<?xml version="1.0"?>
<rss version="2.0" xmlns:prism="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/prism/">
  <channel>
    <title>AMA Publishing Group: Humanities Topic Collection</title>
    <link>http://pubs.jamanetwork.com/</link>
    <description>
    </description>
    <language>en-us</language>
    <pubDate>Wed, 15 May 2013 00:00:00 GMT</pubDate>
    <lastBuildDate>Tue, 14 May 2013 20:43:47 GMT</lastBuildDate>
    <generator>Silverchair</generator>
    <managingEditor>editor@pubs.jamanetwork.com</managingEditor>
    <webMaster>webmaster@pubs.jamanetwork.com</webMaster>
    <item>
      <title>Two or Three Things</title>
      <link>http://pubs.jamanetwork.com/article.aspx?articleID=1687563</link>
      <pubDate>Wed, 15 May 2013 00:00:00 GMT</pubDate>
      <author>Smith JM. </author>
      <description>&lt;span class="paragraphSection"&gt;Just as fashions moved through the decades, from poodle skirts in the 1950s to go-go boots (1960s) and granny dresses (1970s), the abstract art of Elizabeth Murray (1940-2007) would also undergo changes in style, though always retaining a sense of her wink and a smile. Murray had moved from her birthplace of Chicago to Bloomington, Illinois, as a child, but her influence would someday extend far beyond the prairie horizon. The family had little, but movies brightened Murray's life, especially cartoons. To her family's delight, Murray could readily draw images from movies or the funny papers.&lt;/span&gt;</description>
      <prism:volume xmlns:prism="prism">309</prism:volume>
      <prism:number xmlns:prism="prism">19</prism:number>
      <prism:startingPage xmlns:prism="prism">1968</prism:startingPage>
      <prism:endingPage xmlns:prism="prism">1968</prism:endingPage>
      <prism:doi xmlns:prism="prism">10.1001/jama.2013.1597</prism:doi>
      <guid>http://pubs.jamanetwork.com/article.aspx?articleID=1687563</guid>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>The Spider</title>
      <link>http://pubs.jamanetwork.com/article.aspx?articleID=1687581</link>
      <pubDate>Wed, 15 May 2013 00:00:00 GMT</pubDate>
      <author>Dorsett T. </author>
      <description>&lt;span class="paragraphSection"&gt;The harvestman's diminutive braincontained in a quarter-inch bodyeasily moves eight Irishmaneyelashes rapidly upleaf or down,or as now, perfectly still,spread like the spokes of a leprechaun's fan—The neurons inside a squirreldo not add up to 100 billionand probably equal the few million starsin a dwarf galaxy, yet are,shall we say, spectacularly adequate—While waiting for ants in a shoethe six eyes of a recluse spiderdo not cause synapses behindto constitute a jealous mind;he bites a two-eyed creature's footin defense and not from spitebecause the black widow has eight.Our brains feel so precariousthey somehow envy flies'—Have you ever met a ladybug who careswhether her extended wingsare caught by a draft or a web?If so, you have a child's mind.No tarantula fears being buriedalive with a pepsis wasp's larva–Yet, like him, I have goneperfectly beyond despair;my cancerous, his paralyzed bodyat peace, despite being eaten alive.&lt;/span&gt;</description>
      <prism:volume xmlns:prism="prism">309</prism:volume>
      <prism:number xmlns:prism="prism">19</prism:number>
      <prism:startingPage xmlns:prism="prism">1969</prism:startingPage>
      <prism:endingPage xmlns:prism="prism">1969</prism:endingPage>
      <prism:doi xmlns:prism="prism">10.1001/jama.2012.214091</prism:doi>
      <guid>http://pubs.jamanetwork.com/article.aspx?articleID=1687581</guid>
    </item>
  </channel>
</rss>