None of Your Business

By Cyberquill 10/30/201034 Comments


If I ask you what’s your favorite ice cream flavor, what was the last Hollywood movie you saw, or whether you’ve ever been to Vermont, chances are you’ll answer my questions honestly and with little hesitation (provided you’re in the mood to chat in the first place).

If I move on to inquiring about your ATM PIN, your kinkiest sexual fantasy, or your rap sheet, you’ll probably be more reluctant to tell, thinking (perhaps even saying aloud) that these matters are none of my business.

Obviously, how much and what type of information you’re game to share with me hinges on a variety of factors, such as the nature and depth of our relationship, the time and place of our conversation, your upbringing, and how many tequila shots you’ve had.

Few people are ready to reveal everything to everyone at all times, and those who are most likely suffer from some type of psychiatric disorder. The majority of us constantly draw lines in terms of what we’re willing to share when and with whom.

For the purpose of this polemic, I shall disregard situations where we don’t feel like conversing at all. Let us confine our discussion to situations in which we are willing to talk but keep within either spontaneous or premeditated limits the kind and quantity of information we are prepared to divulge to a given audience, i.e., pretty much every time the psychologically sound and sober among us are in information-sharing mode and face an audience of at least one other individual deemed capable of comprehending what we say.

Whenever we resist disclosing a particular piece of information or take active measures to reduce the numerical size of our audience, we do so for one of three reasons:

  • Plain civility and consideration for others, e.g., by keeping our voices down when jabbering into our cell phones in public
  • Efficiency of communication—we’ve adjudged the information in question to be excessive or off-topic, and even though we do not, in principle, object to sharing it with the same audience at another time, doing so at this point would only clutter, confuse, or distract from the discussion at hand
  • We worry that its disclosure may result in undesirable consequences beyond merely disturbing others or blurring the focus of a given debate

Such potentially undesirable consequences in the wake of injudicious disclosure of certain data can range from subtle to severe. Perhaps we are simply worried some people might misunderstand or “judge” us to varying degrees and carry away the impression we’re either freaky, obtuse, or mentally imbalanced (“need help”).

Higher up on the disaster scale, we may be concerned that one or another audience member could misuse the information we so magnanimously provided to cause us harm; perhaps by cleaning out our bank accounts; or by passing it on to the wrong people, such as contacting law enforcement in case we owned up to illegal activity, informing our spouses in case we shared juicy details regarding extramarital desires we had unwisely given into, or forwarding to our superiors confidential emails in which we had bestowed various primate designations upon them.

So unless, for content-neutral reasons, we don’t wish to talk at all, or we are solely concerned about efficiency of communication or extending rudimentary courtesy to others, every impulse to hold back information or to share it with a limited audience only is born out of fear—fear not necessarily in the melodramatic sense of shaking in our wingtips, but in the less conspicuous sense of anticipating unpleasantness—pain, for short—and adjusting our behavior so as to avoid it.

Just as we strive to keep access into our hearts and minds restricted, we tend to keep our houses and apartments locked, yet our hands don’t tremble as we insert our keys into the keyholes, and no pearls of cold sweat materialize on our foreheads as we sense the bits engaging the tumblers. Even in the absence of physical symptoms, the rote action of securing our premises is driven by fear, to wit the fear of what might happen if we didn’t lock them, for it seems unlikely that a great many of us get an actual kick (i.e., a “dopamine squirt”) out of stopping on our way out in order to manipulate a flat piece of brass on a keychain, save the agreeable tranquility of mind derived from having now reduced the risk of finding our abodes ransacked upon returning from yoga class or the nail parlor.

Fear need not be a monumental emotion. It needn’t even be recognizable as an emotion at all. Most of the time we refer to it as “common sense” and class it as a thought rather than a feeling. Certainly, there’s nothing wrong with many of our choices being governed by fear-based common sense. In fact, such common sense is vital not only for our functioning in society, but indeed for our survival.

At bottom, each of our impulses and actions is motivated by either love or fear—more precisely, pleasure-seeking or pain avoidance—although it can be tricky to tell which is which. Why do we floss? Because we’re afraid of the dentist’s drill and bill, or because maintaining a clean and wholesome oral cavity feels good? Do we put on our seat belts because we’re scared of sailing through the windshield, or because we enjoy that heightened sense of safety which buckling up affords us?

