Posts tagged magazines
For several years, beginning when I was six or seven, I played a hobo for Halloween. It was easy enough to put together. Oversize boots, a moth-eaten tweed jacket, and my dad’s busted felt hunting hat, which smelled of deer lure; finish it up with a beard scuffed on with a charcoal briquette, a handkerchief bindle tied to a hockey stick, an old empty bottle. 

I imagined a hobo’s life would be a fine thing. I would sleep in haystacks and do exactly what I wanted all the time. Since then, I’ve had occasional fantasies of dropping out, and have even made some brief furtive bids at secession: a stint as a squatter in a crumbling South Bronx building, a stolen ride through Canada on a freight train. 

A handful of times I got myself arrested, the charges ranging from trespassing to disorderly conduct to minor drug possession. But I wasn’t a very good criminal, or nomad, and invariably I would return to the comforting banalities of ordinary life. 

I never disliked civilization intensely enough to endure the hardships of abandoning it, but periodically I would tire of routine, of feeling “cramped up and sivilized,” as Huck Finn put it, and I would light out for another diversion in the Territory. 

It was on one such outing, a hitchhike up the West Coast in the summer of 1999, that I met Matt Bullard in a palm-fringed city park in Arcata, California. A dumpster-diving, train-hopping, animal-rights-crusading anarchist and tramp, with little money and less of a home, Matt was almost exactly my age, and from that first time we talked I admired his raconteurial zest and scammer’s panache. 

He considered shoplifting a political act and dumpstering a civil right. As we sat on a park bench in the sunshine, Matt reached into his backpack and pulled out what he called a “magic dollar,” an ordinary bill save for its twelve-inch tail of cellophane packing tape. 

He would dip it into a vending machine, select the cheapest item available, collect his purchase and change, and pull his dollar back out by the tail. An unguarded machine could be relieved of all its coins and every last one of its snacks in the space of an hour. 

It was a very impressive trick. Matt was convinced that there was something deeply wrong with most Americans: they were bored and unfulfilled, their freedom relinquished for the security of a steady paycheck and a ninety-minute commute, their imagination anesthetized by TV addiction and celebrity worship. 

He had decided to organize his life against this fate. He utterly refused to serve; he lived exactly as he desired. Matt’s was the kind of amoral genius that I had always longed to possess. He not only had quit society altogether but was gaming it for all it was worth, like some dirtbag P. T. Barnum. I, meanwhile, would soon be returning to a temp job in a Manhattan cubicle. 

Matt couldn’t understand why I needed to go back, and I couldn’t really myself, but I went back anyway, tugged by the gravity of expectations. In the ensuing years, I got occasional emails documenting Matt’s drift, describing days on grain cars passing through Minnesota blizzards, nights in palm-thatched squats on Hawaiian islands: dispatches from a realm of total freedom beyond the frontiers of ordinary life. 

Two summers ago, Matt sent an invitation that I could not ignore. He was in Minneapolis, building a homemade raft, and had put out a call for a crew of “boat punks” to help him pilot the vessel the entire length of the Mississippi River, all the way to New Orleans. 

Mississippi Drift, by Matt Power | Harper’s Magazine

For several years, beginning when I was six or seven, I played a hobo for Halloween. It was easy enough to put together. Oversize boots, a moth-eaten tweed jacket, and my dad’s busted felt hunting hat, which smelled of deer lure; finish it up with a beard scuffed on with a charcoal briquette, a handkerchief bindle tied to a hockey stick, an old empty bottle.

I imagined a hobo’s life would be a fine thing. I would sleep in haystacks and do exactly what I wanted all the time. Since then, I’ve had occasional fantasies of dropping out, and have even made some brief furtive bids at secession: a stint as a squatter in a crumbling South Bronx building, a stolen ride through Canada on a freight train.

A handful of times I got myself arrested, the charges ranging from trespassing to disorderly conduct to minor drug possession. But I wasn’t a very good criminal, or nomad, and invariably I would return to the comforting banalities of ordinary life.

I never disliked civilization intensely enough to endure the hardships of abandoning it, but periodically I would tire of routine, of feeling “cramped up and sivilized,” as Huck Finn put it, and I would light out for another diversion in the Territory.

