Soda tastes best when you’re young, a fact attested to by Eve Babitz in Slow Days, Fast Company. “Chocolate Cokes in high school are better than caviar on a yacht when you’re forty-five,” she wrote. “It’s common knowledge.”
tomchaps
I met a guy in 1992 in St. Petersburg (Russia), who had taught himself English by reading the liner notes to old rock-n-roll records. He had a Elvis-style pompadour, but was more of a Carl Perkins fan.
The first actual book he read was Finnegans Wake. He just got a dictionary, went at it word-by-word, and just let it wash over him. Very, very slowly. He claimed to have loved it.
flibadab
I took both an undergraduate and a graduate course on Finnegans Wake (different universities), and I loved it. Both professors emphasized that you can’t possible get everything in the Wake, but you can definitely enjoy it.
Sheila missed the action of the drug trade. She was having lifestyle withdrawal. She still went to parties and was still dating an up-and-comer in one of the neighborhood gangs, but she worried that her peers didn’t look at her the same way anymore. Her boyfriend said that her holding down a day job reflected poorly on him. It made him look like he wasn’t a good earner, like he couldn’t provide for his girl.
You want to tell young people that the things they care about now won’t matter in a couple of years. They’ll make new friends, meet new people, see new places, gain and lose a half dozen jobs before they’re settled, but this insight, like so many others I’d hoped to bring to the job, was tied to my own experience, to class if not race, and hopelessly inapplicable. Most people on probation and parole in the Seventh Ward didn’t go away to college. They rarely left the city limits for any reason. When you don’t go far from home, the local ecology is the only one you care about.
In the case of Long Day’s Journey one of his strategies to help him learn the lines ahead of rehearsals was to gather his fellow actors together for a series of readings of the entire play. Since the idea was that these readings should be uninterrupted I was a fairly redundant presence, but they proved useful in identifying and agreeing on certain cuts.
The first of these readings was decidedly uneasy. We were all nervous and Olivier, like the rest of the cast, was a long way from the performance he would eventually give. However, since everything he did had size, so did his present awkwardness. I was reminded of those occasions in his office at the end of a working day when he would produce a bottle of non-vintage champagne (his preferred tipple) from the fridge beside his desk and invite those present to join him. After a glass or two he would sometimes embark on some anecdote replete with impersonations and funny voices but with such excessive energy that you wanted to open a window. Those qualities of sinew and muscle that can kick a performance right to the back of a large auditorium so that everyone experiences much the same thing and which are essential to great stage acting can seem inappropriate and even embarrassing in more intimate spaces, where nuance and suggestion carry greater force.
After the reading Denis Quilley said to me, with concern rather than criticism, ‘Sir’s American accent is a bit all-over-the-place, isn’t it?’ I think we were all a little taken aback by the clumsiness of his reading. He was like a man in a straitjacket vigorously trying to punch his way free. This was unusual. His reputation was for coming to rehearsals knowing exactly what he wanted to do. On the first day of Othello he had electrified the room by giving a reading as full-throttled as a finished performance.
The goal of being alive is to figure out what it means to be alive, and there is a myriad of ways to deduce that answer; I just happen to prefer examining the question through the context of Pamela Anderson and The Real World and Frosted Flakes. It’s certainly no less plausible than trying to understand Kant or Wittgenstein. And while half of my brain worries that writing about Saved by the Bell and Memento will immediately seem as outdated as a 1983 book about Fantasy Island and Gerry Cooney, my mind’s better half knows that temporality is part of the truth. The subjects in this book are not the only ones that prove my point; they’re just the ones I happened to pick before I fell asleep.
In and of itself, nothing really matters. What matters is that nothing is ever “in and of itself.”
The shift to part-time workers means that focusing exclusively on hourly pay can be misleading. Walmart, for example, paid frontline hourly employees an average of $17.50 as of last month and recently announced plans to raise that to more than $18 an hour. Given that just a few years ago, progressives were animated by the Fight for $15 movement, these numbers can seem encouraging. The Bloomberg columnist Conor Sen wrote on social media last year that “Walmart’s probably a better employer at this point than most child care providers and a lot of the jobs in higher ed.”
The problem is that most Walmart employees don’t make $36,400, the annualized equivalent of $17.50 an hour at 40 hours a week. Last year, the median Walmart worker made 25 percent less than that, $27,326 — equivalent to an average of 30 hours a week. And that’s the median; many Walmart workers worked less than that.
Likewise, at Target, where pay starts at $15 an hour, the median employee makes not $31,200, the annualized full-time equivalent, but $25,993. The median employee of TJX (owner of such stores as TJ Maxx, Marshalls and HomeGoods) makes $13,884 a year; the median Kohl’s employee makes $12,819.
