I often think that nowadays we are living in a blunter way than it used to be. Somehow, the distance we had toward objects or events seems to decrease and proportionally, prudishness vanishes. Maybe it’s illusory, I’m nostalgic by nature.

An english expression says “he wears his heart on his sleeve” to define someone inclined to a certain reserve. Today, an article from the LA Times relates that a Pico Rivera gang member literally wears his heart on his chest.

Everyone knows about the criminals from the Russian gulags and their tattoos. However, if the latter were subtly ciphering their feats, the former obscenely inked on his chest the crime scene of a murder he committed years ago. This confession lead to his conviction.

Via South Willard.

My best italian friend’s name is Leo (careful to pronounce it Lay-Oh, not Lee-Ho). Anyway.

Not your typical approach to home attack dog training.

More from the series by RJ Shaughnessy here.

Brooklyn Family

I sleep with my phone in my hand. Not because I am afraid of missing a call that much. I hate talking on the phone and I usually don’t answer or return calls. It’s because I am texting or hoping for text before I fall asleep. I hate the verb text and all its forms. A phone is not a person, yet more than once the phone in my hand has turned text into a person, the phone has replaced itself with a body I can hold in my bed. Also, I like those tights.

some people get it right some people get it wrong init?

Extended version. I’ve got it on repeat.Some people d