Carl raped me one lazy Sunday morning, as I shut myself down rather than wake the landlady’s kids. He turned out to have some other name entirely, which I only learned after I’d made a key for him.
Their story combines elements of better-known sagas like the Hotel Chelsea , with its community of artists, and 47 East 3rd Street, the tenement whose new owners want to turn into a private house.
I saw this op-ed piece, entitled “The War As We See it.”
If you didn’t notice from the bylines that the authors were active-duty sergeants, you’d know it from the measured, carefully damning opening.
That God for other wonks who have the patience to deconstruct this. When I saw the item yesterday from the Associated Press, I couldn’t believe it. It’s sort of the opposite of what they taught us in journalism school. I thought the AP, of all things, stuck to actual reporting.
On the current war news front, I’m interested in the choices being made by the military jury in this case. Perry at the LA Times is careful to note that the jury was composed completely of Iraq veterans. I so wonder what was in their minds and hearts as they listened. P.S. That goes doubleContinue reading “a jury of their peers”
I’d sworn off blogging after this graphomaniac exercise, but here we are. Today is typical. As I sit here, trying to sort out today’s work, between the transcription I need to finish for next week’s stories at the paper and my trip today to NYPL’s Schomburg Library, news old and new shouts for attention: TheContinue reading “a few notes to start”