Those numbers, though low, are nevertheless higher than median pay at Starbucks, a company known for its generous benefits. To be eligible for those benefits, however, an employee must work at least 20 hours a week. At $15 an hour — the rate Starbucks said it was raising barista pay to in 2022 — 20 hours a week would amount to $15,600 a year. But in 2022 the median Starbucks worker made $12,254 a year, which is lower than the federal poverty level for a single person.
PALOmino1701
I used to keep a magazine beside the computer so I could read something while waiting for a web page to load.
chevymonza
Just the other day, I ran into a guy who said “I don’t know anybody who’s ever read a magazine.” I had to take a minute to digest this idea.
HiddenCity
“When I was your age, television was called books.” -grampa in the princess bride
“When I was your age, internet was called magazines” -chevymonza
throwawayayaycaramba
I was thinking about it just the other day… it’s crazy how centralized the internet has become, how everything now revolves around a handful of sites. Back in the day going online was basically like going on an adventure, there was no “hub”; how long it’s been since I was recommended a cool website! I remember I had a magazine from like 2000 something, where they had a list of “the 50 best websites on the web”; that whole idea feels so archaic nowadays.
kemushi_warui
That’s why it was called “surfing”. Because you’d go to a site, then catch a link to another, and then to another. It’s like you were riding from one to the next, and could end up at a totally unexpected place.
TheTardisPizza
It was like falling into a Wikipedia hole except it was everything.
Scarbane
StumbleUpon
SnooBananas915
And you had to type the website in exactly to get what you wanted. Which meant having 30 random, crumpled, torn pieces of paper with long URLs on them. In your pockets, your bags, your desk.
slashdave
Yahoo used to have what was intended as a top-down directory of the entire internet, created by hand. It was incredibly useful at the time.
What did Sartre mean when he said man is condemned to be free?
ChatGPT
When Jean-Paul Sartre famously stated that “man is condemned to be free,” he was expressing a fundamental idea in existentialist philosophy. This statement reflects Sartre’s view that human beings are unique in the sense that they possess radical freedom and are responsible for their choices and actions in a world devoid of inherent meaning or values.
Sartre’s existentialism begins with the premise that existence precedes essence. In other words, human beings first exist, and then they define their essence through their choices and actions. Unlike inanimate objects or animals, humans do not have a predetermined nature or purpose. Instead, they are free to define themselves and their values through their choices.
The idea of being “condemned” to be free means that this freedom comes with a burden. It is not an easy or comfortable state of being. With freedom comes the responsibility to make choices, and these choices can be anxiety-inducing and challenging. Sartre believed that many people try to evade this freedom by conforming to societal norms, adopting predetermined roles, or denying their ability to choose. However, he argued that such attempts at evasion lead to “bad faith,” a state of self-deception in which individuals deny their own freedom and responsibility.
In essence, Sartre’s statement “man is condemned to be free” underscores the idea that human existence is marked by the necessity of making choices and taking responsibility for those choices. It’s a call to embrace one’s freedom and to confront the inherent uncertainty and anxiety that come with it, rather than seeking refuge in conformity or denial of one’s true nature. Sartre believed that by fully accepting and embracing our freedom, we can lead authentic and meaningful lives.
Apart from the reflections this death called up in each of them about the transfers and possible changes at work that might result from it, the very fact of the death of a close acquaintance called up in all those who heard of it, as always, a feeling of joy that it was he who was dead and not I.
In reality it was just what is usually seen in the houses of people of moderate means who want to appear rich, and therefore succeed only in resembling others like themselves: there were damasks, dark wood, plants, rugs, and dull and polished bronzes – all the things people of a certain class have in order to resemble other people of that class.
It was all just as it was in the law courts. The doctor put on just the same air towards him as he himself put on towards an accused person.
The doctor said that so-and-so indicated that there was so-and-so inside the patient, but if the investigation of so-and-so did not confirm this, then he must assume that and that. If he assumed that and that, then…and so on. To Iván Ilých only one question was important: was his case serious or not? But the doctor ignored that inappropriate question.
And in imagination he began to recall the best moments of his pleasant life. But strange to say none of those best moments of his pleasant life now seemed at all what they had then seemed – none of them except the first recollections of childhood. There, in childhood, there had been something really pleasant with which it would be possible to live if it could return. But the child who had experienced that happiness existed no longer, it was like a reminiscence of somebody else.
And what was worst of all was that It drew his attention to itself not in order to make him take some action but only that he should look at It, look it straight in the face: look at it and without doing anything, suffer inexpressibly.
‘Maybe I did not live as I ought to have done,’ it suddenly occurred to him. ‘But how could that be, when I did everything properly?’ he replied, and immediately dismissed from his mind this, the sole solution of all the riddles of life and death, as something quite impossible.
