Recent posts
Rumpus Articles
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Saturday Morning Links
It’s a Saturday and I’m not hung over. I’ll make up for it. Catholic League president Bill Donohue is the kind of guy I’d like bad things to happen to. In a way, that happened. I don’t know if it…
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The Constitution in Pictures
Over at Cool Tools, Kevin Kelly has posted a review of a graphic adaptation of the US Constitution. Describing the document as “a robust self-correcting legal OS,” but admits that it can be hard to understand. But he recommends the…
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World’s most sinister dingbats
While browsing the web during a slow pre-holiday weekend day at work, I stumbled across a font family called Vialog, which is intended to be used primarily in signage. One of the fonts in the family, Vialog Signs Conduct, contains…
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With The Fire Threat Waning, Let Us Reconsider The Legacy of the Mt. Wilson Observatory
Praise be to the slightly moist, changing winds — they helped spare Mt. Wilson. Or so it seems for now. Deep breath taken. And now please allow me to pull from the files a feature I wrote for the LA…
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Germany Hearts Inglorious Basterds
Schindler’s List and The Reader were scrutinized in Germany. The more recent Valkyrie “made German experts shake with indignation.” Even the uplifting Life is Beautiful was a box office dud in Deutschland. So why is it that Berlin is embracing…
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Kyle Kinane’s I’m Dead and It’s All My Fault #1
Running with the bulls, my ass. Didn’t you see the videos, Doug? They get to a leisurely trot at best in the straightaways and slide all over in the corners. I’m wearing my flip flops. Probably gonna want to hit…
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Jesmyn Ward Tells It Like It Is
Jesmyn Ward is a long way away from the environment she writes about, yet she is lauded as a southern author with the ability to capture the essence of her home. Ward, who is currently entering her second year as…
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David Beisly-Guiotto: The Last Book I Loved, Anton Chekhov’s Short Stories
The last book I loved didn’t love me back. Anton Chekhov’s Short Stories (Norton Critical Edition), coolly waltzed and sledded and glanced superciliously right past me, despite my greedy gaze, the pinch of my page-turning fingers.
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Sex, Death, Facebook
I do not know this boy. He’s a friend of a Facebook friend—some girl I hated in high school, and friended so I could see how wrong her life had gone.