linkspam on a Sunday evening
You know that thing where, the less often you post, the less comfortable you are posting? Yeah, that's a real problem. So this is a compilation of like three weeks' worth of links that I never got around to posting.
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Be friends with me secretly or get wrecked: The serial swatter is a horrifying tale.
Noted for (possibly much) later: a long report on dying in America.
Also noted for later:
Talking Points Memo on the Decline of Labor in the US.
And: Some potential cool art for my office or bedroom.
I hate the way Outside Magazine's content management system works: I cannot find a permalink for the article about this documentary Unbranded, about four guys bringing a bunch of Mustangs from Canada to Mexico. Looks fascinating.
A few weeks ago I was watching The Great British Bake-Off, in which I learned about Hot Water Pastry Crust. WTF, thought I, what is this alien thing? And so I tried my hand at this, but it didn't work: it was too dry, and fell apart. So I went back to my classic Cook's Illustrated mostly-butter crust with cold water and vodka. I may try it again one day.
Still haven't seen Jessica Jones. I did rewatch Rocky on Thanksgiving, because my sports-fan niece had never seen it (!) and we wanted to go see Creed (even though I'm really not a boxing fan). Turns out Rocky is basically a little indy film, a character study. I also saw Creed of course (basically a requirement here, since Ryan Coogler is a hometown boy), and I enjoyed it (despite the brutal violence of the fight scenes). I found it strikingly contemporary, and this review by Dave Zirin in The Nation gets at why.
Found this list of great British novels, and have bookmarked it for future book club use.
Let's get this puppy in front of a crowd! The Toast brightens my world with Hamilton lyrics to sing to your dog.
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One of these days I really will write up the story of the epic trek across England. But I will say that it was raining this morning, and I put on my hiking pants and Gor-tex jacket to walk the dog, and as the rain soaked through my pants, I had a visceral flashback to the epic trek to the Lion Inn in the North York Moors.
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In other news, I'm scheming an information-management revolt at my office (seriously: everyone keeps their project files in personal folders, and there is no standardization of file-management of either hard copy or electronic files -- when people leave, nobody even tries to archive their files in a central location, it's just a fucking nightmare from an institutional-memory point of view).
Skiied for the first time in two seasons last weekend. Which was nice, although I'm dreadfully out of condition. Same goes for climbing, as well.
And the dog thinks it's appropriate to bark at me when she loses her squeaky ball under the couch. This is a problem.
Crossposted from DW, where there are
comments; comment here or there.
*
Be friends with me secretly or get wrecked: The serial swatter is a horrifying tale.
Noted for (possibly much) later: a long report on dying in America.
Also noted for later:
Talking Points Memo on the Decline of Labor in the US.
And: Some potential cool art for my office or bedroom.
I hate the way Outside Magazine's content management system works: I cannot find a permalink for the article about this documentary Unbranded, about four guys bringing a bunch of Mustangs from Canada to Mexico. Looks fascinating.
A few weeks ago I was watching The Great British Bake-Off, in which I learned about Hot Water Pastry Crust. WTF, thought I, what is this alien thing? And so I tried my hand at this, but it didn't work: it was too dry, and fell apart. So I went back to my classic Cook's Illustrated mostly-butter crust with cold water and vodka. I may try it again one day.
Still haven't seen Jessica Jones. I did rewatch Rocky on Thanksgiving, because my sports-fan niece had never seen it (!) and we wanted to go see Creed (even though I'm really not a boxing fan). Turns out Rocky is basically a little indy film, a character study. I also saw Creed of course (basically a requirement here, since Ryan Coogler is a hometown boy), and I enjoyed it (despite the brutal violence of the fight scenes). I found it strikingly contemporary, and this review by Dave Zirin in The Nation gets at why.
Found this list of great British novels, and have bookmarked it for future book club use.
Let's get this puppy in front of a crowd! The Toast brightens my world with Hamilton lyrics to sing to your dog.
*
One of these days I really will write up the story of the epic trek across England. But I will say that it was raining this morning, and I put on my hiking pants and Gor-tex jacket to walk the dog, and as the rain soaked through my pants, I had a visceral flashback to the epic trek to the Lion Inn in the North York Moors.
*
In other news, I'm scheming an information-management revolt at my office (seriously: everyone keeps their project files in personal folders, and there is no standardization of file-management of either hard copy or electronic files -- when people leave, nobody even tries to archive their files in a central location, it's just a fucking nightmare from an institutional-memory point of view).
Skiied for the first time in two seasons last weekend. Which was nice, although I'm dreadfully out of condition. Same goes for climbing, as well.
And the dog thinks it's appropriate to bark at me when she loses her squeaky ball under the couch. This is a problem.
Crossposted from DW, where there are
comments; comment here or there.