Happy St. Patrick’s Day! Here’s the story of Hasbro’s ties to Ireland’s loathsome Magdalene laundries.
Speaking of Ireland, I’m partway through Jonathan Lee’s High Dive, a novel about a 1984 IRA bombing of a seaside hotel. It’s very good so far, even if it did get knocked out of the Tournament of Books.
The president’s proposed budget cuts funding for everything from wildlife refuges to heating assistance for the elderly, so it almost seems silly to freak out about proposed cuts to federal arts, humanities, and library funding. Almost.
Trinity Rep used the snow day to announce its upcoming season. It’s not just a parade of dead white dudes, which is more than can be said for one other local theater.
I wrote about local sculptor Krzysztof Mathews for The Take.
Nate Lippens on being bullied by Paul Ryan as a teenager.
An Oxford comma – or serial comma, if you must – decided a court case in Maine.
Foodie magazine Lucky Peach has announced its imminent demise.
The creator of Garbage Pail Kids has died.
Katharine Hepburn’s house in Old Saybrook is on the market.
“It was almost a surprise to learn that I still find baby shit and butt lights funny, considering the context of our failing democracy.” Art F City reviews the Whitney Biennial.
Editorial headline of the week: I’m Still Paying For My Dead Husband’s Cell Phone Because I Don’t Know His Childhood Friend’s Name