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It was weird hearing him speak.

As host of “All Things Considered,” the flagship program on National Public Radio (NPR), Ari Shapiro is a distinct voice — in sound and in his observations.

This must be the place

I’m entering hostile waters here, folks.

So, bear with me as I bring up this ideology I recently heard, which is that feminism and Islam are both “set on destroying the American way of life.” 

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What the hell, I figured.

Sometime around midnight, and somewhere around my third beer, I decided to send her a message.

There were left hooks and right uppercuts. The crowd couldn’t look away as they cringed with each blast and low blow. There was cheering and there were muttered remarks of disgust under the tongues in this presence of this public spectacle. It wasn’t a heavyweight match. It was the second presidential debate in the 2016 election this past Monday evening. 

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I underestimated it.

Stepping into the grand ballroom at the Raleigh Convention Center last Thursday morning, I really didn’t think the occasion would be as big as it actually was. It was the awards luncheon for the International Bluegrass Music Association and I was among those nominated for “Bluegrass Print/Media Person of the Year.” 

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Why do you write?

I write because I was told at a very young age, at some point in elementary school, that “there was something wrong” with me, and that I lacked the skills to not only concentrate but also contribute to society.

There were two primetime spectacles Monday evening. One was the first presidential debate between candidates Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump. The second immediately followed the debate, when John and Jane Q. Public took to their smart phones and computers to spout their political opinions, many of which seemed as if the couple ran out onto their front yards across America, ripping off their clothing in a state of madness and confusion, pounding their chests and howling up to the heavens, in hopes of being loud enough that the neighbors would hear, turn on their porch light and say, “What the hell is going on over there?”

Say what you will about Clinton and Trump, there isn’t much left that hasn’t already been plastered or dumped onto the world spotlight. Watching the debate, Clinton resembled Tracy Flick from the film “Election,” poised and ready for any curveball thrown at her, but also seemingly perfect and untouchable to a fault, something voters can’t seem to swallow when deciding who to cast a ballot for.

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I teared up immediately.

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It pushed me back a couple of feet.

This must be the place

I awoke with a bit of a chill in the air.

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