The Scotch is gone
The Scotch is gone. This is not a surprise. The ultimate depletion of the finite amount of this spirit in my possession was an eventuality that I...
The Scotch is gone. This is not a surprise. The ultimate depletion of the finite amount of this spirit in my possession was an eventuality that I...
Who am I? Particularly, who am I when I write? Does a different person emerge from my written words than the person you might meet in a quiet pub, or ...
I was shocked the other day to check a friend’s blog, only to discover that it had utterly vanished. When I emailed him to ask what happened, his reply ga...
For weeks now, the furor over James Frey and his book A Million Little Pieces has buzzed loud and long. Following an exposé in early January by the webs...
I have made a great many promises over the course of the nine-year history of the Egg; I have kept very, very few of them. I hope the following will be sho...