Wes Phillips

Typically, I didn't discover Henry Green through reviews, a college class, or a bookstore display. Somebody left Blindness in the record store I worked in and, after it spent sufficient time in the lost and found box, I took it home one night when I'd run out of stuff to read.

It's Monday, I have a Jon Carroll column that discusses a new book on the differences between men and women, and it reveals the secret to stimulating a "major dopamine and oxytocin rush, which is the biggest, fattest neurological reward you can get outside of an orgasm." So how could I not link to it?

It ain't over until the fat NGO sings?

The Times has published a lost Daphne du Maurier epistolatory short story unpublished for 70 years.

World's longest concert sounds second chord after one-and-a-half years. It's A, C, and F#—gonna take a while to resolve that one.

I was saddened to learn of Andrew Hill's death this weekend. Ever since I discovered his intensely original music, his recordings have been touchstones for me, including the brilliant Passing Ships, a record that was actually held back by Blue Note for 35 years as "unreleasable."