Wednesday’s Child: Breivik in Hollywood
The other night I couldn’t fall asleep, and scrolling through Twitter news feeds was only making the insomnia more virulent – as virulent, come to think of it, as the news – so I decided to watch a movie.
The other night I couldn’t fall asleep, and scrolling through Twitter news feeds was only making the insomnia more virulent – as virulent, come to think of it, as the news – so I decided to watch a movie.
The way things have been going in this country, for the LX’th Super Bowl’s halftime entertainment, I was expecting Jeffrey Epstein, not “Epstein’d” but alive, to walk out to midfield and perform a human sacrifice.
A podcast in which we examine the justification for the first American War of Secession
From Metternich to Montalbano–reflections on Italy and Sicily, slightly revised. The photo of the writer was taken at the Casa di Pirandello in front of the famous playwright’s statue/
The Year of Our Lord Two Thousand Twenty-Six will see the word “Semiquincentennial” more than any other.
“A spoonful of tar,” goes the Russian proverb, “spoils a barrel of honey.” Such was my instinctive response to a Twitter poll I happened on while scrolling aimlessly as one does.
In 1962, Frank Morris and John and Clarence Anglin escaped from Alcatraz prison. In 1979, Don Siegel made a movie about this event starring Clint Eastwood, Patrick McGoohan, and Fred Ward