Good Morning, RVA: You might join me for a weep
This weather is absolutely crazy-making!
Good morning, RVA! It’s 39 °F, and I’m just about done with this winter. Due to the impending snow, everything’s shut down. Again. Eccentric Facebook weather guy has Richmond right on the line between three and six inches of snow but does not have the snow starting until late afternoon. Personally, I’m right on the line between Jack Nicholson in Batman and Jack Nicholson in The Shining.
I’m endlessly fascinated by this piece from Susan Howson on our city’s sewer system. Since Richmond is so old, we’ve got an old system for dealing with all of our poop. Faced with this aging system, we can either stop pooping so much or upgrade our poop-removal infrastructure. Turns out the city is in the middle of a multi-year, multi-million dollar effort to do just that–the latter…although, I could get behind a city-sponsored program to give everyone a ton of cheese to accomplish the former.
We’ve got some more details on HBO’s standalone streaming service called HBO Now: $15 per month, no cable subscription required, video handled by Major League Baseball (how interesting is that partnership, btw?), and it looks like the service will be available on AppleTVs.
The Supreme Court is taking up another case against Obamacare. If whatever the Enrobed Ones decide makes me fill out another set of complex and confusing paperwork, I will be displeased.
Finally, I want to thank everyone that came out to RVANews Live last night. That Richmond is filled with such incredibly interesting and thoughtful people makes me burst with pride. RVANews Live will return for its third iteration…soonish!
- Spiders topped the Minutemen of UMASS, 56-53.
- Caps host the Wild tonight at 7:00 PM.
- Rams travel to Davidson for a game that has A-10 tournament seeding implications. Tip is at 9:00 PM on ESPNU.
This morning’s longread
Child prodigies: never not both super interesting and super sad.
In 1923, typewriters were hardly a child’s plaything, but to those following the family of critic and editor Wilson Follett, it was a grand educational experiment. He’d already written of his daughter Barbara in Harper’s, describing a girl who by the age of three was consumed with letters and words. “She was always seeing A’s in the gables of houses and H’s in football goalposts,” he recalled. One day she’d wandered into Wilson’s office and discovered his typewriter.
This morning’s Instagram
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