Often, the motivation for our behavior is a combination of pleasure-seeking and pain avoidance. In a way, one appears to imply the other—intoxication is a classic strategy of seeking bliss in order to escape discomfort—yet upon close examination, one of these two forces generally preponderates on a per-action basis. Of course, we are hopelessly biased in favor of couching the bulk of our own behavior in glowing terms of love and the pursuit of happiness while downplaying any fear component that may also have a hand in pulling our behavioral strings; then we simply reverse this analytical procedure in explaining the behavior of others, especially when their conduct is not to our liking; for instance, when they root for the wrong political candidate or party. By definition, voting for the opposition is driven by fear fueled by enemy propaganda, and the bad guys always happen to possess a “bigger megaphone” and are so much better organized in terms of getting their message out. (I shall now discontinue pursuing this particular train of thought and return to the topic under examination—not out of fear of undesirable consequences, but because I am beginning to blur the focus of this discussion. At another time, I shall be perfectly willing to disclose to this very same audience the thoughts I am withholding right now for efficiency’s sake.)

In fine, if you ever see me flee from an angry grizzly, I shall most likely insist I am running away because I love life and derive pleasure from the structural integrity of my mortal coil, not because I fear the furry mammal on my heels.

Now, requests for information an individual does not wish to disclose frequently provoke the NOYB (“none of your business”) response. The problem with this half-witted locution is not a lack of factual accuracy. Chances are the information requested is none of the inquirer’s business indeed. Of course your PIN code, your favorite sexual position, and your criminal record are none of my business, except in a fairly limited number of scenarios where the transfer of such intelligence may be relevant.

The problem is that your favorite ice cream flavor isn’t any of my business either, yet you blurted out “mint chocolate chip” without the faintest trace of reluctance; after all, I’m neither a dessert store employee whom you’ve approached for professional guidance through the gelato selection, nor a physician analyzing your food cravings in the context of ascertaining the nature of the distemper which prompted you to seek my counsel, nor a law enforcement officer investigating the theft of a dozen pints of Ben & Jerry’s from the deli on your block.

In the overwhelming majority of conceivable circumstances, your predilection for mint chocolate chip is not one iota more of my—or anybody else’s—business than is your preference of 69 over missionary. Yet how often do you brush off a query about the former as NOYB as compared to a query about the latter? And how often do you volunteer unsolicited information regarding irrelevant matters of a certain kind versus equally irrelevant matters of a different kind, selectively invoking the NOYB rationale over here but not over there?

So the trouble with NOYB lies in its preposterously inconsistent application to a point where the phrase itself has become an all-out lie—white, perhaps, but a lie nonetheless—the word lie defined as an act of dishonesty, i.e., any statement or action designed to conceal or mislead, not in the speciously sloppy sense of not telling the truth, for lying and telling the truth are by no means mutually exclusive. Our level of honesty is a function of our objectives, not of the literal veracity of our assertions. Trying to foist off a factually accurate yet utterly immaterial reason as the real reason for your behavior is a lie no matter which way you turn it—unless, of course, you’re living in Delusionville and sincerely believe that the fact that something isn’t somebody else’s business is the real reason for why you would ever withhold information from that person.

Either you are one of these no-nonsense monosyllabic Clint-Eastwood-style tough guys who refuse to waste time with idle chitchat and only use words as a last resort when neither an eye-roll, a lip-curl, a shoulder-shrug, nor an icy glower will do, or you’ll have a pretty hard time cooking up a cogent argument as to why a non-negligible portion of your daily revelations are any of your respective audience’s business. If you can’t cook it up—and the odds are you can’t—you’ve effectively disqualified NOYB as a credible justification for your silence on anything. And if you’re in the habit of tweeting about the molassitudinous checkout lane at the supermarket, the ambrosial mac & cheese you had for lunch, and your balmy afternoon in the park, your ever invoking this phrase won’t even pass the laugh test.

Speaking of cooking stuff up, scanning my Facebook News Feed as I am writing these lines I glimpse the following breaking-news flash posted by one of my FB friends:

[name of friend] excited to cook for regina! greek-style spinach lasagna with dill and feta cheese, arugula salad with crispy prosciutto, raspberries and vanilla ice cream for dessert

I betcha if I send this friend a message asking if she prefers Tampax or Playtex, I’ll reap a resounding NOYB in response.

Even if you aren’t an electronic attention strumpet, you may periodically engage in small talk—its subtype substantive small talk (SST) in particular—whereby relevance and import are sacrificed in favor of bouncing substantively meaningless messages or sound waves back and forth for the sheer joy of bonding with others. Sure, bonding is wonderful, necessary, therapeutic, you name it. Keep in mind, though, that when you regale others with frivolous autobiographical fluff one minute—like where you purchased your lipstick or your cuff links—it doesn’t quite compute to then turn around and put a sock in on grounds of some other type of information being nobody’s business.

