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And I want to tell you about a very exciting event coming up in June. I am hosting a live episode taping at the Tribeca Festival. Featuring Peter Dinklage and his wife, Eric Eshmit. Peter Dinklage, a theme of thrones, my favorite film, The Station Agent, and Eric Eshmit, who is a director, screenwriter, playwright.
They are married, and we're going to talk about making art separately in collaboration and how they've built their life around that. Join us. It should be a great event. It's their first joint interview they've done ever together, and we are so glad at Death, Sex, and Money to be back at the Tribeca Festival.
The show is June 10th in New York City at the SVA Theater at 530PM. This podcast contains explicit language. A Dear by a Babbling Brook near Lamplet Cottage, a Bob Ross paint by Numbur Special, powdery winterscapes of quaint villages, a velvet painting. That's the kind of stuff that was on the walls of the superates.
Rather than just throw it out, superate gave the paintings away. And one event in Art Basel in Miami, which ended up on the Today Show in the news clip you just heard, and another at a gallery space in New York, which was hosted by the comedian Amy Sideris. Sideris named all the paintings, and she told Jimmy Fallon about it on the Tonight Show. You just had an art show.
That's very exciting. Superate hotels have given up all their old art. They're bringing in new art. They're bringing in New York.
They're going to be city-specific. So like, let's say, you're in San Francisco. You don't remember where you are. You wake up and you'll see a painting of Golden Gate Bridge, or the orange and St.
Louis. I sure did. It was really hard. You don't know what you name this one?
Fallon is showing Sideris a washout painting of three spindly trees, verches maybe, that are emerging from a foreground of oversized, slightly impressionistic tulips, and are standing in front of a psychedelic pastel sky. This one I don't remember, but let's call it early menopause. We all know what we're done. All of this was meant to bring attention to Superate's new look.
They had gotten rid of all the old art for a reason, to operate it, to signal that the age of Kitch Hotel Art was officially over, and that something new had taken its place. When we decided to do an episode about hotel art, we thought we would be doing an episode about, well, hotel art. Exactly the sort of ugly, shoddy, cheap paintings that used to hang in Superates. But it turns out that's an outdated understanding.
Sure, you still regularly come across bizarre paintings and hotels, collages that match the carpet. But the Superate's move away from Kitch is part of a decades-long trend on Hotel's part, hotels of all price points, to reclaim Hotel Art, to transform it from something unconquered and embarrassing into a selling point, a sign of sophistication and authenticity, an Instagram photo op, a communication to its customers about the kind of people they are and the kind of hotel they're staying at, or at the very least, evidence that they aren't desperately behind the times. Hotel Art, if you can believe it, has become a signifier of good taste. This is Decodering, a show about cracking cultural mysteries.
I'm C.B. Critic Willa Pascam. Every month, we take a cultural question, habit, or idea, crack it open, and try to figure out what it means and why it matters. What happened to Hotel Art?
Hotel Art is a subset of commercial art, which exists all around us, in all of the places that need and want art, but that are not museums or galleries, places like doctors offices and dental clinics, restaurants and workspaces, hospitals and airports, places for art, but not about art. Economically and aesthetically, this kind of work is often distinct from the work of artists to show at galleries and art fairs, but you might be surprised at the overlap, particularly in high-end hotels, which increasingly compete with each other to have the most ambitious art programs. At the Bellagio in Las Vegas, which was opened by the art collector and Hotelier Steve Win, a $10 million glass sculpture by Del Chahuly Blooms out of the lobby's ceiling. The W Hotel in South Beach has a collection that includes work by Andy Warhol, Jean-Michel Basquiat, and Julian Schnabel.
High-end hotels commission original work all the time, sometimes from big-name contemporary artists, and even non-luxury hotels boast site-specific pieces in their lobbies, like a mural of a taxicab made out of pencil stubs, or a 30-foot installation featuring the faces of local residents. Hotel design in general has become so intentional, so stylized, that it's been lampooned on Portlandia. Here's a sketch called the Duce, in which Fred Armisen plays a hotel clerk. It teases a certain kind of overdone hipster hotel where no singular piece of art is bad, but the whole thing reeks of trying too hard.
Well, enjoy your room. The sink is really weird. It's gonna look like there's no faucet, but whenever you feel the need to brush your teeth or whatever, don't worry about it. It will happen.