It was on one such outing, a hitchhike up the West Coast in the summer of 1999, that I met Matt Bullard in a palm-fringed city park in Arcata, California. A dumpster-diving, train-hopping, animal-rights-crusading anarchist and tramp, with little money and less of a home, Matt was almost exactly my age, and from that first time we talked I admired his raconteurial zest and scammer’s panache.

He considered shoplifting a political act and dumpstering a civil right. As we sat on a park bench in the sunshine, Matt reached into his backpack and pulled out what he called a “magic dollar,” an ordinary bill save for its twelve-inch tail of cellophane packing tape.

He would dip it into a vending machine, select the cheapest item available, collect his purchase and change, and pull his dollar back out by the tail. An unguarded machine could be relieved of all its coins and every last one of its snacks in the space of an hour.

It was a very impressive trick. Matt was convinced that there was something deeply wrong with most Americans: they were bored and unfulfilled, their freedom relinquished for the security of a steady paycheck and a ninety-minute commute, their imagination anesthetized by TV addiction and celebrity worship.

He had decided to organize his life against this fate. He utterly refused to serve; he lived exactly as he desired. Matt’s was the kind of amoral genius that I had always longed to possess. He not only had quit society altogether but was gaming it for all it was worth, like some dirtbag P. T. Barnum. I, meanwhile, would soon be returning to a temp job in a Manhattan cubicle.

Matt couldn’t understand why I needed to go back, and I couldn’t really myself, but I went back anyway, tugged by the gravity of expectations. In the ensuing years, I got occasional emails documenting Matt’s drift, describing days on grain cars passing through Minnesota blizzards, nights in palm-thatched squats on Hawaiian islands: dispatches from a realm of total freedom beyond the frontiers of ordinary life.

Two summers ago, Matt sent an invitation that I could not ignore. He was in Minneapolis, building a homemade raft, and had put out a call for a crew of “boat punks” to help him pilot the vessel the entire length of the Mississippi River, all the way to New Orleans.

Mississippi Drift, by Matt Power | Harper’s Magazine

Happy 81st Birthday to us! 
The first issue of Newsweek was published in 1933 and covered a wide-range of topics that… pretty much reflect the issues we’re facing today, from dog sledding in Central Park on a balmy day that reminded the author of ‘Alaska in spring time,’ to a president who may be awarded ‘extraordinary powers’ in wartime.  
The magazine was founded by editor Samuel T. Williamson, and run from a Dayton, Ohio headquarters. 
It cost $4/year to subscribe. 
ZoomInfo
Happy 81st Birthday to us! 
The first issue of Newsweek was published in 1933 and covered a wide-range of topics that… pretty much reflect the issues we’re facing today, from dog sledding in Central Park on a balmy day that reminded the author of ‘Alaska in spring time,’ to a president who may be awarded ‘extraordinary powers’ in wartime.  
The magazine was founded by editor Samuel T. Williamson, and run from a Dayton, Ohio headquarters. 
It cost $4/year to subscribe. 
ZoomInfo
Happy 81st Birthday to us! 
The first issue of Newsweek was published in 1933 and covered a wide-range of topics that… pretty much reflect the issues we’re facing today, from dog sledding in Central Park on a balmy day that reminded the author of ‘Alaska in spring time,’ to a president who may be awarded ‘extraordinary powers’ in wartime.  
The magazine was founded by editor Samuel T. Williamson, and run from a Dayton, Ohio headquarters. 
It cost $4/year to subscribe. 
ZoomInfo
Happy 81st Birthday to us! 
The first issue of Newsweek was published in 1933 and covered a wide-range of topics that… pretty much reflect the issues we’re facing today, from dog sledding in Central Park on a balmy day that reminded the author of ‘Alaska in spring time,’ to a president who may be awarded ‘extraordinary powers’ in wartime.  
The magazine was founded by editor Samuel T. Williamson, and run from a Dayton, Ohio headquarters. 
It cost $4/year to subscribe. 
ZoomInfo

Happy 81st Birthday to us! 

The first issue of Newsweek was published in 1933 and covered a wide-range of topics that… pretty much reflect the issues we’re facing today, from dog sledding in Central Park on a balmy day that reminded the author of ‘Alaska in spring time,’ to a president who may be awarded ‘extraordinary powers’ in wartime.  