In no way do I suggest that people ought to share more than they are comfortable sharing. Whether to err on the side of revealing too little instead of too much signifies Solomonic sagacity, neurosis or clinical paranoia, or just plain old common sense, is beside the point. If you wish to keep your most erogenous zones a secret, more power to you. But if you cite as a reason that your zones are none of my business after you just told me you used to own a ferret named Darwin that made you sneeze, please be prepared to make a stronger case than “Huh?” when I ask you to explain why you thought your childhood pet history was any of my concern.

We have the right to remain silent on any issue we please, and we are not obliged to explain our silence. But if we do feel compelled to articulate a reason for why we choose to withhold certain tidbits, we ought to articulate a more plausible one than the trite red NOYB herring, if only to guard against insulting the intelligence of our audience and coming across as either dishonest or delusional to boot.

So anytime we are tempted to serve up the trusty NOYB excuse, what’s the real reason why we opt to withhold information?

Pain avoidance. NOYB stands for IAPM (“I am protecting myself”). We exercise revelatory restraint in order to shield ourselves from potentially unpleasant consequences (= pain) we might incur if we revealed too much. That the information withheld may indeed be none of anyone’s business is irrelevant, because that never stops us from sounding off as long as we esteem the information itself harmless enough so as not to reflect unfavorably upon us or come back to haunt us in the future.

(“Off-topic” and “out of context” are very different in kind from NOYB, as they denote a concern for economy of communication rather than a fear of the bothersome repercussions of releasing information on account of its substance. I suppose we could characterize such concern for economy as a fear of painful communicative anarchy due to its tendency to frustrate the speaker’s objectives.)

Why would what I looked and felt like as a four-year-old be anybody’s—let alone everybody’s—business? Beats me, yet I posted a picture which discloses precisely this information at the top right of this page for the world to see. And what you are perusing right now is my personal perspective on a particular subject. Any of your business? I see no reason why it would be. The title speaks for itself. In fact, I dare you to locate a single scrap of information on my entire website that is your and most other visitors’ business. Entertaining, perhaps. Edifying, God knows. Business, hardly.

On the other hand, there are lots of things I would never make public, and if I shared them at all, I would select my audience very carefully. Why? Because these things are nobody’s business? Clearly, that can’t be it. If my personal data sluice were governed by such business considerations, I’d be posting hurricane and tsunami warnings for the Eastern Seaboard and the latest data regarding the projected flight paths of meteorites on a collision course with Planet Earth, not cute little snaps of myself as a toddler or accounts of clumsy mice falling off my kitchen counter. The reason I refuse to air certain information on principle—as opposed to out of laziness, time constraints, or because I haven’t yet thought of a way to de-dullify the information so it won’t cause the valued reader to doze off in mid-sentence—is that I fear unpleasant (i.e., painful) consequences if I did.

For instance, on my About page, under “Miscellaneous,” I could post the size of my manhood in inches, but I am not going to post it. Nobody’s business? Of course not, but neither is much else on that page. Nobody wants to know? Hard to say. Would I personally mind if the world knew? Quite frankly, I don’t really care. I’m European. Had I been born and raised in Smalltown, Alabama, I may feel differently about it.

Still, I am not going to post it, even if I felt like doing so in a fit of frolicsome exuberance. First of all, doing so would raise questions about motive and invite speculation that I may be some sort of pervert. Drawing visitors to one’s website is difficult enough. It would be highly counterproductive to display information that would instantly drive some of them away. Conversely, I might attract the wrong crowd and be flooded with obscene and idiotic comments. Moreover, this kind of stuff could easily turn into a small (no pun intended) skeleton in my closet and snowball into a career killer down the line. (Not like I have a career to kill, but the HR department of a potential employer may take a look at my website prior to calling me in for an interview. Stumbling across certain disclosures might prompt them to disconsider my application.)

In the end, I fear a farrago of painful outcomes if I publicly disclosed my inchage, and I don’t see any possible benefits to offset the downside. Point being, the fact that it is “nobody’s business” has zilch to do with why I won’t disclose it.

I propose we put this whole NOYB nonsense to bed with a shovel and either give honest and valid reasons for our behavior or no reasons at all. And if, from time to time, we deem it necessary to peddle asinine explanations or make phony excuses for the sake of expediency, at least let us not delude ourselves into believing that they aren’t precisely that.

