In Health, Then Sickness
We had a large party for Andrew’s engagement last night and let me tell you, he was surprised. He and M. came up the stairs at BQE and stood shell-shocked as twenty of us clapped and hooted, then gave cards, presents, free drinks and handshakes that they accepted hesitantly but with grace. M. called her mom to describe the party; that was nice.
At the bar, an hour later:
Him: You’re going to post this aren’t you.
Me: No way man. No way.
Him: Yes you are.
Me: Yeah, probably.
I woke up sick and tired – from a cold, mind you – but wanted to note the party anyway.
Another reason:
An amusing though not laugh-out-loud bit on typography, that’s slightly related to
the faults and
imitators of design that falls from the same hand, and if skirmishes with the
New York Times and the owner of said hand can be drawn from this odd fog of connections, then
try this.
TODAY’S FEATURE
Rather than shopping or a pottery workshop, blogging shows promise as a fun, “couple-y” activity.
THE GOLEM writes the entry that took a thousand years.
OUR MAN IN BOSTON
Padgett Powell's bebop solo of a book is 164 pages of interrogatory--that's right, questions.
INFINITE SUMMER
Sponsored by TMN, the online book club reads the vampire novel that sired them all.
» READ ALONG
TMN TALKS
Abhay Khosla is a regular contributor to The Savage Critics, a review of comic books. He’s made a foray into writing comics, and his absurdist,...