It’s Friday here again, which means a round of links for your reading pleasure (though some of these links won’t bring you joy). A quick note of housekeeping: I’ve been receiving a slew of email asking me to link to this product or that service on Friday’s Link Love. Please email me, by all means, and if it’s appropriate, I’ll help in any way I can, but Friday’s links aren’t to promote a good or a service, generally speaking. It’s more a collection of things I’ve been reading through the week, that I’ve wanted to share with you all.
And without further ado… the links…
Some sad new data emerging about the Holocaust. I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around these new, staggering numbers.
Are teens losing interesting in Facebook, and if they are, what does that mean for the company long-term?
Difference between a happy and miserable marriage: division of house chores is high on that list. Ladies and gents, to you agree or disagree?
Would you want to fly into an airport that doesn’t have its control tower? Ah, the joys of sequestration begin.
Wealth inequality in America. Just staggering.
Self-portraits by famous authors. My favorite, hands down, is Truman Capote.
For gluten-intolerant folks, it might be that your sensitivity isn’t even caused by gluten itself.
David Wondrich, a marvel of a writer and punch-maker extraordinaire (I’ve had his punch, so I know what I’m talking about), has written a stunning piece on the evolution of Brooklyn. If you read nothing else in today’s entry, read his piece – it’s extraordinary. Here is my favorite part:
There’s a freedom in being ignored. Away from the spotlight, Brooklyn developed something that people want, and now they’re coming to take it away. Fortunately, Brooklyn is a large place, larger than “Brooklyn.” As long as there are still Trinidadian doubles shacks in Bed-Stuy and Crown Heights, outside the pickle belt, and Bensonhurst is still Sicilian enough to support Villabate, the greatest pasticceria outside of Sicily itself, I’ll keep hope alive that city life doesn’t have to be a theme park or a plastic desert.
I read this essay by Nora Ephron’s son, Jacob Bernstein, about his mother’s struggle with illness and last days, and wept. Deeply moving, heartfelt, and beautiful.
I am literally speechless over this. [cue the disappointed head shake]
My next culinary climb.
Have a great weekend, everyone.