Man at His Best, All Day Long.

Posted 4 days ago
There’s a bit near the beginning of Virgil’s Georgics (in which the poet explains, at length, the art of farming; weird, but no weirder than, say, David Foster Wallace) where a peasant, busting sod on an old battlefield, turns up the bones of some of the slaughtered — and they’re huge; almost a different species. That’s how we feel contemplating Hemingway’s original instructions for this wicked potion (he claims to have cooked it up with some Brits after a spot of nautical unpleasantness): “Pour 1 jigger of absinthe into a champagne glass. Add iced champagne until it attains the proper opalescent milkiness. Drink three to five of these slowly.” The liver that man must’ve had!
Happy birthday, Ernest Hemingway. Let’s pour out the drink you invented, Death in the Afternoon.

There’s a bit near the beginning of Virgil’s Georgics (in which the poet explains, at length, the art of farming; weird, but no weirder than, say, David Foster Wallace) where a peasant, busting sod on an old battlefield, turns up the bones of some of the slaughtered — and they’re huge; almost a different species. That’s how we feel contemplating Hemingway’s original instructions for this wicked potion (he claims to have cooked it up with some Brits after a spot of nautical unpleasantness): “Pour 1 jigger of absinthe into a champagne glass. Add iced champagne until it attains the proper opalescent milkiness. Drink three to five of these slowly.” The liver that man must’ve had!

Happy birthday, Ernest Hemingway. Let’s pour out the drink you invented, Death in the Afternoon.

Posted 1 week ago
This is a story of a woman who had to rip up a contract so everyone in her town would feel welcome. This is a story about a woman who came up with a Swear Jar for Bigots. This is a story of a woman who was faced with the weight of repeating history in a town known historically for its persecution.

This is a story about a woman who had to take over a building to make sure that didn’t happen.
Posted 1 week ago
Grouped at midnight around the tribal drum of our mimeograph machine, among envelope flap lickers and bloody-thumbed guitarists, high on cigarettes and Cokes and miserable puns, we felt meaningful.
John Leonard, “Confessions of a Structure Freak,” from his This Gun for Hire. Originally published in Esquire, February 1969 (via swartzmark)
Posted 1 week ago
So you have to take total responsibility for your dog. You have to make sure you don’t set him up to fail. You have to save his life, man. Because he’ll save yours.
As a dog lover, I urge you to take some time to read this article titled, The State of the American Dog by Tom Junod featured in the August 2014 issue of Esquire. It’s about “bully breeds” and the stigma, plight, and joy of having one as a companion. It’s very thoughtfully written, and I’m still crying from reading it. (via linusthecorgi)
Posted 2 weeks ago
I swear this comes not from any sort of willed controversy, but I sort of like to go to where the anxiety is. That’s what generates the work for me, whether it’s about race or sex or retaliation. There’s a great quote by Richard Nash that always appealed to me: ‘The business of literature is to blow shit up.’ The business of art is to question everything.
Posted 2 weeks ago
The fall from an ordinary perch is a universal story. Few of us get through life without one taste of failure and disgrace. But the fall from a very great height is a different order of experience altogether, because it happens to a different kind of person—the kind who was driven to climb that high in the first place. Should it come as a surprise that such a person—this man right here—makes a lousy penitent?
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