The Western Digital My Book hard drive is, to use the technical term, “the wackest piece of shit I have ever owned.” The next time you are thinking of buying one, don’t, then remember to thank your cousin Raaf for the advice.
Though not exactly a clean slate, most of us heading to DC for Tuesday’s festivities are excited by the prospect of a fresh start for this country.
I will go to my deathbed having had the pleasure of viewing the ultimate B-movie multiple, multiple times. Will you?
It feels like an echo. I’ve heard it a number of times and yet can’t think of when. “Oh, that was just photoshopped,” someone will say, casting some image to the trash bin in their mind. As if, by being processed, the image loses its quality, its value.
There is but one answer to that echo, “exactly.”
This year, in the interest of improving my quality of life, I decided to subscribe to the weekend edition of the New York Times. The delivery is split over two days and contains all of the items that are available on the newstand edition of the sunday paper. On saturday the Magazine (my favorite publication in the world) arrives along with ad circulars and a few sections I hardly ever read: real estate, book review, travel. And on sunday the rest of the paper arrives: the front page news, Sunday Business, Sunday Styles, and most importantly, Week In Review. The tentpoles of the sunday reading experience are thus split over two days giving a full weekend of quality reading material. In print. Oh joy.
But there are complications.
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The city has its colors and its dead ends.