This is how I feel about it, and how I feel is NOYB.

I told you anyway.

Tags: , ,

Print This Post Print This Post

Terms Of Use

  • Thomas Stazyk

    Lots of food for thought here and nicely tuned as well.

    Actually I think you are hitting on a key issue in society (and one that explains our current fascination with vampires and zombies)--specifically the issue of personal boundaries, self and the concept of “other.” Because cell phones and beepers have put everyone in 24x7 contact with the world and because things like FB and Twitter have proven to be dumping grounds for the most banal and trivial personal details, our entire concept of where “I” stop and where “Others” begin is becoming disturbed. Am I my website? Is my website me? etc. Very interesting questions/issues.

    Incidentally the tie in with vampires/zombies is that they inhabit the space between human and not human, or me/other and because people are increasingly feeling that their existence extends beyond their bodies, there is this fascination with them.

    Excuse my Halloween rambling!

    • Cyberquill

      Buddhists are always one with the world and everything in it. I bet the Dalai Lama doesn’t distinguish his “I” from “Others.” Sending the most banal and trivial personal details into cyberspace 24/7 may actually signify an advanced state of enlightenment. Compulsive tweeters and Facebookers intuitively understand that personal boundaries are but an illusion.

      I, for one, am less concerned with boundaries than with boring people to tears if I plainly reported where I was and what I did every five minutes.

      Halloween in springtime? Whatcha doin’? Carving kiwis? (Just be aware that if you answer this, you’ve permanently forfeited your right to ever again refuse information on account of it being nobody’s business.)

      • zomakay

        i, for one, am much concerned with boundaries. i think, they are very constitutional for the human sanity.
        and so they are for me.

        my take on this “noyb”-issue is quite different as yours.

        for starters, what does “business” in this context imply at all?

        for me:
        =>(personal) data, information, matter(s), substance, essence that i am about to share and is shared on a present trust level.

        basically these conglomerates are woven in:

        the meaning/purport of confidence, faith, trust -- the concept of shame -- the juxtaposition of private sphere vs publicity -- the juxtaposition of exhibitionism vs voyeurism, primarily in the technical and virtual environment.

        this sensory quality of fear has not that relevance to me since i regard this feeling rather as an output, one outer symptom.

        i find thomas’ associations muchly interesting, when he asks, “Am I my website? Is my website me?” since we and our “businesses” are more and more connected together in the virtual world and in social media circles.

        are you, peter, for instance, cyberquill? are you your avatar?

        who or what is your avatar in the virtual world? how much “real you” does it actually (re)present?
        what kind of essence is the/your business in the “cyber” world made of?
        and how much of the “virtual you” sticks beyond this monitor-screen?

        with how much of these virtual entities /others does one really feels up to be connected to in a way of value? for to share “data” (=business-slices) that is information? how much am i willing to trust?

        sharing is caring.
        sharing because of the ones who’d care.
        it’s an act of faith. as it may be a gift for not to cast of everywhere and not being taken for granted.

        so, in this sense, “noyb” can be seen as a clue, a hint for the receiver (person or group) and indicates how much he is trusted.

        bottom line, it’s all a business of trust for me.

        last but not least, diversing approaches of this issue are pretty ok, i think, and not necessairily “asinine” or whatsoever mentally handicapped-wise designations you are inclined to bestow upon. ;< (
        no judging needed.

        it's diversity in action.

        • Cyberquill

          Diverging approaches are certainly OK, but what you’re offering here isn’t much of a diverging approach. You’re simply discussing a different topic—albeit one that happens to share a few catch words with the one I discussed in my post—, a popular debating strategy commonly referred to as apples and oranges.

          I didn’t address the validity of boundaries, nor did I advocate the dilution or dismantling of whatever boundaries we treasure. I’m all in favor of boundaries. Boundaries rock.

          But why do we strive to establish and maintain our boundaries? In order to protect ourselves. Simple as that. Yet because, for whatever reason, we don’t want to admit openly that our true objective is to protect ourselves (= defend our boundaries) from potentially undesirable consequences of sharing too much with people unworthy of our trust, we instead offer the phony and, yes, asinine NOYB excuse.

          Call it a “clue,” if you will. Or a “code.” For reasons stated in my post, I call it a lie and an insult to the intelligence of the recipient.

