Brief updates to news stories that have slipped off the front page. This week: Smoking lounges at Reynolds American, Hugh Hefner’s hibernation, and the financial disasters that are Olympic Games.
The Bard’s most famous sonnet very nearly wasn’t a Shakespearean sonnet. Rejected pairings of content and form, from rondelet to an acrostic hiding his name.
Mid-century magazine clippings find new life in collages that are just the right amount of weird and clever.
The rear ends of black women appear to be pop culture’s current favorite commodity. But Nicki Minaj’s new video is anything but so simple.
Paintings of Yosemite and other locales are full of place and history—and plenty of sex and weather, too.
Between love and tacos, sometimes it’s better to choose tacos. Our series continues where we ask novelists to dine out, then write us something that 1) is a restaurant review; 2) is not a restaurant review.
Asterisks can mean emphasis, doubt, or prudery. In the realms of #vanlife, where expectations are low already, they can also supply the sort of sex that saves lives.
Here comes summer, when the yoke of responsibility loosens. We all have our past indiscretions, but they’re too sordid to sign our names to—so we’ve changed the names and rearranged the text to protect the guilty.
Even someone who writes erotica for a living has to find ways to get through moments of shame.
Dreams of a Matalin-Carville romance tempt a young Washington journalist covering the death of a dictator to cross party lines in pursuit of love.
When Roger Ebert died in 2013, America was deprived of one of its finest film critics. But reviewing his body of work shows we also lost one of our best writers on addiction.
The only thing worse than Valentine’s Day is a crappy Valentine’s Day. A handful of TMN writers and editors dish (anonymously) on their worst dates—crying men, rugby brawls, and a dislocated sacroiliac joint.