It's kind of crazy. I go to bed each night with a little bit of worry over the words I've let loose. Nouns and verbs and other linking bits, forming ideas and images meant to be pretty, meant to be funny, meant to be interesting. These words are linked to me, just as my name is linked to <i>Stereophile</i>, and it all comes with
I think it's because he's a dangerous psychotic who probably has about a zillion injunctions forbidding him anywhere close to children. . . . Wait, was that a trick question?
Tomorrow night, I'm going to attend a wake for Tower, an event held by ex-Tower classical employees where we will commiserate, dissect, and reminisce about the good old days.
This is a great response to a bone-headed manufacturing ploy. Yes, it happens—a reviewer contacts a manufacturer for a review sample and the manufacturer responds, "Sure, as long as you guarantee good press."
<I>Drivl</I> gets it about right.
I've just discovered <I>Think Denk</I> (thanks to a link from Alex Ross' <I>The Rest Is Noise</I>). Billed as "the glamorous life and thoughts of a concert pianist," it's a good read—and Jeremy Denk is good company. Now I have to hear him play.
It is a well-known fact that a rock guitarist's ability to squeeze those really hard-to-reach notes out of a guitar is directly tied to the facial muscles. Over at WFMU's fabulous <I>Beware of the Blog</I>, Scott Williams has posted a tribute to the "guitar face."
Stop me if you've heard this one. . . .
When Harvard Business School Press wouldn't let Robert Sutton title his book <I>The No Asshole Rule: Building a Civilized Workplace and Surviving One That Isn't</I>, he walked. Sounds like it was HBSP's loss.