The magazine was founded by editor Samuel T. Williamson, and run from a Dayton, Ohio headquarters. 

It cost $4/year to subscribe. 

Thanks to dedicated Marilyn Monroe fan Tony Gualtieri, we’ve been able to see a number of older Newsweek covers from his incredible collection (bottom image). We’ve added our newest cover, from the ‘Lost Scrapbook’ special edition magazine currently on sale in Walmart & Barnes & Noble stores, ahead of our return to print sometime this spring. 
ZoomInfo
Thanks to dedicated Marilyn Monroe fan Tony Gualtieri, we’ve been able to see a number of older Newsweek covers from his incredible collection (bottom image). We’ve added our newest cover, from the ‘Lost Scrapbook’ special edition magazine currently on sale in Walmart & Barnes & Noble stores, ahead of our return to print sometime this spring. 
ZoomInfo
Thanks to dedicated Marilyn Monroe fan Tony Gualtieri, we’ve been able to see a number of older Newsweek covers from his incredible collection (bottom image). We’ve added our newest cover, from the ‘Lost Scrapbook’ special edition magazine currently on sale in Walmart & Barnes & Noble stores, ahead of our return to print sometime this spring. 
ZoomInfo
Thanks to dedicated Marilyn Monroe fan Tony Gualtieri, we’ve been able to see a number of older Newsweek covers from his incredible collection (bottom image). We’ve added our newest cover, from the ‘Lost Scrapbook’ special edition magazine currently on sale in Walmart & Barnes & Noble stores, ahead of our return to print sometime this spring. 
ZoomInfo
Thanks to dedicated Marilyn Monroe fan Tony Gualtieri, we’ve been able to see a number of older Newsweek covers from his incredible collection (bottom image). We’ve added our newest cover, from the ‘Lost Scrapbook’ special edition magazine currently on sale in Walmart & Barnes & Noble stores, ahead of our return to print sometime this spring. 
ZoomInfo
Thanks to dedicated Marilyn Monroe fan Tony Gualtieri, we’ve been able to see a number of older Newsweek covers from his incredible collection (bottom image). We’ve added our newest cover, from the ‘Lost Scrapbook’ special edition magazine currently on sale in Walmart & Barnes & Noble stores, ahead of our return to print sometime this spring. 
ZoomInfo

Thanks to dedicated Marilyn Monroe fan Tony Gualtieri, we’ve been able to see a number of older Newsweek covers from his incredible collection (bottom image).

We’ve added our newest cover, from the ‘Lost Scrapbook’ special edition magazine currently on sale in Walmart & Barnes & Noble stores, ahead of our return to print sometime this spring. 

(Source: Newsweek)

The reality, of course, turned out to be far more complicated and expensive. It would be nearly 200 years before the first, 96-mile connection — the Illinois and Michigan Canal — was completed, and another 50 before the current connection — the Chicago Sanitary and Ship Canal — opened its locks for the first time.
Finished in 1900, the latter canal created a shorter, 28-mile route linking the two waterways. Even more significantly, it was engineered to reverse the flow of the Chicago River and instead carry the growing city’s wastewater away from its drinking supply in Lake Michigan. By moving then-untreated waste away from the crown jewel of the lake, Chicago was able to put off dealing with many of the consequences of man-made intervention in the Midwest’s ecosystem.
But after more than a hundred years, it looks as though it’s time to pay the price. And it’s going to be an expensive one. Over the last decade or so, a huge range of interests — from environmental groups to fishermen to shipping experts to politicians — have raised the alarm over just how much this artificial connection has created an opening for invasive species such as the Asian carp to make their way through North America’s waterways. And the costs associated with the damage caused by these species have been high enough to prompt serious consideration of closing off the link between the Mississippi and the Great Lakes.
How high? First, consider the figure $18 billion. That’s the estimate the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers released last week to re-insert a physical separation between the Great Lakes and the Mississippi system. The full report, the Great Lakes and Interbasin Mississippi River Study, was commissioned by Congress to address the growing threat of invasive species in the area known as the Chicago Area Waterway System.
The final report details a wide spectrum of actions — ranging from essentially maintaining the status quo to engineering a complete separation over a 25-year period — but doesn’t offer recommendations on which course to take.
(A Century Later, the Expensive Lesson of Reversing the Chicago River)

The reality, of course, turned out to be far more complicated and expensive. It would be nearly 200 years before the first, 96-mile connection — the Illinois and Michigan Canal — was completed, and another 50 before the current connection — the Chicago Sanitary and Ship Canal — opened its locks for the first time.

