<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rdf:RDF xmlns="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xmlns:sy="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/syndication/" xmlns:rdf="http://www.w3.org/1999/02/22-rdf-syntax-ns#"><channel rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/BlogRss.aspx/DeptBadIdeas"><title>The Department of Really Bad Ideas - Blogit</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/DeptBadIdeas/</link><description /><sy:updatePeriod>hourly</sy:updatePeriod><sy:updateFrequency>1</sy:updateFrequency><sy:updateBase>2000-01-01T12:00+00:00</sy:updateBase><items><rdf:Seq><rdf:li resource="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/DeptBadIdeas/221295" /></rdf:Seq></items></channel><item rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/DeptBadIdeas/221295"><title>January 10, 1995</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/DeptBadIdeas/221295</link><description>At the age of 21, I learn that there is nothing more bitterly miserable than Pittsburgh in January. I moved into the tiny studio on Oakland street on an August day filled with low clouds and the first chill of Autumn. The last warm day of the year vanished the week after Labor Day. It’s been...</description></item></rdf:RDF>