The dream comes with turntable. It's comfortable. In order to understand how we got here, to a place where hotels are jockeying to distinguish themselves with their art, you need to understand how the modern hotel came to be. The hotel, as we know it, first appeared in America in the 1790s.
At the time, ins and taverns were the norm, places that often housed travelers as a way to procure a liquor license. They were bars with beds, basically. By contrast, these new hotels wanted to emphasize their elegance and luxury, their safety. Their architecture was imposing and they were decorated beautifully, from the plush carpets to the chandeliers to the sumptuous wallhings.
And this approach at the high end of the market has more or less continued through to the present day. But in the early 1900s, a man named E.M. Statler pioneered a different, more affordable version of the hotel. He wanted people to have a reliable, predictable kind of hotel experience, so they would always know what they were getting.
That's A.K. Sandoval Strauss. He's an associate professor of history at Penn State, and he wrote the book Hotel and American History. In 1908, the Statler Hotel opened in Buffalo, New York.
It was the first of a number of economical, standardized hotel locations that promised customers, in Statler's words, to provide a bed and a bath for a dollar and a half. And he was the most influential hotel man of the first half of the 20th century. So for quite some time, the idea, oh, we'll democratize a hotel. We'll create very standardized experiences.
That actually carried prestige. If you're traveling to a new, strange city, just knowing that the cheap hotel you'd end up at would be of a basic level of quality, and not say a bedbug-infested flop house was an innovation, a kind of luxury even. Reliability was so desirable that nearly 70 years after the first Statler Hotel, other hotels were still crawling about it. Sorry, we never got your reservation.
Surprise! You get enough surprises when you travel. That's a commercial from 1975 for Holiday Inn Hotels, promising its customers, above all else, a predictable experience. That lets you know if every holiday inn, the best surprise, is no surprise.
Because art didn't serve the customer experience directly, you don't sleep on the paintings after all. Hotels, despite being standardized in many other ways, often relied upon operator tastes or lack thereof for the art. Thirty years ago, before the arrival of digital printers, the only way to reproduce art affordably was to do massive runs of an image. This meant hotel owners were often picking from a small pool of pieces, each of which had to work in multiple locations.
This is where your classic kitchy hotel art comes from, a dearth of options. Here's David Wynton, the president of Kalisher, a North Carolina-based company that makes art for the hospitality industry on this pre-digital era. Art for hospitality, people thought about it as an illustration of a flower, or something that got mass produced and printed thousands of, and then hopefully that would work okay in hundreds of hotels around the world. But then the backlash to all the sameness arrived.
As with so many things related to hotel design and art in hotels, we need to go back to this pivotal moment in the 1980s when Ian Schrager and Steve Rubell introduced a completely new concept, the boutique hotel phenomenon. That's Mayor Russ, the West Coast editor of Architectural Digest. In the late 1980s, the Hotelier Ian Schrager, one of the co-founders of Studio 54, opened a few hotels in New York that immediately became sensations. One was the Royalton, which was designed by the singular Frenchman, Philippe Stark, whose witty, playful lobby included velvet armchairs that leaned back at a precipitous angle, wall sconces in the shapes of rhinoceros horns, and three-legged chairs that had a tendency to tip over.
The hotels in New York became the gathering spots for the beaumont. You know, it just gave birth to a movement of hoteliers who wanted to signify cool in some way, to signify chic, and to draw people into their properties by promising an experience of like-minded people. These early boutique hotels had an elevated, even unexpected style. They weren't standardized because they wanted to set themselves, and by extension, the person who stayed there, apart.
These hotels could be funky, elegant, sexy, but they were always deeply intentional with a very strong sense of place, because the whole idea was that when you were there, you weren't nowhere. You were somewhere. In the 30 years since, this idea that a hotel ought to be a designed experience. It has expanded beyond boutique hotels to most hotels, and then further still.
David Winton's company, Kalisher, has worked with many hotels from best westerns to four seasons, and Winton says despite these hotels, different price points and styles, they want the same thing. We want to have an experience about that place, and so while the best western art might be a spring print, maybe showing an interesting landmark from the town or an interesting moment from the area, and the four seasons piece has an original painting from an artist in the neighborhood. It's still intended to give you a sense of place in which it makes you feel like you haven't just gone to random white vox in the middle of nowhere. You are in Idaho.
