This week’s collection of what interested me:
- It’s not clear who the author is, but this long essay dissecting the last episode of The Sopranos is pretty darn impressive. Are you persuaded? (Link via Kottke)
- This NYT article explains where you can find some Gaelic football and hurling in the NYC area. I’m keeping that in mind. By the way, if anybody knows of any hurling or Gaelic football action in the Philly area, let me know.
- Also in NYT‘s “sports” coverage: hunting feral hogs. Really. (Note to Yankees: Not many Southerners actually spend their time doing something like this. I swear.)
- At FILE Magazine, you can—and should—see a gallery of photographs by Massimo Cristaldi. “Refinery Flock” consists of some amazing images of a flock of birds converging on a refinery. If you like “Refinery Flock,” and you will, you’ll want to check out Cristaldi’s online portfolio, too.
- R. Pollack, a (soon-to-be-ex) teacher in Jackson, Mississippi, tells how the student body collectively reacted to the administration’s undue concern about what a group of boys wore one day. “[I]t’s symbolic middle fingers all around,” Pollack writes. Power to the people, you know?
My favorite show on the now-defunct network Turner South was “Off the Menu.” The host had to go out and hunt for something. His bounty was then turned into a meal by the chef at some four or five-star restaurant in New Orleans. So it was Mike Rowe’s “Dirty Jobs” meets The Food Network. I loved it. One of the better episodes was when the host had to hunt down a feral hog. (My other favorite was when he had to participate in Mississippi Handgrabbing.)
And don’t tell the Yanks we don’t all spend our time walking barefoot, banging goats and hunting pigs. Maybe if they believe it, they’ll quit moving to the South in droves.
Hey, Steve. Thanks for stopping by. You should leave me more comments. I need stimulation, you know?
In Oklahoma, we called handgrabbing ‘noodling.’ For some reason, ‘handgrabbing,’ as a term, makes me blush. Hmm, I’m odd.
Speaking of odd segués, and pigs, meet me in New Orleans sometimes. Dinner at Cochon is on me.
We seem to be proof that all the cool people aren’t moving to the South.