The girls of Greece and Rome. Refresh page for more


“A screaming comes across the sky. It has happened before, but there is nothing to compare it to now.” It’s 2008 and I’m waiting in an outpatient infusion center for my wife to finish her three-times-a-week chemotherapy. What no one tells you is how quotidian and, honestly, how boring the process actually is. In those long hours spent just waiting with her I began writing this site. It was Alice’s “Drink Me” bottle and, even if only for an hour or so at a time, the rabbit hole. It was either that or more obsessing about how bad this thing was becoming.

“It travels faster than the speed of sound. The first news you get of it is the blast. Then, if you're still around, you hear the sound of it coming in.” But one day—a day with fat snow flurries that would melt as soon as you touched them—it came in and she didn’t hear it.

Everyone’s blog begins like this, right?

That was almost a decade ago—either a lifetime or just yesterday. The site is still something of my rabbit hole, but it’s now less about trying to escape my own circumstances and more about trying to learn about someone else’s. It’s become a place to organize fragments of my interests in art or design or history; or my interests in other things—often interests held since childhood—sometimes loosely filtered through the lens of art, design or history; or sometimes not. Along the way I’ve learned more than is probably healthy about Canadian quintuplets, murdered teenage cheerleaders, young 19th-century stage actresses, middle-aged academic cartographers and old Victorian taxonomers. It’s become my Koh-i-Noor displayed in my own Crystal Palace.

Everyone’s blog ends up like this, right?

—March 6th, 2018. Administrativa