HeyJaredHoundstooth of Love
The best things in life are free, unscheduled, and often musical.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 5
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- Sep 24, 2026
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- Aug 4, 2026
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My Hollywood by Boris Dralyuk (opens the original)
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One recent sleepless night I chanced on an essay by Boris Dralyuk, whose name I did not know. The essay was about some California poets—most of whose names I also did not know—like Myron H. Broomell, whose 1947 book of poems is called The Time By Dialing. What a title!1 I loved Dralyuk’s essay. It is gentle and serene, a record of discovery, more like a ride on the Pacific Surfline
Autumn reflection, the sun in retreat (opens the original)
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The sun–constant buddy, stalwart pal–turned on us. Started a year ago, maybe more. It went homicidal, herbicidal, aquacidal. Drought, heat, a fried a/c. Bare mountains. The garden wouldn’t take. The sun, with nothing to conserve and everything to spend, reached out its million hands and got us by the throat. It hectored, lectured, mocked. “See this little cloud?” it said. Squelched.Yesterday it put on satin gloves. It loosened its grip, caressed the faces it had burnt, and introduced Autumn, the
The holdout that deadlocked our jury in the insanity phase of a familial double-murder trial (opens the original)
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I was a juror in a double-murder trial. The facts of the crime: one morning, a man went to his mother’s apartment, killed his mother’s dog, and stabbed his mother to death in her bed. He then went to his workplace to abduct–or rescue from an imagined apocalypse, according to the defense–a coworker. When another coworker intervened, the defendant shot and killed him. The defendant then went on the run and shot a few others who had gotten in his way.The events of our case were not in dispute. It t
Mr. Chang and the One Thousand Dollar Ride, or Good Things Can Happen If You Stick It Out (opens the original)
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I WAS A CHAUFFEUR IN LOS ANGELES, a port town on the eastern edge of the Pacific. Like the Frenchmen who gave the limousine its name, I wore a dark suit. Most days my limo was a Cadillac sedan.The livery lot of the Los Angeles International Airport was where professional drivers waited impatiently for their planes to arrive. It was my second home. Filled with hundreds of black cars like mine, it looked like a coffin factory or a colony of sleeping ants. The other drivers–men and a very few women
Michelle Shocked between Demeter and St. Michael (opens the original)
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Audio file of this essay here:<img alt="" class="sizing-normal" height="1092" src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!bMuc!,w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazon
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