THE OLD MAN had the damnedest curl to his hat brim, a tight roll on the right where his doffing or donning hand gripped it and a wavering downslope on the left like a shed roof. You could recognize him two miles away. He wore it at the table listening to the woman's stories about Tin Head, steadily emptying his glass until he was nine-times-nine drunk, his ganstery face loosening, the crushed rodeo nose and scar-crossed eyebrows, the stub ear dissolving as he drank. Now he must be dead fifty years or more, buried in the mailman sweater.
-- Annie Proulx, The Half-Skinned Steer
Expat = creative
Pope a poor pilgrim
Drawing with creases
Bike cities in America
Dying to climb Mt. Everest
Wes Anderson's pantheon
The Wes Anderson problem
What we eat when we're alone
Conservatives should care about transit
Photographing the world economy
Annie Proulx is uncomfortable at home
Red desert breaks Annie Proulx's heart
The intersection of Christianity and anarchism
When the Berlin wall came down (personal narrative)
CA Conrad: Elvis caught my soul in the air like a rose between his teeth
Sid Laverents, master of homemade films, dies at 100. Rest in peace.
Robin Blaserr, New American Poet, dies at 83. Rest in peace.
Daniel Carasso, yogurt pioneer, dies at 103. Rest in peace.
Elmore Leonard, 83, on writing: It's working out. It's fun.
Indigenous cinema & visual langauges
The West, the photos & the myths
Rise of the black hipsters
Axe chic (for $550)
Death penalty map
China's new sex theme park
The terrorist who may not exist
Internet revolution in Guatemala
Video from the grave sends country into crisis
A NY apartment with a criminal past
Abandoned train tracks as new NY City park