There’s an essay to be written about how Survivor, the longest-running reality competition ever, has lasted 20 years and 40 seasons thanks
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Picture this: Two white boys. One gay and tall, the other short and straight. A third boy, Latino, with an ambiguous sexual orientation, is medium-sized. It’s April. Springtime. They are stranded in the Old World: Europe. They have no phones,
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These days it is hard to look anywhere without seeing COVID-19. Our fixation is justifiable. Hospitals are overwhelmed, over four billion people live under stay-home orders, and projections remain dire. A superabundance
As the 2019–20 cuffing season came to a close, I found myself in the Saybrook basement contemplating love. This might be an unexpected location to some readers; perhaps you’d prefer to spend
Enter the den of 280-character pith and rampage that is Twitter, and you’ll find the usual prophets of digital carnage: Russian spam accounts, frisky Bloomberg bots, think tank bosses, liberal and conservative
Picture this: Two white boys. One gay and tall, the other short and straight. A third boy, Latino, with an ambiguous sexual orientation, is medium-sized. It’s April. Springtime. They are stranded in
Why does Twitter hate American Dirt? Macmillan Publishers released Jeanine Cummings’ fourth novel with every advantage an author could hope for: a seven-figure advance, an endorsement from Oprah’s Book Club, positive blurbs
Mestizaje has haunted the latine experience since the colonial project’s conception. This ghost emerges from the open grave of latinoamerica’s violent birth solely to remind those of us who identify as mestizo
There’s an essay to be written about how Survivor, the longest-running reality competition ever, has lasted 20 years and 40 seasons thanks to its sometimes careful, sometimes clumsy balance between ritual and
Every awards show has its controversy: who should’ve won, who shouldn’t have worn that dress. This year’s Grammys were no different. Billie Eilish—Gen Z superstar with ink for tears—swept the Big Four
A few weeks back, I spent a Friday night on the third floor of the Institute Library, Connecticut’s oldest private circulating library, drinking beers and listening to jazz LPs with a couple
When I visit the Grove Street Cemetery, I look for languages. Scattered among the headstones, I often find Latin or Hebrew, but some days I find Russian, Arabic, or Chinese. One of
