new to the smartphone game. Every day I feel like I learn something new. A better app for this, a better way to store that. The way my phone has the capability to do so much in such a little frame, the way it documents and organizes my life
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The sweet science of snap

Man Under Bridge

Words have failed us. The up and down head nod has gone the way of the dinosaur and applause is something reserved only for the State of the Union or the final lecture of the semester. In their place: the snap. No, these snappers aren’t keeping time. They aren’t snapping
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Kind of like peas in a pod

Man Under Bridge

I grew up behind the orange curtain in a city of wide streets and Del Taco. One of those suburban cookie-cutter places in Orange County, the kind of scene subject to satire after satire, was home to me for 18 years. Then I made the great pilgrimage to Berkeley — perhaps
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