At present, with nowhere to go and no one to see but a calendar full of meetings, we must be more careful in walking the line between innovation and overwork, connected and enveloped before we are consumed.
This Wednesday, June 17, is Dalloway Day – a celebration both ordinary and extraordinary. Around the world, fans of renowned modernist author Virginia Woolf will pause to celebrate her 1925 novel “Mrs. Dalloway,” a story about a single day in the life of wealthy Londoner Clarissa.
All stories must end. Magic dies out. Kids become adults. But shows like “Adventure Time” and “Regular Show” left us to think about them, reflect on why we were so happy, and remember the lessons the characters learned.
Filling out the PPP's many forms was like trying to put together a jigsaw puzzle without knowing how many pieces it’s composed of, or what the final image looks like. Oh, and you intermittently get new pieces, some of which actually belong to other puzzles.
"Tommorow's Harvest" does not merely mourn the world that was. It seems to wonder at the world ours could still become. This push and pull between present and future is what keeps me returning to the album; it paints a better world that is out of reach, but still tantalizingly close, just inches away through a synthesizer veil.
Combating systemic racism appears to boil down to a couple taps of the thumb: Instagramming a black square or re-Tweeting a Malcolm X quote. As companies that profit directly from White supremacy hide behind posting vague platitudes lamenting racism, social media activity threatens to conceal true attitudes and inaction under the impression of engagement.
The show's status as the first of its kind does not exempt it from a recognition of its shortcomings. Rather, in the wake of its bold, highly-anticipated release, Never Have I Ever opens itself to a challenge from viewers who demand its deficiencies be addressed. Perhaps its second season will better take on that challenge, elevating the show from its initial role of exposure to a more robust one of empowerment.
As a kid, I always enjoyed reading sci-fi – reading about other cultures, new places, and the technological innovations that made getting to these worlds possible. When I started studying Latin America, though, I started wondering what critic Brian Slattery once wondered: “Where’s the Latin American science fiction?” As it turns out, the answer is simple: hiding in plain sight, waiting to be discovered.
Bluegrass, the slick younger cousin of string band, old-time, and a myriad of other musical influences, emerged just eighty years ago, and its reach is ever-expanding. As the genre’s audiences begin to approximate the diversity of the national identity to which it is so intimately tied, the political and cultural fractures that shape American life appear among its listeners.
