How a wailing kid on an airplane draws a new song out of Andrew Bird. I love hearing how melodies flow effortlessly from Bird, and how experiences shape his material. Bird's job is to daydream, he says.
More from Andrew Bird: "The only thing that separates a mess of seemingly disparate observations and a song is a moment of excessive confidence. As time goes on words and ideas begin to catch and gather around the original suspiciously arbitrary seeds of inspiration."
"'As recently as two weeks ago, the city of 2 million people suffered from construction site dust, traffic jams, stray dogs, beggars, potholes and mud puddles....You can feel an enormous difference. Everything works. Police control the traffic.
A SEA change in the consumption of a resource that Americans take for granted may be in store — something cheap, plentiful, widely enjoyed and a part of daily life. And it isn't oil. It's meat.
All Things Considered, November 29, 2005 · The American poet Wallace Stevens died 50 years ago this year. Commentator Jay Keyser says Stevens wrote the best short poem in the English language, "The Snow Man." Stevens marries what the poem is about with the way that it is built.
This article is such garbage. What was the WSJ thinking?
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"Among scarab beetles, males and females generally pair up to start a family, jointly gathering dung and rolling and patting it into the rich brood balls in which the female deposits her fertilized eggs....
Highlights: ""It's not a word I can put into feelings."
$80,000 prostitution tabs and thick ankle jokes. Silda and Ashley. Hillary and Monica. Our elected misogynists. I'm newly bitter. I need to talk to some old school Feminists to understand what social cues I've been ignoring.
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