What can I say? I’m a sucker for NFL Films clips from the 70s and 80s.
Or, more to the point, there was the day the writer Todd Kessler found himself alone with [David] Chase in the Silvercup writers’ offices. The showrunner had been late for a meeting to stitch together the two men’s halves of the final episode of The Sopranos’ second season, “Funhouse”. Now, he distractedly sat down across from Kessler and announced that he’d had an epiphany.
“ ‘Is it something you want to talk about?’ I asked. We were sitting across a table that was probably two and a half feet wide,” Kessler said. “He said, ‘Well … I realized … that I’ll never be truly happy in life … until I kill a man.’ And then he leaned across the table and said, ‘Not just kill a man’– and he raised his hands right on either side of my head–‘but with my bare hands.’ ”
The two sat there silently for a long moment. And then Chase broke the spell. “I’m going to get a coffee,” he said, getting up from the table. “You want a coffee?”"
— From DIFFICULT MEN by Brett Martin.
an excerpt from Joe Berkowitz’ piece, How Margaret Atwood Creates Scary-Plausible Worlds
This may sound silly, but I like to wonder what people would have for breakfast—which people, as their breakfasts would be different—and where they would get those food items, and whether or not they would say a prayer over them, and how they would pay for them, and what they would wear during that meal, and, if cooked, how, and what sort of bed they would have arisen from, and what else they might be doing while having the breakfast—talking to someone (who), in person or on a device (what?), and who would be allowed to do that, and what they might feel safe in saying. Breakfast can take you quite far.
This is one of those things I wish I had thought of/said. In the meantime, I will just think of a world where people still eat Cookie Crisp for breakfast.
I don’t know who designs all the Italian bakery boxes, but they have access to some pretty amazing fonts and clip art.
The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge. You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that I gave utterance to a threat. At length I would be avenged; this was a point definitely settled - but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk. I must not only punish but punish with impunity. A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong.
I wore a costume to work once on Halloween.
I went as a doctor – I had on ER scrubs, the green kind, and a toy stethoscope. At this time in my life, I had long hair, a soul patch, and mutton chop side burns. In short, you probably wouldn’t have let me operate a vending machine, let alone on a human being.
I got off the subway at Union Square and a woman grabbed my arm.
"Thank goodness!" she said. "The man, over there! He got hit by a car, doctor."
It took me a second to realize what the deal was.
"Oh, sorry. I’m not a doctor. It’s Halloween," I said, as if that would make it all OK.
She looked at me like I was a crazy. Then confused. Then ran off for real help.
I can only assume she is telling her version of the story, too.