You are in Paris. This was what Super 8's were after two. Super 8 never had an art program. It was always you must have two pieces of art within the room.
That's Mike Mueller, the senior vice president, and brand leader for Super 8 Worldwide, explaining what the chain decided to put on the walls after it took down all that kitsch. And it came to our attention as we were starting to think about how do we shake off the dust of a perception that Super 8 is like your grandfather's old hotel? And so we had a concept to take all the wall art down and take a headboard out. What if we took that headboard, turned that into the art, and combined those pieces.
And so now we've got these oversized from top of bed to the ceiling, black and white photographs. If you walk into a super 8 today, instead of seeing a mass-produced impressionistic sailboat, you'll see two huge, chunkily framed, very polished, black and white photographs above the bed. These images are not just of anything. They're related to the specific location of that specific super 8.
At the Fort Worth super 8, for example, there's a photograph of a cowboy on a horse in silhouette, getting ready to use his lasso. At the Los Angeles super 8, there's a photograph of the man Chinese theater lit up at night. This next generation of traveler, they're interested in things like farm to table. They want to know where things are sourced.
They want to know where things are coming from, where they can go for a truly local authentic experience. Super 8s, which are scattered all over North America and even in China, can often be found near inauspicious interstate exits. I've stated a few in my life, driving away from college with a U-Haul full of stuff between Chicago and New York on a road trip, somewhere in the Texas Panhandle, and I cannot possibly be more specific about their locations, because that was what was so useful about super 8s. They're just right there, when right there is the middle of nowhere.
The idea of a super 8 is a place that's anything other than a stopover, as a place that should be locally branded. It shows just how deeply this new idea of what a hotel should be has permeated. With Instacart's preference picker, you can tell your shopper how you want your bananas, which matters, because your banana needs change. Monday you want smoothie ready.
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The preference picker is available at most retailers. Download the Instacart app. Today I'm keeping another promise by nominating Judge Neil Gorsuch. Thank you very much.
As we all live through the chaos of another Donald Trump presidency, it can be easy to lose sight of his most troubling legacy. The U.S. Supreme Court has reshaped the country's legal landscape on abortion, guns, religion, and more. I'm Susan Matthews.
In Slade's new season of Slowburn, we're taking on Trump's first Supreme Court pick. We'll look at the influence that Neil Gorsuch has in this moment. He is the most unpredictable vote on this court, including his surprising pushback against the president who nominated him. Nobody saw the Gorsuch would join the majority on this.
He is the Justice, most likely to be a true wild card. This is judicial activism. Slowburn, becoming Justice Gorsuch. It's a story that will shape America for years, even lifetimes to come.
Out May 13, wherever you get your podcasts. So how does art actually get into a hotel? Generally speaking, the way a hotel, particularly a chain hotel, goes about getting its art is as follows. You start with the developer, the people who own the actual property where the hotel sits.
The developer will hire an interior design firm to design a specific type of hotel at a specific budget. They design the rooms and the lobby and the interior architecture, they pick the furniture, the fixtures, and attend to the overall vibe of the place. These interior design teams will then hire and work with another firm, or sometimes an individual consultant, to source the artwork for the space. The reason the design teams don't just do this part themselves is because procuring art is a big, complicated job.
A hotel would say 200 rooms, hallways, conference rooms, and a lobby will need hundreds if not thousands of pieces of art. To find it, art consultants do a bunch of different things, from actually commissioning an artist to make an original work for the hotel, to licensing art for the rooms, to searching for found objects or knickknacks at flea markets, to making the art in-house with an in-house art team, and printing it on those giant versatile digital printers. These printers make it easy and affordable to print in small batches. Needless to say, it's not a coincidence that hotels have gotten much more interested in bespoke art as bespoke art has become so much cheaper.
Art firms can now easily create thoughtful artwork and reproductions, or just as easily make the sort of images that match the bedspread. It really depends on what the hotel and the designers want. Here's an example of the directions an art team might get. You know, I want it to look and feel like this tiny doodle that I made on the back of an afghan, or I've got three key inspiration words, and they are red, no birds, and textural.
That was David Wynton again. Someone in his company will then create art that interprets and fits those specifications. It's graphic design, a craft for sure, but not quite art making in the studio artist sense. But there are artists of that ilk whose work appears in hotels too.