          If you can articulate an alternative reason for why people keep boundaries other than to protect themselves, and if you can offer an alternative explanation for why anybody would ever invoke the NOYB defense—be it in the form of “none of your business” , “nobody’s business” , “geht ja niemanden was an” , or in any other incarnation or language it keeps rearing its disingenuous head all over the world—other than to defend such boundaries, please make your case.

          Your take on the issue I raised may indeed be quite different from mine, and if so, I’d be interested to hear it; but whether I consider myself to be my first name, my website, my avatar, my passport, my toothbrush, or one of the mice in my kitchen, is entirely beside the point.

          • zomakay

            was a bit driven away by your commentary above “am less concerned with boundaries”.
            so for me the last did belong to the point, although a bit too much. uhm, yes, floated.

            furthermore i’d like to add that i do not deny the protection-motive behind the noyb. its just that i don’t grasp it in the way of being such an egregious lie or an insult to the intelligence.
            it’s rather something like a formula to me.

            • Cyberquill

              It’s a lie—white more than egregious—in the sense that we are presenting a secondary reason as the primary reason, no different than saying “I’m busy” when we’re not in the mood to do something. Sure, we may be busy as well, but the real reason we refuse to do it is that we simply don’t feel like doing it. Somehow we can’t get ourselves to say, “I don’t feel like it”—most likely out of fear of coming across as rude or setting off a slew of follow-up questions—so we opt for a peremptory “I’m busy” instead.

              Referring to such tactics as a “formula” doesn’t render them any less dishonest. And I’m not making a moral judgment regarding dishonesty. For efficiency’s sake (or to keep from getting fired), alas, repeated acts of dishonesty may be necessary.

              What I am suggesting, however, is that we stop fooling ourselves into believing that we’re being honest when we’re not, and that we refrain from taking lily-livered refuge in euphemistic terminology such as “formula.”

  • Thomas Stazyk

    Didn’t have a single trick or treater this year!

    • Cyberquill

      All married? Wow. Whats the age of consent to get married in New Zealand? Seven? Or were all your trick-or-treaters grownups this year?

      • Thomas Stazyk


  • David

    Cool post! oh wait….. my thoughts are NOYB sooo does that mean I shouldn’t tell you that mint chocolate chip is crap?

    • Cyberquill

      You can tell me or not tell me whatever you want. That’s not the point.

      I haven’t studied the scientific literature, but it seems to me that there exists a statistically significant relationship between muliebrity and a predilection for mint chocolate chip. Elevated estrogen levels appear to correlate with a preference for this particular flavor.

      • David

        Muliebrity? thanks for adding to my vocabulary lol. And i don’t care for ice cream. Guess what I just found out is in it? Algin, the lovely thing made from brown algae…. Thanks for a great blog and a great reply!

  • Saf

    Drifted here from’s blog (yours is more entertaining, by the way — not that that’s a colossal feat).

    The issue I take with NOYB (other than that it makes an annoying sound when read phonetically) is that it implies fault in the person asking the question (or it does to me, at least). It’s one thing to opt out of disclosing information by prescribing responsibility to yourself as the conversation-limiting factor (i.e., “I am not comfortable sharing that information.”), but saying “None of your business” seems tantamount to saying, “You should have known better than to ask me to disclose that information.”

    Of course, a person with a guilt complex will still process “I am not comfortable sharing that information” as “You are not trustworthy enough for me to feel comfortable sharing that information with you,” which may be more-or-less true, but at least you wouldn’t be wading into the nonsense of “business” which you’ve excoriated so adequately above.


    • Cyberquill

      I acknowledge your compliment about my blog as well as your immediate retraction thereof. Please expect a visit from the blog police, as drifters will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.

      In gratuitous defense of the Hot Word blog, these people post something new every day, so let’s cut them some slack for sacrificing some literary panache for output volume such that it puts their posts even below mine in terms of ingenuity. Once again, I appreciate your having brought this to our attention.

      There are two reasons why I didn’t address the guilt complex factor in my post. First of all, it hadn’t occurred to me. That alone, I believe, should count as reason enough to have omitted it from my discussion.

      Here’s a second reason, though:

      I use NOYB in a catchall sense. For the mathematically inclined reader, the equation reads thus:


      For the arithmetically challenged reader, it means that in addition to “none of your business” as if addressing a person directly, NOYB represents all its third-person incarnations as well, i.e., “none of his business” , “none of her business” , and “none of their business”.

      The focus of my discussion is the nature of the excuse itself, irrespective of whether someone directs it at me, you, or simply gives an account of having refused information to a third party on NOYB grounds, which strictly speaking would be NOTB (“none of their business”) grounds.

