Wes Phillips

Huckleberry mutters and plots while cleaning his weapons of mouse destruction.

Neil Gaiman gets a tribute disc. I hope it's as cool as he is.

Signs of sickness, with a scent like ennui, all over the apartment: dirtied tissues tossed to the floor, the many jilted cups of tea, unfinished this, unwashed that, empty cans of soup, the pale and quiet Moscode.

It ain't hi-fi, but this is a turntable you sure ain't gonna see it anywhere else.

So I have no idea what this photo is about. Any guesses?

I'm sick. About as sick as I've ever been. Come to think of it, I haven't really been well since I came down with the flu at CES. I've been fighting something ever since. And today, it knocked me out. Fever, chills, pain all throughout my body, an excruciating headache.

Here's a chapter from Tufte's upcoming <I>Beautiful Evidence</I>. Some of the graphics are pretty blurry on the computer screen, but they look great if you print this out.