I'm Tom Swanson, I'm a visual artist. My work focuses on the, to be honest, cranes in America. That's kind of it. Tom loves cranes.
When we spoke, he had dozens of crane facts at the ready. Cranes are the largest species in North America, and they migrate. They have the largest migration in the United States and Zantil cranes. They migrate, it's the largest mic.
In his work, which has appeared in scores of high-end hotels, including Ritz Carlton's, Four Seasons, and St. Regis's. Gilded cranes made out of metal leaf are applied to canvas or aged panels, which can be quite large. In one piece, half a dozen silver cranes in flight, sweet past leafless trees that are rendered in bright copper.
In another, the cranes are semi-obscured by the tangled branches of a silver tree. Tom has gallery representation and regularly shows his work, but he says about 75% of his business is commissioned from private customers and hospitality industry. For Tom, dealing with them is pretty much the same, except the hotel jobs can extend over years and tend to pay better. The process starts with a conversation about what the client wants, which is to say it's collaborative.
I encourage them to bring ideas so that we can talk a little bit about how we might incorporate that into my language. There's a back and forth in the hospitality business between the consultant and the artist and eventually the designers and the developers who have to approve everything that wouldn't suit everyone, and is it odd with our romanticized ideas of the uncompromising, difficult artist, if not the reality of it. But it works for Tom and for lots of working artists for whom hotels are a lucrative way to make a living and an effective way to locate potential customers. When working with hospitality, I'm trying to match it up to where my client base is.
A sweet spot for my work is somewhere between 15 and 30,000 dollars a piece. So I really need to match my primary client and what their aspirations are and where they might stay. Then you're matching hotels kind of like an advertisement for you. That's exactly right.
I can't tell you how many commissions I've gotten because people went to Jackson Hold Your Skiing and stayed in the four seasons. When you talk to people involved in the hotel art industry, all of the development sounds positive. Hotels care more than ever about the quality of what they hang on their walls. It's easier than ever to make and get art of quality to hang there.
Hotels are even hiring real artists and helping them to make a living. And all of this is true, but there's another part of the hotel art equation we haven't talked about yet. A player who's not the hotel or the middleman or the graphic designer or the artist who's not directly involved in the business of hotel art. And that's you and me, the people who look at it.
And for customers and for viewers, there's another question we have to ask. Can hotel art really function as art? New hotel art may be better, but can it be good? Instacart shopper notes make it easy to get the fish you want, which means you can write super specific notes about your fish.
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And I want to tell you about a very exciting event coming up in June. I am hosting a live episode taping at the Tribeca Festival featuring Peter Dinklage and his wife, Eric Eshmit. Peter Dinklage of Game of Thrones, my favorite phone, the station agent, and Eric Eshmit, who is a director, screenwriter, playwright. They are married and we're going to talk about making art separately and collaboration and how they've built their life around that.
Join us. It should be a great event. It's their first joint interview they've done ever together. And we are so glad at Death, Sex, and Money to be back at the Tribeca Festival.
The show is June 10th in New York City at the SVA Theater at 530PM. Get your tickets at TribecaFilm.com slash audio. See you there. With Instacart's preference picker, you can tell your shopper how you want your bananas, which matters because your banana needs change.
Monday, you want smoothie ready. Wednesday, you is stressing them straight from the peel between meetings. Friday, you makes it into a banana split because it's been a week and you deserve it. So choose bananas that are ripe, almost ripe, or not ripe at all and shop for every version of you.
Want bananas just how you like? The preference picker is available at most retailers. Download the Instacart app. Today I'm keeping another promise by nominating Judge Neil Gorsuch.
To the President, thank you very much. As we all live through the chaos of another Donald Trump presidency, it can be easy to lose sight of his most troubling legacy. The U.S. Supreme Court has reshaped the country's legal landscape on abortion, guns, religion, and more.
I'm Susan Matthews. In Slade's new season of Slow Burn, we're taking on Trump's first Supreme Court pick. We'll look at the influence that Neil Gorsuch has in this moment. He is the most unpredictable vote on this court, including his surprising pushback against the President who nominated him.
Nobody saw the Gorsuch would join the majority on this. He is the Justice, most likely to be a true wild card. This is judicial activist. Slow Burn, becoming Justice Gorsuch.
