Archive for December, 2012|Monthly archive page


In west on 12/17/2012 at 10:47 pm





more laughs here



In east on 12/14/2012 at 12:55 am

Artist: michal pudelka

The 2012 hustle has been great but as we close on 365 days it’s time for a fresh start. Here comes the holiday daze; the last days of the year. A period of reflection and clarity for the future. Bring on the New Year provided we survive the Mayan Apocalypse.


everything and nothing

In east on 12/10/2012 at 9:54 pm


Is it the 22nd yet?

In west on 12/08/2012 at 7:40 am


my head was a condemned church with a ceiling of bats, but i swung from this dark mood to euphoria when i thought about leaving.  eggers

can’t wait to go HOME


from The Art of Fielding

In west on 12/03/2012 at 11:59 pm

So much of one’s life was spent reading; it made sense not to do it alone.


What would he say to her, if he was going to speak truly? He didn’t know. Talking was like throwing a baseball. You couldn’t plan it out beforehand. You just had to let go and see what happened. You had to throw out words without knowing whether anyone woud catch them — you had to throw out words you knew no one would catch. You had to send your words out where they weren’t yours anymore. It felt better to talk with a ball in your hand, it felt better to let the ball do the talking. But the world, the nonbaseball world, the world of love and sex and jobs and friends, was made of words.

He already knew he could coach. All you had to do was look at each of your players and ask yourself: What story does this guy wish someone would tell him about himself? And then you told the guy that story.

To reach a ball he has never reached before, to extend himself to the very limits of his range, and then a step farther, this is the shortstop’s dream.

chad harbach



In west on 12/02/2012 at 9:15 pm

All living things contain a measure of madness that moves them in strange, sometimes inexplicable ways. This madness can be saving; it is part and parcel of the ability to adapt. Without it, no species would survive.

My greatest wish — other than salvation — was to have a book. A long book with a never-ending story. One I could read again and again, with new eyes and a fresh understanding each time.

yann martel