I'm generally not thrilled when friends push books on me. "You have to read this. Here, take my copy," they'll say, and then try to extract progress reports the next five times I talk to them.
First of all, let’s say it would be hard to find a sleeker art-world hot rod than Ryan Trecartin.
If you rated magazines on a scale of 100 for megasellers to 0 for practically shunned, poetry journals would barely register in the high minuses. Who exactly is the itsy
Hey, fellas. Fancy a career in male-prostitution?