It's a story that will shape America for years, even lifetimes to come. Out May 13th, wherever you get your podcasts. From my perspective, those black and white are even worse than what used to be there. That's David Raskin, the Mone Family Professor of Contemporary Art History at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago.
What used to be in most motels was things that were just generic indicators of art. So you knew you weren't supposed to pay attention to it, which was kind of the ideal. You shouldn't put any demands on you. If you noticed it at all, the lesson was, don't pay me any attention.
Before speaking with him, I had sent him some pictures of the new art in the Super 8 Hotels, the big frame photographs of local sites. He had some bracingly strong opinions about them. These gorgeous, artsy, black and white photographs of local scenery that Super 8 has now gone to look like what art should look like, which is even worse because it just turned into branding and decoration and a claim on a upscale lifestyle existence. It basically ruins all art because it says if these gorgeous, black and white images are actually nothing, then all art is actually nothing.
Is there no way to have a meaningful encounter with art in a setting of a hotel? There's no way to have a meaningful encounter in art, where the purpose of that art and the nature of that art is simply to make claims on the lifestyle that the viewer aspires to. This is so much more extreme than the ways I have been considering hotel art, which seems so harmless to me. And while I think it's absurd to insist that no one has ever had an experience, they find meaningful with the art in a hotel, I've been thinking about this conversation ever since.
There's always going to be attention inherent in hotel art because it's never just or even primarily art. It's always something else too, a decorative prop that's supposed to make you feel positively about the place that you're staying. And what Harvai's raskin is not just that hotels use art as decoration. What Harvai's him even more is the way the hotels turn art into lifestyle branding.
Remember the holiday in-ad? The best surprise is no surprise. This is not at all how hotels advertise themselves today. Here's an ad from 2013 from Marriott.
The hotel brand that owns several lines of hotels up and down the Price and Luxury spectrum. This is not a hotel. It's an idea that travel should be brilliant. The promise of spaces as expansive as your imagination.
Offering surprises that will change as often as you do. I find this ad so deeply silly. Please notice the use of the word surprise in it though, which in a complete reversal hotels are now promising their guests they will provide. The travel is no longer the surprise.
It's the hotel itself. Though as this ad would have it, the hotel isn't even a hotel anymore. All of this is what happens when hotels have ceased to be just a place to stay and have become instead aspirational. In a crowded marketplace, being merely functional, saying you've got four walls in a bed and won't lose a reservation, it isn't enough to distinguish you.
So hotels have had to become signifiers, not just of class, which they've always been, but of the micro-nitches of class and taste. In art, one of the most versatile aspects of any hotel is one of the easiest ways for a hotel to announce its niche, to sell itself, to make you feel stuff about the hotel, and then preferably share that feeling with your friends on Instagram. Probably, at least on a weekly basis, when we're kicking off a project, an interior designer or hotel owner will say, and we need to make sure we have at least one Instagram moment. That's Ari Grozzy, the founder of IndieWalls, a company that helps hotels find and work with artists.
And it is so much publicity free publicity for the hotel. Like everything else in a hotel, the art wants to affirm your choice to stay there. So to try and do that for many people, it's very rarely going to be genuinely challenging or provocative or political, unless all of those qualities are part of the hotel's brand. Even if a hotel is showcasing work from a renowned artist, work that is undeniably art with a capital A, its media, political, and aesthetic substance might get subsumed by the hotel context.
Or at least that's what David Raskin thinks. I mean, the real question is, let's go to a really fancy hotel in New York City, and there's an actual Monet painting in that hotel room. And I'm looking at the Monet in my room, in my suite at the Ritz Carlton. What's my experience with that Monet?
Okay. And I'm contending that while there might be a little bit of Monet still there, mostly it's, wow, look at what the Ritz gives me. The Ritz gives me a chance to see a Monet. All of this doesn't mean that it's not nice to look at something beautiful in your hotel room.
It doesn't mean it's not nice to stay in a place that cares about the art. It doesn't mean it's not nice to stay in a hotel that can show you a Monet or a Warhol, or an installation from an up and coming local artist. In fact, these things all sound exceedingly nice. It's even nice from a certain perspective, the hotels have decided art of all that they can spend money on is an important way to connect with their clientele.
