Before I even turn on the recorder, Willie Nile is telling me his theory of how the granite under Manhattan Island conducts electricity, which accounts for the perceptible charge that many people feel makes New York City so special. It's also what draws artists like flies, none more passionate than singer-songwriter Nile, who's personally contributed a few volts during his years in NYC.
Bagheera is staring at something invisible to humans. She does that a lot.
Huckleberry does some Fall cleaning.
Bruce Schneier, coiner of the phrase "security theater," writes that we've "opened up a new front on the war on terror. It's an attack on the unique, the unorthodox, the unexpected; it's a war on different. If you act different, you might find yourself investigated, questioned, and even arrested -- even if you did nothing wrong, and had no intention of doing anything wrong. The problem is a combination of citizen informants and a CYA attitude among police that results in a knee-jerk escalation of reported threats.
I just discovered the <I>World Passport</I> podcast at ethnomusic.podmatic.com, which has tons of cool Calypso, Kompa, Highlife, jazz, and Kinshasha guitar music for your delectation and delight. I've been listening to "J'Ouvert Morning Calypso"—classic old-school Calypso—all morning, which is coaxing me out of my first-cold-of-the-winter funk. "Suck Me Soucouyant," indeed.
Michael Chabon on the liberating properties of genre fiction.
"<B>Antiheroine Skin Rule:</B> In a Horny Teen-ager Movie, the 'bad girl' who is the object of the hero's desire will always expose more flesh than the girl whom he ends up with at the end of the film, despite equal sexual activity. If the 'good girl' is shown topless in a love scene, it must be accompanied by slow music. In a Dead Teenager Movie, the girl who exposes the least skin is inevitably the only survivor."
Forget the usual suspects, says ACD. For real Halloween chills, read Henry James.
<I>The Telegraph</I> picks the scariest movie scenes.
