The Bishop and the Butterfly: Murder, Politics, and the End of the Jazz Age

Blog Posts

Overtourism: Florence scatters the Art

Tuscany turns into artful snipe hunt as Firenze tries to diffuse the tourist boom before it restarts

[People/Obsessions] Bitcoin Addiction

‘I put my life savings in crypto’: how a generation of amateurs got hooked on high-risk trading 

Who's Hot - Lad Mag quandary

Celebrating looks, appeal, controversy, race, sexism, expectations...

Ain't that easy anymore

Where are the trans women?

How it started...



How to make a country twerk song in 1 minute s/o @samsumser @iamseansmall


Hungry Caterpillar no more

The art of children's books is truly beguiling, hit and miss. Partly for parents, partly for the kids, but at what age even, fleeting at best. Sometimes the art of simplicity, sometimes of mystery, sometimes a story, a narrative, or just the setting, or a character to believe in. But why a caterpillar? Green fuzz, tiny, kind of gooey, persistent, ravenous til ate it all up. It's all good - lights out, go to sleep, Mr. Carle, go to sleep...

Being Sinead /Shuhada

A nice treatment

[Science] speeding up computation & the future

Not just Moore's Law - improved algorithmic approach helps make critical calculations much much faster, bringing their practical use closer. 


Personal Information

Defies gravity Can spit really far Almost touch my toes Can cut a fly's legs off with a beer cap from 20 paces Know how to say useless stuff and prattle on in a dozen languages Don't know when to shut up
Favorite Quotes
To be for or against the Plague, it's much the same thing. Fiddledee, how a body shure do get around - just 2 weeks ago I was in Mississippi and now I'm all the way to Tennessee... Eat or Be Eaten Better to be pissed off than pissed on.
Born in swaddling clothes (designer, of course) at the confluence of big waters, my first recorded words were "Dad, can I have the keys to the car?" Raised a Southern Pedestrian, my musical talents were recognized at an early age, leading to my being exiled to the shed out back with a stack of books that became my eddykayshun - advanced readin', writin' & ritmytick, creating a major quandary of "what will I do, oh what will I do?" (Gunslinger) As an old black man advised in song, "You Gotta Move", so move I did, traveling the byways sideways even a lot of driveways, picking up sticks and psychological tics, even movin' to Beverlee through a quaint misunderstanding of the seriousness of TV series, until finally I blew up so big the carry nation incarnation tarnation couldn't hold me no more, so I fixed my sights on yonder sitar, and like Queequeg and Paul Bowles and one of those abducted kids by the Pied Piper of Hamelin, I ventured forth to the larger world, pickin' and grinnin', doin' me some reckonin' and naughts from naughts, occasionally rightin', building me some buildings and wiring and just trying to understand the babble comin' out of people's mouths and heads, I finally ended up in what Rummy quaintly calls "New Europe", which ain't so new from what I sees, but that pit in my stomach from lack-of-moving-sickness finally disappeared, and instead I sit behind a whopping big desk stacked with missives from all the chiefs with big whampum around the world telling me "what's going on". Which seems like a load of boolshit to me, but I guess that's what keeps me busy and entertained now, separatin' the weeds from the chapstick. So my name is Perry Keys, or Peracles to you, and since my mammy always said, "say please and thank you", I added the please, but I'm holdin' back on that thankee until I feel you've earned it. But do welcome, and I hope we's a gonna have a real good time. It all starts with, "I wuz born a poor young white chile livin' in the South..." and we cycle through again, like Nietzsche and his infernal regurgence. So enjoy, and let's spin a spell...


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