- The Russia Story: Everything Donald Trump Doesn’t Want You to Know
- Secession Planning in California: CALEXIT is Russia’s Ultimate Objective
- From Lance Armstrong to Trump: The Rise & Fall of the Deified Narcissist
- Participation Trophy Politics
- Reading Malcolm X in Texas
- Dah, Donald: Russian Blood Money and the FBI’s Case Against Trump
- Tiny Crowds, Tiny Hands vs. Huge Crowds, Huge Hearts
- 5 Tips for Surviving as Female
- Playing the Donald Trump Game
- Like a Heart Floating in Formaldehyde: A Letter to the President-Elect
- What Are the Odds of Donald Trump Serving All Four Years of His Term?
- The Unbearable Hopelessness of Trump (and Being)
Support The Weeklings
- The 50 Greatest Superhero (and Villain) Names of All Time
- The 50 Greatest Literary Character Names of All Time
- The 50 Most Drug-Addled Albums in Music History
- The 50 Greatest Band Names of All Time
- The 50 Greatest Civil War Names
- How to Get Rid of Donald Trump: An Action Plan
- The 50 Greatest Pro Football Names of All Time
- From Axl to Zappa: The 50 Greatest Musician Names of All Time (Side A)
- The 50 Greatest Unrequited Love Stories Ever
- Song Beneath the Song: “Casimir Pulaski Day” by Sufjan Stevens
- Song Beneath the Song: Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven” as Tarot Card Reading
- Song Beneath the Song: “The Reflex” by Duran Duran
Author Archives: Jana Martin
How to not be exhausted, not be co-opted, not be groped, not be kidnapped, and not be silent during the first 100 days of the bastard Trump regime. Continue reading
Never has a photograph of two women having tea been so terrifying.
She is my walk through Brooklyn, my arm toss in the park, my sit on the stoop, my weekend up in the country, my never alone, my not going to die for such a long time it feels like forever, my Lee.
This is the story of not knowing but knowing, and of having the best song I wrote be like my own Fleetwood Mac’ing of our good and earnest little band. It did not really inflict endless damage, but it informed me, and so I suppose this is a bit like a confession and an apology and an admission, because good songs come from nothing less. – Jana Martin
If we are in the midst of the sixth extinction, we can credit the Department of Wildlife Services for hastening our fate. Responsible for the deaths of some four million wild creatures a year, this government agency has been in business of “wildlife damage management” since 1895. Yet it flies under the radar, killing animals with impunity.
Jana Martin examines the ups and downs of backyard chickens, acquired ruralism, and double yolks