I studied economics for a couple of years in high school. I did not study it particularly well, nor did I remember very much.
The sum total of my economic knowledge is the term stagflation, and I only remember this because it sounds like antlers with a boner. That, and the fact that Ross Gittins wore Dunlop KT26s when he delivered my year’s economic update before the HSC. Two facts, you’ll agree, that stand me in good stead for understanding the economy as a whole.
HSC students gonna know what I mean.
This is the background with which I read Freakonomics, a collection of chapters loosely corralled together under the guise of making data answer interesting questions (such as why sumo wrestlers might cheat) instead of boring ones (involving GDP and the like). (more…)
Well, it’d seem I’m cutting through these collections the way prison-toilet wine cuts through intestinal lining. Time for some thoughts on another hilarious collection of lost moments from a horrific human research facility masquerading as a prison.
I’ve almost got it. Can you explain a little more, though?
Q is a book I’ve had on my to-read list for quite a while. I can’t remember where I first heard of it but I’m willing to lay money on the fact that it was in my pretentious “I only read LITERATURE!” stage, fairly recently after graduation. (Which, as we all know is bullshit, because airport lit absolutely slaps in the right circumstances.)
Where was I? Pretension. Right. Well, I’m assuming that Younger Me was driven by that rather than an earnest interest into the religious and political machinations of middle Europe in the 16th century. (Unlike Me Of Today who is All About That Shit.) So I have to assume that the main reason I wanted to read it was that the author, Luther Blissett, doesn’t exist.
Back on this again. Deadman Wonderland remains a decent break from more taxing literature, given that you’ll always be assured of some grimly violent fighting and some embarrassed-teen interchanges in ready supply.
And corpse biscuits. Don’t forget the corpse biscuits.
Death is something that most of us don’t like to talk about, or is something – if we mention it all – approached with humour. Yet it’s really the only thing, other than birth, that all humans have in common. In this book, Tomás Prower provides a tour of the world’s interpretation of the end of life.
Frankenstein is a story that most people are familiar with. Whether you’ve read Shelley’s original or no, you’re probably aware of the general thrust of the story thanks to films modern and classic. You know: creation, exclusion, and that it’s his Dad’s name, not the monster’s. So what can be brought to another adaption of the work?
To be fair, there’s fuck-all else to do on an Arctic journey. Talk away, Vic.
I’ve read cards for a couple of decades now, though am very much an anti-woo stalwart. I like the narratives a reading can create, and about seeking meaning from the chance juxtaposition of some printed designs.
But, like most readers, I still feel there’s more I could be getting from the decks. I mean, I’m not a Papus or a Waite, and certainly not a Pollack. And so when the option came up to read a book on pathworking, I took it.
I guess this volume is where the story decided to kick itself up a notch. Yes, we’re still in a prison masquerading as the world’s goriest version of It’s A Knockout!, but there’s some deeply mysterious shit going on. Rebels are introduced! There’s another big fight! Backstories are unveiled!
The scriptures look different in real life than on paper, I guess.
Oh, and that. Which, I’m sure, will be explained properly later. (more…)
Ever since I’d first heard of its existence, I’ve wanted to read Salvation on Sand Mountain. This is, of course, largely because Younger Me was pretty obsessed with the outré nature of its subject – churches whose adherents practised snake handling – which I admit is a pretty rubbernecking approach to something.
Yeah, no reason why I’d be like HOLY SHIT, CHECK THIS OUT at all. (Picture: Jim Neel.)
I finally – some 20-something years later – managed to read the book and discovered that while there was plenty of snaketacular narrative to go around, the book is more rewarding that my youthful self, labelling of it as churchy hicks with scales could ever have imagined. (more…)