Wes Phillips

It's funny, but hard-boiled pulp fiction seems to appeal to the literary mouth-breathers and the most extremely intellectual literati (and I make no claim as to which group I fall into). Even so, I did a double take when I saw that the review of Otto Penzler's new The Black Lizard Big Book of Pulps was by John freaking Banville, author of The Sea, Doctor Copernicus, The Newton Letter, and Kepler, a novel."

Jon Fine nicely spanks David Brooks for "putting on his old man hat."

"Sure, this box is snug, but I still fit in it," insists Huckleberry.

Those impressive profilers you see on TV and the movies? In reality, they're not quite as effective as they're portrayed—not by a long shot.

A family in Wales went to the beach last July and discovered an intact P-38 that went down in 1942.

We're revamping our website infrastructure, so Huckleberry, Bagheera, and I will be taking the day off. Out guest cat-blogger in Mia, who is enjoying a special bonding moment with her human, Ayre's Steve Silberman.

I believe I've linked to this in the past, but golly, I get a kick out of it—and it's coming soon!