Category Archives: Americana

Weeding and the Fine Art of Slapping Leather

This week’s fun find in the cart of deaccessioned books is the most well-known work by Western (as in cowboys-and-gunfighters) author Eugene Cunningham: Triggernometry: Don’t be fooled by that plain and simple cover — this is no dry tome full … Continue reading

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A Tale of Two Lowells

As I was helping out a bit in the archives at work last week, I came across a familiar name in an unfamiliar context: the name of Lowell Mason, which (as it turns out) refers to two very different men … Continue reading

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Time: Some Examples

A little while back, I wrote a post about the John Margolies photograph collection at the Library of Congress Flickr stream. It is a fascinating collection, documenting the architecture of the (now nearly forgotten) highways and byways of the United … Continue reading

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The Watchers

In a certain building, in a certain state, in a certain city, there is a certain display. There they stand, a distaff army of pale porcelain faces and carefully done hair, each with her own unique dress. They are different … Continue reading

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In Case of Apocalypse, Break Into Library

While (as I’ve already said) there is no apparent rhyme or reason to the books in the Wood’s House collection, there are some popular genres and themes (broadly construed): historical fiction, outdated textbooks, and a wide variety of reference works. Among … Continue reading

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A Little Exercise in Creepy, Revisited

In a certain building, in a certain state, in a certain city, there is a certain display. There they stand, a distaff army of pale porcelain faces and carefully done hair, each with her own unique dress. They are different … Continue reading

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Local Spectacle, Again

Every year, the little town I currently live in holds its big Star Spangled Spectacular for the 4th of July, chock full o’ Americana and patriotic as it gets. Flags fly, classic cars assemble, dudes on motorcycles rumble through, pie … Continue reading

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Looking Down On What’s Left

There is something sort of eerie about the view from a plane hurtling through the sky between Albuquerque and Vegas, especially for eyes used to the green, gridded regularity of the farm-tamed upper midwest. From great heights, one sees stone … Continue reading

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Flight Delayed. Stuck in Vegas airport. Please send earplugs.

These are the sounds of McCarran International Airport, in no particular order: The smooth jazz stylings of the Rat Pack, Ella Fitzgerald, and their assorted contemporaries, on an endless loop of smooth, smooth jazziness tinged with a wee bit of … Continue reading

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Tales That Outlive Their Tellers

Recently, my great aunt Cleo Caraway passed away. She was 89 years old, still living in her own home, and was (by all reports) vividly and entirely herself right up to the end. I can’t say that I knew Cleo … Continue reading

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