Printing presses and the pressmen | The Boston Globe

The Boston Globe, May 24, 2017:

Four stories tall, loud as a locomotive, and with at least as many moving parts, The Boston Globe’s printing presses on Morrissey Boulevard will come to a stop next month.

Since 1958 they’ve kept a tight schedule, pressing ink onto newsprint and churning out daily papers into the wee hours, long after New England has drifted off to sleep.

The seasoned hands who play this finely tuned instrument have done so for decades; some families for generations — skin flecked with ink, senses attuned to the pulse of the machine as it turns out tomorrow’s front pages. Soon this nocturnal symphony will end, at least in Dorchester, as the Globe moves all of its printing to a new facility in Taunton.

Here’s a video tribute to the machines and the people who have kept the news rolling all these years.

Posted in art

I have cancer. Don’t tell me you’re sorry | Elizabeth Wurtzel

I hate it when people say that they are sorry about my cancer.


Have they met me? I am not someone that you feel sorry for. I am the original mean girl.

I now have stage-four upgrade privileges. I can go right to the front. But it’s always been like this.

I am a line-cutter.

Which is to say, I was precocious. I was early for history.

I was on Prozac when it was still called fluoxetine. I wrote a twentynothing memoir when there was no such thing. I got addicted to snorting Ritalin before there was Adderall. I was a riot girl, I was a do-me feminist, and I posed topless giving the world the finger on the cover of my second book.

I have always been the most impossible person ever.

I am the woman who made you scream that it’s a good thing New York City has gun control. I’m the one who made you yell that there oughtta be a law – a law to stop me from being my wretched self.

I am that person.

And now I have advanced breast cancer. Cue the sorries.


Continue reading “I have cancer. Don’t tell me you’re sorry | Elizabeth Wurtzel”

Gefilte fish | Passover Seder | a Jewish family story on Tradition


which makes me think of traditions of my own culture which as I grew up had gradually dissipated. It is the case in my family but I think it’s a general trend. It is only when I’m abroad, far away from home, that I feel their absence (the traditions) and a gnawing sense of emptiness and loss. Part of the reason is probably better economy. Eating out on a day of traditional holiday is now easily affordable for most families, and as a result the adults no longer cook together at home with all the talk, the gossips, the messiness, and occasional unpleasantness. The younger generation (and increasingly the elders too) has their eyes always on the phone. Many rituals are no longer performed or done offhandedly as a chore. All the joy and sense of belonging and rootedness inseparable to those traditions and rituals, however primitive they might be, are no longer felt as much as before. I watched this video with envy (in an admiring way).