Linkity linkity linkity

• Joan Didion examined. That's it. There is officially a Joan Didion head growing out of my neck now.


• Hemingway and Dietrich letters: "my little Kraut." (via the Guardian blog's Sam Jordison. I thought I could develop a crush on the guy, whose blog entries always appear with the same picture of him looking bashful on some beach. I don't need another crush; The Husband already fears me running off with David Mitchell. Thankfully, then, I discovered that Mr. Jordison edited Crap Towns, a book we perused on one rainy day in the South of France, and which upset us with its inclusion of both our beloved and unfortunately-named Crouch End and our even more beloved Liverpool in the list of the 50 worst places to live in Britain. Oh, Sam. It would never work between us.)


• I didn't know Clive James wrote for Slate. Last week, he profiled Dubravka Ugresic, admitting he hasn't read her novels. I've read two of her novels, but little of her journalism. Perhaps it's time.


• This is what I imagine the apartment of a grown-up Ricky "Silver Spoons" Stratton would look like. Giant screwdriver, neon guitar, and all.


• I thought this article on Joshua Bell attempting to get people to stop and listen to his music in a busy D.C. metro station was quite beautiful. Or maybe it's just my new weakness for Bach. (via kottke)


• Also beautiful, 3191, two women posting pictures from their mornings, 3,191 miles apart. One of the most soothing sites I have visited lately. (via dooce)


• I still miss John Peel.

© Zan McQuade. All rights reserved.