Across the River from Iowa…
The Chronicle of Higher Education ran a story recently about the travails of Stephen Bloom, a professor of journalism at the University of Iowa, who, in a piece he wrote for The Atlantic, all but
Jason Peters
There’s nothing the smell of this can’t solve.
You must change your life.
The Right may be beyond redemption, but it isn’t above parody.
More good news from the family-values, good-money-management crowd.
I’ll tell you what’s going on. There’s a conspiracy.
There is no one worth spending a vote on.
The answers we give may prove to be fatal rather than whimsical.
Santa? Are you still there?
Has it really been two years since the Bar Jester said, Forget about Christ; put the mass back in Christmas?
He was local when local wasn’t cool.
This is what I would call patriotism: the love of a home country that’s usually much smaller than a nation.
Give me smartassery. Give me a yawning match.
You scotch and gin and (gasp!) vodka drinkers may dismiss it. But you should know that you are wrong, wrong, wrong.
And then, at last, as if from an ancient laver of regeneration, I baptize the evening properly.
I think about giving a standing ovation—not for the singing but for the cessation thereof.