But art, as opposed to decoration, as opposed to branding, it's supposed to be more than nice. There used to be something that we believe we could get from art that is getting harder to believe in every day. And that the artist has put something special in there for the viewer to work really hard to share. And when that something special is getting told is exactly the same as the fancy dining room table and the rug, then we're losing a lot.
There's a famous story about Mark Rothko, who in the late 1950s won a commission to create a series of paintings for the new Four Seasons restaurant in New York. It was a lucrative and prestigious assignment, and Rothko's work would have hung your Pollux and Picatos. But the story goes that in 1959, as the restaurant was preparing to open, he went and had a meal there. He had hoped that his art would exert a force on the space.
He had told a friend, I hope to ruin the appetite of every son of a bitch who ever eats in that room. But what he discovered instead was that his paintings would be no match for an expensive power lunch. His work, in this context, would become to use a phrase that was leveled critically at his abstractions, just apocalyptic wallpaper. So he pulled it.
I find the story, and Rothko's standards to be very moving, but I'm not nearly so principled. I like to think I've had a few profound experiences with art in my life, but sometimes, when I walk into museum galleries, the first thing I do is scan the room and think, I'd like that on my wall. In other words, my first reaction to a piece of art is purely acquisitive. It's to wish that I owned it.
I don't want to speak for you, but I think this makes me like a lot of people, who sometimes relate to art in a thoughtful, meaningful way, and more often relate to it in a not thoughtful, meaningful way. One of the knock-on effects of all the technological advances that have made it easier and cheaper to create, reproduce, and distribute art than ever before is that it is easier than ever before to have this kind of casual, unthinking relationship to art. We now constantly find ourselves in extremely designed commercial spaces that are chock full of professional art, and that's a kind of catch-22, because there's more art around us than ever, so how can we attend to it all, or even very much of it? And I think the truth is that often we don't.
And that's a loss. That's what I take from Raskin's argument. Art is now like so many other pieces of culture, like moon music, or the TV that's on while you do the chores, or the movie you watch while texting. We can of course still get meaning from it, but there is a kind of work you have to do before you can get to that meaning.
You actually have to pay attention. At some point, while I was working on this piece, the reams and reams of tasteful high-end hotel art that I was seeing all started to feel the same. What ends up happening in spaces that are so exactly designed, and you might be familiar with this from foreign-to-table restaurants, or in pecably-sourced coffeehouses, or so many other aspects of modern consumer life, is that a focus on quality, on uniqueness, on locality, on experience ends up amounting to a kind of claustrophobic sameness. Everywhere you go, there you are, in a room with perfectly bespoke art that's so carefully reflects presiding good taste, it looks exactly like all the other rooms fill a perfectly bespoke art.
When presented with all of this idiosyncratic sameness, you may find yourself longing for something actually idiosyncratic, which brings us back to all that kitschy art the super 8 got rid of. It used to be that encountering good art in a hotel was shocking, but now the opposite is true. Bad art is the outlier. If you walk into hotel room and see a black velvet painting of a white tiger, or a weird sculpture of a house cat, or some watercolor of a sad clown, you might get the actual jolt, the fris-aunt, the call to attention that you would usually only get from much better, more substantive art.
This sort of want-in display of bad taste, it's getting so rare, you just have to look at it. And as good as good hotel art may be, it can't give you that charge. Maybe in losing that, we really are losing something surprising, something genuinely unpredictable, as opposed to something unpredictable, end quotes, in a curated way of modern hotels. Bad art of the truly unhinged variety may bode poorly for the rest of your hotel stay.
Maybe the bed will be lumpy, and maybe the food will be crappy, and maybe you'll have to talk to the clerk for too long. But hey, doesn't that sound like what modern hotels are supposed to be all about? A real experience? This is Decodering.
I'm Willa Paskin. You can find me on Twitter at WillaPaskin. And if you have any cultural mysteries you want us to code, you can email us at Decodering at Slate.com. If you haven't yet, subscribe and rate our feed in Apple Podcasts or wherever you get your podcasts, and even better, tell your friends.
This podcast was written by Willa Paskin and produced and edited by Benjamin Frish, who also does illustrations for every show. Special thanks to Matthew Whitaker, Michelle Hunter, John Sarasulo, Unite Bassine, Lauren Kane, Alice Grace Ditz, Lisa Larsen Walker, Kevin Hatch, Rob Myers, and everyone else who gave us help and feedback along the way. Thanks for listening. We'll see you next month.