Monday, March 27
How could something so inexplicably awful happen on a day like that?
How could something so inexplicably awful happen on a day like that?
I can’t help but feel that this is the year that something is going to go horribly wrong and the IRS will come after me—or worse, secretly owe me money that the return didn’t catch.
As of March 2023, seventy-two women have flown in space.
But no woman has gone on a moon mission before.
I was only halfway towards actually understanding which artistic boundaries needed to be enforced. That is, none of them.
It would take twenty months for that data to drip through the solar system. So I waited.
Conspiracies form at night. So do revolutions.
Finally, a man who understands you.
Utah has plenty of rocks—but not a single pebble seemed to be crying out.
Perhaps the Meijer family is more savvy than I give them credit for.
What makes their art dance as a pair?