Finished in 1900, the latter canal created a shorter, 28-mile route linking the two waterways. Even more significantly, it was engineered to reverse the flow of the Chicago River and instead carry the growing city’s wastewater away from its drinking supply in Lake Michigan. By moving then-untreated waste away from the crown jewel of the lake, Chicago was able to put off dealing with many of the consequences of man-made intervention in the Midwest’s ecosystem.

But after more than a hundred years, it looks as though it’s time to pay the price. And it’s going to be an expensive one. Over the last decade or so, a huge range of interests — from environmental groups to fishermen to shipping experts to politicians — have raised the alarm over just how much this artificial connection has created an opening for invasive species such as the Asian carp to make their way through North America’s waterways. And the costs associated with the damage caused by these species have been high enough to prompt serious consideration of closing off the link between the Mississippi and the Great Lakes.

How high? First, consider the figure $18 billion. That’s the estimate the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers released last week to re-insert a physical separation between the Great Lakes and the Mississippi system. The full report, the Great Lakes and Interbasin Mississippi River Study, was commissioned by Congress to address the growing threat of invasive species in the area known as the Chicago Area Waterway System.

The final report details a wide spectrum of actions — ranging from essentially maintaining the status quo to engineering a complete separation over a 25-year period — but doesn’t offer recommendations on which course to take.

(A Century Later, the Expensive Lesson of Reversing the Chicago River)

A familiar face is on this week’s illustrated cover: Dennis Rodman!
The basketball star, as you most likely know, recently went to North Korea, and infamously had lots of great things to say about the country and its leader, Kim Jung-un. For this week’s cover story, which is live in the App Store today, Buzz Bissinger takes a look at what kind of “ambassador” Dennis Rodman really is.
Have an iPad? Download this week’s Newsweek issue right here.
Here’s an excerpt: 

"Even in the baddest bad-ass behavior of his basketball days, when his hair looked like flame and his enormous piercings seemed made from a chain-link fence and it was always hard to divide his reality from his cal­cu­lated ridiculous, it was inconceivable that Dennis Rodman would one day change world diplomacy. Hip-checking the Utah Jazz’s John Stockton and pushing Chicago Bull Scottie Pippen into the stands when he played in the National Basketball Association? Yes. Head-butting an official? Yes. Kicking a cameraman in the groin? Yes. Wearing a bridal gown to promote his book, Bad as I Wanna Be, that sold a million copies? Yes. A sartorial style that was a mix of Liberace and Phyllis Diller and Dudley Do-Right? Yes. The undeniable kinkiness of sex with Madonna as well as the apocalyptic nightmare of it? Yes. Arguably the best rebounder in the National Basketball Association over the past 40 years with an uncanny gift and instinct for the game? Yes. Vulnerability behind the feathery boas and the Wizard of Odd costumes? Yes. Abandonment issues? Yes. A craving for attention? Yes. Wincing candor? Yes. Naiveté. Yes. Alcoholism? Yes. Complexity? Yes, yes, and yes. But creating the tempest that no athlete in modern times has created by yukking it up several weeks ago with North Korean leader Kim Jong-un despite a record on human rights that is likely the worst of any country in the world? No."

A familiar face is on this week’s illustrated cover: Dennis Rodman!

The basketball star, as you most likely know, recently went to North Korea, and infamously had lots of great things to say about the country and its leader, Kim Jung-un. For this week’s cover story, which is live in the App Store today, Buzz Bissinger takes a look at what kind of “ambassador” Dennis Rodman really is.

Have an iPad? Download this week’s Newsweek issue right here.

