It's kinky, man. Kinky.
He learned to walk that spring, and I would stand there at the fence and watch that durn little critter out there in the middle of the furrow, trying his best to keep up with Jackson, until Jackson would stop the plow at the turn row and go back and get him and set him straddle of his neck and take up the plow and go on. In the late summer he could walk pretty good. Jackson made him a little hoe out of a stick and a scrap of shingle, and you could see Jackson chopping in the middle-thigh cotton, but you couldn’t see the boy at all; you could just see the cotton shaking where he was.— William Faulkner, "Tomorrow".
Here's how Jason Ingrodi's Dr. Frank guitar is shaping up:
Here is a link to something important.
So, from what I can tell it was only the previous entry that was haunted. Dominus vobiscum, spooks.
EW announces its intention to ask: “what’s the best YA novel of all time?”
The comments already have a decidedly what-is-punk flavor and tempers are fraying. When the list is published on Monday, get ready to see your pet peeves and bête noires embodied in it.
ADDED: as some of you may remember, this blog appears to be haunted. That link doesn't work, and can't be made to work by any skill or strategem I know. The self-same html text (copied and pasted from here, in fact) works just fine on tumblr, but this blog's cgi adds mysterious characters to the url when saving it.
Anyway, the link is:
It's a very, very old version of Movable Type, and I should probably upgrade it. But I'm frankly afraid of what might be unleashed in the process. Some things are better left undisturbed and lived with.