Alan Jacobs

There are maybe three people on Instagram I really miss. But I don’t miss Instagram, and this is why.

SRO for Jemar Tisby at Baylor

It’s fun, but it’s also work.

Sure, go ahead and reject the only person who can fix this mess. (Via Nina Massey)

This will be extremely reassuring until other researchers fail to replicate the results and, three years from now, the paper is retracted.

Tsundoku. Always tsundoku.

Not that guy, presumably, but rather this guy.

I posted a new issue of my newsletter this morning.

I think I’ve figured out how to deal with my overflowing inbox.

Nobody yawns the way Malcolm yawns.

This is my heart, right here.

Didn’t really expect this editorial shift, but okay.

I choose not to reflect on the process that led to The Year of Our Lord 1943 being published with so many typos and formatting errors, but I’ve been working all day on getting those corrected for a new printing. Whew.

A superb meditation by my old friend Josh Hochschild on virtue, risk management, bullshit detection, and Saint Boethius.

The death of Lamin Sanneh is a great loss for the church and the academy. Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat ei.

Couldn’t possibly be more sure

The newyorker.com version of my Merton essay is considerably shorter than the one I gave them. Perhaps better! — but shorter. If anyone is interested, here is the longer version.

Last Christmas season I wrote a series of posts about Sir Gawain and the Green Knight:

• One
• Two
• Three
• Four
• Five
• Six
• Seven
• Eight

I wrote an essay on the fiftieth anniversary of the death of Thomas Merton.

Family Christmas tradition: our annual viewing of Harlan Ellison’s “Pay the Writer” rant.

same

Festive post-church brunch at Milo

(WOW did that review need a strong edit. One punchdrunk sentence after another.)

Today in Sentences That Go Places They Really Didn’t Want To Go: “In truth, it wasn’t that hard to reconcile the ex–SNL head writer who created the euphemism ‘soup kitchen’ to describe an act of group sex in a midsized Toyota sedan with the semi-radicalized writer-director who adapted Michael Lewis’s nonfiction bestseller about the causes and casualties of the 2008 financial crisis.”