In 2016, Phoenix overtook Philadelphia to become America’s fifth largest city. In response to the news, the city’s WHYY public radio station ran a scorching post that dismissed Phoenix’s growth as little more than the result of “buying up insane quantities of land,” a luxury that reporter Mark Dent made clear was not available to… Continue reading K Paoletta 14: Nowhereville
The first Modernism course I took in college was really a class on Freud. We read case studies, lectures, and Civilization and Its Discontents before we picked up any Joyce or Faulkner. The well-worn argument the professor was making with such a syllabus was that the exploding popularity of psychoanalysis in the 1890s was a… Continue reading K Paoletter 13: Lie Down on the Couch
Similar to the printing of dollar bills or the stretching of taffy, election night coverage on a 24-hour news network can’t help but satisfy any viewer charmed by the spectacle of a machine doing exactly what it was built to do. This past Tuesday I tuned into MSNBC; for all its chuckle-headed progressive optimism, the… Continue reading K Paoletter 12: Too Close to Call
I’m only slightly exaggerating when I say I started writing because of alt-weeklies. As a teenage laggabout in Albuquerque, I spent untold nights lingering at coffee shops on Central reading the Weekly Alibi cover to cover. It turned me on to midnight movies at the Guild, hardcore shows at the Attic, experimental theater at the… Continue reading K Paoletter 11: Requiem for the Alt-Weekly
Once upon a time, the arctic was magisterial. About the glaciers of West Greenland, the great essayist Barry Lopez wrote: “When I saw them, it was as though I had been waiting quietly for a very long time, as if for an audience with the Dalai Lama.” In Arctic Dreams, Lopez’ chronicle of the 5… Continue reading K Paoletter 10: Ice Floes
“There has never been anything quite like Boston as a creation of the American imagination.” So wrote the great critic Elizabeth Hardwick in 1959 in her assessment of a city once “felt to have… a pure and special nature, absurd no doubt, but somehow valuable.” Hardwick was hardly impressed with the Boston of her age,… Continue reading K Paoletter 9: Dirty Old Town
In Vertigo, W.G. Sebald describes a youthful Franz Kafka taking a journey to Venice by way of Vienna. He stops over in Trieste, and there “on the borderline between grinding weariness and half-sleep he wanders through the lanes of the harbour quarter, sensing under his skin how it is to be a free man waiting… Continue reading K Paoletter 8: Anti-Flâneur