      So for the sake of saving pixels, I collectively refer to the entire phenomenon as NOYB.

  • zomakay

    it’s no euphemistic terminology in my eyes. and that meets exactly our different takes on this issue here, i mentioned above.
    defining “business” as a certain kind of information as i do, it’s perfectly fine for me (without feeling as a white lier) to say “that business (information) is of no concern to you” upon my choice which kind of data i want to share with who.
    you define “business” otherwise and take “noyb” quite lexically. yet i’m quite sure you don’t consider the question in cliches “how are you?” always at face value either, do you? (it’s a bit lopsided, i know, sort of fits anyway.)

    i completely agree with you, though, that inner awareness for the own words, motivations and dialogues is fundamental. (btw, i seldom resort to “noyb”.)

    • Cyberquill

      Yes, it’s a kind of code language of sorts. We think one thing, but we say another. We think, “I don’t feel like hanging out with this person,” but we say, “I’m busy.” We think, “I must protect myself,” but we say, “None of your business.”

      Remember the scene in Annie Hall where Annie and Alvy are chatting on the balcony, and the subtitles display what their true thoughts as they are saying something else?

      • zomakay

        no, unfortunately i don’t remember this scene, i don’t even know this film. is it worthwhile?

        methinks, there is more often than not a subtext within communication. you know the communication-square containing four messages simultaneously?

        • zomakay

          your edith should run much longer …

          i meant rather dimensions, ofc there are more than just four messages within a communication.

        • Cyberquill

          See what I just did? Rather than clicking on the REPLY link in your latest comment, I clicked on the REPLY link in your previous one, the one that starts with no, unfortunately i don’t remember this scene. Now if you click on that same REPLY link (i.e., of your no, unfortunately i don’t remember this scene comment), the “edith” can go on forever.

          For design-related reasons, I can’t have more than five embedded replies per comment (i.e., the ones that keep getting narrower per reply).

          Yes, Annie Hall is absolutely worthwhile. Go for the original English version. A lot of humor gets lost in the dubbing.

          And yes, there’s a subtext in most communication. As far as NOYB, there’s always a subtext, because the phrase is bogus every time it is used.

        • zomakay

          my edith is your lil time runner 5 -- 4 -- 3 -- 2 -- off 😮

          we agree concerning your first sentence “And yes, there’s a subtext in most communication.” (not agreeing re “bogus”)

        • Cyberquill

          Bogus not in the sense of factually incorrect, but because not once in the history of communication has a single piece of information ever been withheld from anybody because it wasn’t his or her business.

  • jenny

    My kinkiest sexual fantasy takes places here:

    C’mon, that’s cool, no?

    • Cyberquill

      Beautiful, yes. Thank you. And now that you’ve disclosed the setting for your kinkiest sexual fantasy, will you share with us what it actually is? If not, why not?

      • jenny

        I will say this: My KSF (so frequently pondered that it has earned an acronym) sprang from a fit of frolicsome exuberance. Isn’t that how it works for everybody?

        • Cyberquill

          No, it doesn’t. Unlike FFEs (fits of frolicsome exuberance), KSFs generally spring from psychological childhood trauma of some sort.

          • jenny

            From PCTs, you mean.

            • Thomas Stazyk

              ROUS can cause PCT.

            • Cyberquill

              Indeed. The other night I was fortunate enough to catch Night of the Lepus (1972) on TCM:

              A rancher (Stuart Whitman) tries to stop king-size, hopped-up carnivorous rabbits as they roar through Arizona. Violence, Adult Situation, Letterbox, 1 hr 45 min

              I am contemplating a sequel featuring giant carnivorous squirrels that roam the NYC subway system and feast on traumatized lawyers who’ve retreated to abandoned stations to live out their KSFs …

  • Pearl

    First time here and diggin’ it. Great style, great content.



    • Cyberquill

      Style, content … what about the design?

  • BMK

    The beige is difficult, more visual pizazz bitte? Perhaps that’s counterproductive though?

    • Cyberquill

      For your comments, a font-colored background would be most productive.

      • BMK

        Just constructive criticism--apologies if it doesn’t line up with your persuasions? I agree with the above commentator, great content. However when it comes to visual appeal, I’m left feeling lackluster. ‘Tis just my meager 2 cents Sir Cyberquill.

        • Cyberquill

          What do you want? Little rainbows all over the page?

← Previous Post