December is the new August. Sure, it may notfeellike August, what with the freezing fucking cold and whatnot, but it feels like August what with the empty streets, thumb-twiddling social events and the bottomlessly inane excuses for trend stories turning up in the Washington Post. Then: Neely Tucker searching for something to say about shade, "Why are there odes to the sea, to the stars, to a Grecian urn, and so few to shade?" Now: Phillip Kennicott, similarly reaching for interest in a -- dare we say "ode" -- to "gray":
A Lighter Shade of Gray
A Lighter Shade of Gray
A Lighter Shade of Gray
December is the new August. Sure, it may notfeellike August, what with the freezing fucking cold and whatnot, but it feels like August what with the empty streets, thumb-twiddling social events and the bottomlessly inane excuses for trend stories turning up in the Washington Post. Then: Neely Tucker searching for something to say about shade, "Why are there odes to the sea, to the stars, to a Grecian urn, and so few to shade?" Now: Phillip Kennicott, similarly reaching for interest in a -- dare we say "ode" -- to "gray":