As you’ve probably noticed, Crucial Minutiae has been silent for the last month. While all of us enjoyed writing together in this space for almost three years, this site has officially closed up shop.
But we’re not going away! Six of are currently incubating a Crucial Minutiae spin-off, and we will launch this new site sometime in March. We’ll announce the new blog here, then after a few weeks, this site will automatically redirect to that new space.
We’re already blogging in that space to kick things off — by the time we launch, you’ll have 100 new things to read, so keep us on your RSS feed until then!
Special thanks to Ethan Todras-Whitehill, the mastermind behind Crucial Minutiae, who suggested that our writers’ group try blogging three years ago. Our initial goal of Crucial Minutiae was for the blog to find its own tone and audience, and through its 1,000+ posts, it’s done exactly that.
And thank you to all of our readers since 2007 — we hope you’ll check out our new blog next month and bring the same insightful comments and discussion that you brought to Crucial Minutiae!
I was thinking of going to the dermatologist. Should I tell my provider that I have skin? This was my reaction to a dizzying fight over the bill I received for the delivery of my baby and our hospital stay. We’re lucky to have insurance, I know that. But imagine my surprise when my provider wanted me to pay a penalty of several hundred dollars for not clearing it with them when I arrived at the hospital at 2:30 a.m. to have a baby. 
I heard her music played around a campfire in the Catskills, the first songs worth earning callouses on new guitarists’ fingers. I listened intently to her lyrics, repeated in these voices– so honest and clear while still weaved in metaphor. I took Ani back to high school with me and then on to college. I’ve been toting her tapes, cds and mp3s ever since, but I’d never seen her in performance until last night. A powerful voice emanates from her small body while she attacks the strings on her guitar, tuned uniquely for each song, with fingers wrapped in electrical tape.