Yesterday I started watching Zoolander on Prime Tv, because people keep quoting that at me and I never saw it.
About 5 minutes into the movie, the President of the United States appears on screen.
I turned off the movie.
End of the review.
"All this he saw, for one moment breathless and intense, vivid on the morning sky; and still, as he looked, he lived; and still, as he lived, he wondered."
― Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows
Yesterday I started watching Zoolander on Prime Tv, because people keep quoting that at me and I never saw it.
About 5 minutes into the movie, the President of the United States appears on screen.
I turned off the movie.
End of the review.

Gaston Bachelard‘s Poetics of Space is the book that gives this week its title, and its central claim, that the house is our first universe, a cosmos before we know the word, is seductive enough that it’s worth resisting for a moment. You know the

Rilke wasn’t chosen at random for this slot, last week, and neither is today’s Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva, though I’ll admit I didn’t plan the connection until I went looking for her and found it waiting there already. In the spring of 1926, Tsvetaeva, Rilke, and

The premise of The Passion According to G.H., Clarice Lispector’s mystical novel from 1964 is almost nothing: a sculptor, known to us only by her initials, decides to clean out the maid’s room after the maid has left her employment. That’s the entire plot. She

Gaston Bachelard‘s Poetics of Space is the book that gives this week its title, and its central claim, that the house is our first universe, a cosmos before we know the word, is seductive enough that it’s worth resisting for a moment. You know the

Rilke wasn’t chosen at random for this slot, last week, and neither is today’s Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva, though I’ll admit I didn’t plan the connection until I went looking for her and found it waiting there already. In the spring of 1926, Tsvetaeva, Rilke, and

The premise of The Passion According to G.H., Clarice Lispector’s mystical novel from 1964 is almost nothing: a sculptor, known to us only by her initials, decides to clean out the maid’s room after the maid has left her employment. That’s the entire plot. She
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