LATEST ADDITIONS

Robert Baird  |  Jul 12, 2007  |  0 comments
It's too bad the word "jam" was ever invented, much less the concept it implies being attached to music.
Wes Phillips  |  Jul 12, 2007  |  0 comments
"A multi-institutional consortium including Duke University has created startlingly crisp 3-D microscopic views of tiny mouse brains—unveiled layer by layer—by extending the capabilities of conventional magnetic resonance imaging."
Wes Phillips  |  Jul 12, 2007  |  0 comments
Harry Patch, the last survivor of Passchendaele, did something 500,000 of his mates didn't: He survived the three months of carnage. He's the last WWI Tommy.
Wes Phillips  |  Jul 12, 2007  |  1 comments
On the eve of the release of The Simpsons movie, Ian Jones explains when and why the TV show began to suck (he says it was in season 9, 1997). Will the movie reflect the glory of the first eight seasons or will it disappoint? The trailers have not embiggened my enthusiasm.
Stephen Mejias  |  Jul 11, 2007  |  0 comments
It's 4:59pm. Ariel walks into my office and waves a hand.
Wes Phillips  |  Jul 11, 2007  |  0 comments
I loved Doug Marlette. His political cartoons were so sharp that I almost always laughed out loud—even when he slaughtered some of my sacred cows. I suppose that's one of the signs of really good political humor, since all of us can laugh at the other side's foibles.
Wes Phillips  |  Jul 11, 2007  |  0 comments
It was a fascinating place—but it was his. Other than comic books, a Hitchcock film is the only place where it makes sense for a wrongfully accused man to have to catch the real villian. Yet, the plots were never the point, were they?
Wes Phillips  |  Jul 11, 2007  |  0 comments
Some music really does suck—um, create a differential affect gap.
Wes Phillips  |  Jul 11, 2007  |  0 comments
The New York Times has a dating column? The things you miss if you don't buy the Sunday Getting & Having edition.
Fred Kaplan  |  Jul 10, 2007  |  0 comments
David Murray has a new jazz album out. A decade or two ago, this wouldn’t be worth a shrug (though it would be worth a trip to Tower); he came out with two or three jazz albums every month. Those of us lucky to live in New York could also go see him lead his big band at the Knitting Factory every Monday night and see him play in a half-dozen other bands, as leader or sideman, at clubs all over the city. Then, in the mid-‘90s, he fell in love with a French woman, moved to Paris, broadened his musical palette (playing with Guadaloupean drummers, for instance)—all to nourishing effect, but the few times each year when he returned to New York and hooked up with a jazz quartet or octet again, it was a nearly always a spine-tingling experience (yes, a clich, but it really was).

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