Paul Constant

In which I talk at length about not wanting to talk. Please go vote.

Bret Stephens is a dummy.

This one is chock full of book recommendations—we got fiction, we got non-fiction, we got pictures of dogs. What else do you need?

In which I ponder the shameful quarter of Seattle voters who tried to defund the Seattle Public Library.

In which seeing a berry practically sends me into a panic attack.

In which we talk a lot about books and take NPR to task for platforming a bigot.

In which I explain about why Donald Trump has screwed up America's 250th birthday in such an egregious manner.

In which I see which way the internet is going and I don't like it one bit.

If you call this newsletter "content" I will scream at you.

In which I turn 50 years old and wonder if Donald Trump is transforming himself into a joke.

In which I walk around Lake Washington and urge you to buy a bookstore or three.

In which I read a book about milk, visit a combination bookstore and bath and body shop, and fall in love with a new movie theater.

In which I sound the alarm that April Fool's Day is coming and argue against the return of cursive.

This is the middlest of March that the middle of March has ever been.

In which we lament the death of the mass-market paperback and think about why it's very important to have a regional artistic economy.

In which we learn that there was a global conspiracy to upend the world but the pedophiliac elites who pulled that conspiracy off were, in fact, total morons.

In which I have lots of feelings about the fashion of law enforcement officers.

In which we need to get over the idea that there is some brilliant evil mastermind plotting against us. Plus: Doggies!

In which I discuss the books, movies, podcasts, music, and socks (?) that meant the most to me in 2025.

In which lines are drawn.