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The Inseide Dope, by Bob Seidenstein

Lost in inner space

Sometimes I think I’m the most disorganized person on God’s Green Earth. Maybe that’s hyperbole, but then again, maybe it’s not. I’ve been to a bunch of foreign countries, but not all of them, so I can’t claim verifiable status as Number One. But I’d bet lira to latkes I’m in ...

Sic transit gloria mundi

It hits me every November, like clockwork. Sometimes it’s earlier in the month, sometimes it’s later. But it’s always there — like an uninvited guest. “It” is the JFK assassination and my being drawn back into that vortex of violence, gloom, confusion and conspiracy theories. It ...

The H2O blues

Although I came of age in the Glory Days of Gearheads, I wasn’t one, myself. To those guys, a car represented freedom, power, and style. To me, it was internal-combustion-powered servitude. First, you had to buy it. You had only two choices: One was a Real Junker; the other was a Pseudo ...

Winning the Dope Trifecta

I’m lucky that I was never cursed with ambition. OK, maybe “never” is too strong a word. I can recall a time early in seventh grade when I had a drive and ambition or two, but luckily by the time eighth grade rolled around, they were naught but vague and distant memories. After that, ...

Ice ice, baby!

Last Sunday found me at Cavu Cafe, the finest breakfast joint north of Saratoga’s Triangle Diner (which I consider the finest b’fast joint south of Cavu). I was with three of my favorite people — Chuck Jessie and Clark Cummings. We have some interesting semi-connections. I say ...

Back to school

My pal Peter Crowley, former ADE editor, had a midlife career change and became a teacher — an English teacher, no less. What compelled him to do it? I’ve no idea. Certainly, it wasn’t due to incessant prodding on my behalf — or any prodding of mine, for that matter. The boy wants ...