Here’s an excerpt:

"Even in the baddest bad-ass behavior of his basketball days, when his hair looked like flame and his enormous piercings seemed made from a chain-link fence and it was always hard to divide his reality from his cal­cu­lated ridiculous, it was inconceivable that Dennis Rodman would one day change world diplomacy. Hip-checking the Utah Jazz’s John Stockton and pushing Chicago Bull Scottie Pippen into the stands when he played in the National Basketball Association? Yes. Head-butting an official? Yes. Kicking a cameraman in the groin? Yes. Wearing a bridal gown to promote his book, Bad as I Wanna Be, that sold a million copies? Yes. A sartorial style that was a mix of Liberace and Phyllis Diller and Dudley Do-Right? Yes. The undeniable kinkiness of sex with Madonna as well as the apocalyptic nightmare of it? Yes. Arguably the best rebounder in the National Basketball Association over the past 40 years with an uncanny gift and instinct for the game? Yes. Vulnerability behind the feathery boas and the Wizard of Odd costumes? Yes. Abandonment issues? Yes. A craving for attention? Yes. Wincing candor? Yes. Naiveté. Yes. Alcoholism? Yes. Complexity? Yes, yes, and yes. But creating the tempest that no athlete in modern times has created by yukking it up several weeks ago with North Korean leader Kim Jong-un despite a record on human rights that is likely the worst of any country in the world? No."

This week’s animated Newsweek cover, as seen in the iPad app, features a morphing King Richard III—from legend…to reality!

The cover story, written by historian Simon Schama, looks back at the means Richard III used to create his rock-solid center of power and loyalty—that undid him in the end.

Below, check out an excerpt. You can read the story online or in the iPad app, available in the App Store today.

A king, one shoulder higher than the other (an armorer’s nightmare), the golden circlet of the crown upon his helmet, is fighting for his life and his throne. Seeing the odds of a victory, which should have been his for the taking, suddenly shorten when his vanguard flounders in marshy ground, he has made a gambler’s throw: a frontal charge at the enemy with a long column of his most loyal knights behind him, meant to smash its way to his rival and kill him. The wet ground has lost him his mount, but he is cutting his way through the bodies with a swinging battle ax. He makes for the standard bearer of the enemy, fells him. Surely, the Welshman, the Tudor who wants his crown, cannot be far behind. Another swing, another knight, much bigger than his own slight frame, goes crashing down in his clanking hardware. Now Richard is within feet of his quarry when it all goes wrong. A presumed ally, his troops held in reserve, perhaps sensing the shift in the day’s fortunes, has thrown in his lot with the enemy and is attacking his rear; his scarlet-coated men throwing themselves into the fray. Everyone, all those men groaning and stumbling and hacking in the soft ground, feels the beginning of the end. Ranks of them close in on the king from whose helm the crown has ominously fallen. Defying everything and everyone, the king swings and flails, is engulfed, and a halberd slices through his helmet and into his brain. He sinks and folds and it is over. It is always finished when the leader of an army loses his life, for these thousands of men, knights and hardened men at arms, archers and gunners (for there were both cannon and harquebuses on Bosworth Field) are not fighting for an idea or a country, but for the person of the king who, in some way they don’t ask themselves, is England.

The chronicles of the late 15th and early 16th centuries have told us this, but those histories were written either by, or to please, the victors. But now we have Richard III’s story as written on his bones: a forensic romance. Not just the deep cleft in his skull where the halberd penetrated the helmet, but the marks of the subsequent indignities and mutilations inflicted on his corpse. It was always known that the new king, Henry Tudor, made sure to expose Richard’s body for either two or three days (sources differ) in Greyfriars Abbey where it was deposited, and it may have been, as one of the histories describes, half-naked, its lower half covered merely by “a poor black cloth”—the ultimate humiliation for a king who had reveled in royal costume. The skeleton shows signs of lunging stab wounds through the right buttock, another targeted indignity and, more mysteriously, the body’s feet are missing. Most dramatically of all, the backbone is curved like the blade of a scythe: the sign of “idiopathic” scoliosis, a condition that would have come upon the prince, Richard, as a boy and which would have thrust one shoulder up high enough for critics during and after his life to jeer at the deformity. Thomas More, whose unfinished biography is the first thrilling work of historical narrative—more a novel than a true history—and Shakespeare, who drew on More, may have been unjust in making Richard a monster, and there is no sign of the withered arm at the center of one of More’s most dramatic and fanciful scenes. But the bones tell us they were right to picture Richard III as deformed, and entirely of their time to imagine what effect this might have on the self-consciousness of a noble steeped in the chivalric literature of manly perfection, and on those many who feared and hated him.

The Return of Ruthless Richard III, Newsweek