It's not going to be all pink sneakers and inspiring grassroots action this week for the Wendy Davis gubernatorial campaign down in Texas. On Saturday, The Dallas Morning Newsbroke the story that key fac
To say that the world is cruel and that the Internet is a public square harsher than any stocks-strewn space the Puritans could have dreamed up is to state the obvious. The proven success of judgmental content is why we have to put up with Perez Hilton’s near-nakedness at red carpet events. That acknowledgement aside, I can’t help but find the coverage of Toronto mayor Rob Ford—of crack smoking and drunken-tirade infamy—more than a little off-putting.
The website Jezebel was born in 2007 out of the idea that the urban (or at least urbane) American woman was a ripe demographic, yearning to read about pop culture, fashion, and sex in a more skeptical way than the package provided by the traditional glossy women’s magazine. “In media, men are not a coherent sect,” Internet entrepreneur and Machiavellian overlord of Gawker Media Nick Denton told The New York Times in 2010. “You go into a magazine store and see rows upon rows of women’s magazines. [With women], there’s a much clearer collective.”
Seamus Heaney made me love poetry. There you have it, the schmaltz, right up top. But it is true, so I have to say it and today is as good a day as any to do so, because Seamus Heaney died while we were sleeping, at the age of 74. He was a teacher, a Nobel Laureate, and as you will surely read many times over in the coming days, the greatest Irish poet since Yeats and his swans.