An interesting treatise on anonymity in the Internet age. How much surveillance is too much? How much freedom from it is excessive? If we don't think these questions through for ourselves, somebody else might come up with answers that aren't palatable.
Rushing to get the last bits of the March issue out the door, with just "Letters to the Editor" left to proof, and:
You know that old bromide about science not being able to explain how a bumblebee flies? It's dead—they did it. As to how bumblebees manage to carry heavy loads, they apparently increase wing stroke amplitude without adjusting frequency, which is already high at 230bps—just like JA's beloved F1 race cars employ high revolution engines to power them to their mind boggling speeds.
As my readers have probably sussed out, I love to quote. What's not to love? As Mark Twain said (probably—most really good quotes seem to be attributed to Twain, The Bible, Shakespeare, or <I>Casablance</I>), "I get paid the same word rate for quotes as I get paid to make things up."
A subject I'd just as soon put behind me.
The best food writing isn't about snooty reactions to snooty cooking, but is like a personal conversation with someone you care about. A.J. Liebling's <I>Between Meqls: An appetite For Paris</I>, Jim Harrison's <I>The Raw and the Cooked</I>, and just about anything by Ruth Reichl all come to mind. And then there's <I>The Great British Crisp Challenge</I>, which is lively and entertaining as all get out.
I like Andy Ward's illustration style, especially some of these recreations of classic album covers. Of course, in his "Fantasy League Allstars 1," he <I>does</I> have Hendrix playing guitar right-handed, but maybe in his fantasy Jimi plays rightside up.
Already tired of the James Frey and JT LeRoy scandals? Actually, that sounds like a <I>Jeopardy</I> question: Two writers Wes never heard of before they got outed as fakes.
I'm pretty happy with the way <a href="http://blog.stereophile.com/stephenmejias/011006mothers/">yesterday's entry</a> came out, but it didn't go the way I meant it to.
Jon Iverson, Stephen Mejias, and I were sitting in the Venetian's food court after the Primedia cocktail party on Saturday night with Mo-Fi's Coleman Brice and Music Direct's Bes Nievera, Jr. We'd wanted to grab some sushi, but Tsunami (what an unfortunate name) didn't have a reservation for five for another two hours and our second choice, an Italian restaurant (what else?) had just laughed when we asked. So we wound up eating pizza slices off of vinyl tables rather than sashimi off of bamboo.