Down the milky corridors of fog, starless scenery, the rubble of ocean's breath, that lone figure strolling, gathering about him without shame a small flood of damages, concessions to a frailty that was his long before he knew what he must do or what he must be, and now, with his hand outstretched as if to greet the future, he comes close and pours out to me the subtlety of his meaning, and I see him, my long-lost uncle, great and golden in the sudden sunlight, who predicted that he would reach over the years and be with me and that I would be waiting.
Played for a Fool The Sony hacking story has unfolded just as North Korea’s propagandists would have wanted.
Forget Santa. You Should Celebrate La Befana. Because what Christmas needs is a wine drinking witch.
Slate Voice: “Santa Should Not Be a White Man Anymore” Aisha Harris reads her piece on giving St. Nick a makeover.
Space: The Next Generation
The Venus Express Will Go Out in a Burst of Glory I was cheap labor on a thrifty mission to our nearest planet.
Ronald Reagan Is Kobe Bryant The best NBA analogues for George Washington, Warren G. Harding, Barack Obama, and every other president.