My admiration for Lumet and Pacino has had discernible limits in the past, but here, happily, I can change my tune. Lumet, at fifty much less of a show-off than Lumet at thirty-five or forty, directs with simplified technique and deepened perceptions. Pacino is not called on here to radiate quiet power, at which he failed in both Godfather films. Here he is fortune’s fool—a pawn who is being played at the same time that he thinks he’s masterminding the game. This summer I went to a racetrack for the first time in ten years, and outside the gate there was a tout selling a tip sheet for a dollar—eight sure winners. His elbows were sticking out of his ragged jacket, but he had eight sure winners. Pacino, about to lick his condition in the world and his personal troubles by being smarter than the world, has his figurative elbows sticking out. The pseudosuperiority, this pathos of self-deceived bravado, Pacino handles very well.
He was born in Krakow, Poland, in 1923. When he was 15 years old, Hitler’s forces came through his Jewish neighborhood, torching homes and shooting people in the street. Freddy, along with his entire family, was rounded up and sent to a nearby concentration camp.
He attempted an escape one night, and it worked. He left his family behind and made his way to Russia. But when the Communists got hold of him, they shipped him to Siberia. They then sent him to England during World War II, because the Allies needed translators in London. Freddy spoke English, Polish, Russian, German, and Yiddish.
When the war was over, he returned to Poland to search for his family, but learned they were dead. The house he grew up in was no longer standing.
Freddy had to start his life over.
…
The more I got to know Freddy on the Steel Wheels tour, the more I understood why he needed to be there. People labeled him a dope pusher, star-fucker, bullshit artist, and dirty old man, but he was a lot more complex than that.
“Hitler killed my family,” he reminded me one night. “My mudder, my fadder, viped out. But vot can I do about dat now? Sit in de house and cry? Vait for my blood clots to kill me? I gotta live, baby! I gotta prove dey couldn’t finish me off.”
The groupies, glamour, and fast pace offered Freddy a vibrancy he couldn’t find anywhere else. While folks his age were playing shuffleboard, Freddy was hangin’ with the Stones. Every line he snorted and every groupie he laid was an affirmation of life and a proclamation of survival. “Look vehr I am today, and look vehr you are, you Nazi cocksuckers!” Every time he danced at a Stones concert—and man, you should’ve seen him—it was like he was dancing on Hitler’s grave. “I’m gonna dance not just for me, but for all my relatives who can’t.”
Written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, “Hang Fire” is a fast-paced, up-tempo rock and roll track, which belies the happy beat with sharp, satirical lyrics directed squarely at England’s economic decline through the 1970s.
In the sweet old country where I come from, Nobody ever works, Yeah nothing gets done/We hang fire, we hang fire.
The lyrics lament an unemployed working-class Englishman who would rather bet the horses than try to marry into the upper class, the only way to get ahead in English society.
You know marrying money is a full time job/I don’t need the aggravation/I’m a lazy slob.
The song is one of the few times the band wrote an overtly political song, and it is notable that it was never released as a single in England, even though the band was touring Europe during the single’s North American release. The lyrical irony and commentary on English society harks back to some of the group’s more socially contentious songs of the sixties such as “Mother’s Little Helper”, “19th Nervous Breakdown” and “Street Fighting Man”.
Richards was asked about the track in a 1981 Rolling Stone magazine interview where he admits the track relates to England and the “ugly politicians” who had caused the country to decline when the “money got tight”.
The title expression “hang fire” (by formal definition) means to do nothing, to delay, wait, hold back, or hesitate.The phrase originally denoted the instance when a gun, using an antique type of ignition such as percussion cap, or flintlock, would fail or markedly delay to fire when the trigger was pulled.
In the sweet old country where I come from
Nobody ever works
Yeah nothing gets done
We hang fire, we hang fire
You know marrying money is a full time job
I don’t need the aggravation
I’m a lazy slob
I hang fire, I hang fire
Hang fire, put it on the wire baby
Hang fire, hang fire put it on the wire baby, go ahead
Hang fire
We’ve got nothing to eat
We got nowhere to work
Nothing to drink
We just lost our shirts
I’m on the dole
We ain’t for hire
Say what the hell
Say what the hell, hang fire
Hang fire, hang fire, hang fire, put it on the wire, baby
Hang fire, hang fire, hang fire, hang fire
Hang fire, hang fire, put it on the wire, baby
Doo doo doo
Doo doo doo
Doo doo doo
Doo doo
Doo doo doo
Doo doo doo
Doo doo doo
Doo doo, hang fire, hang fire, hang fire
Doo doo doo
Doo doo doo
Doo doo doo, hang fire, hang fire, put it on the wire, baby
Doo doo
Doo doo doo
Doo doo doo
Doo doo doo
Doo doo
Yeah ten thousand dollars, go have some fun
Put it all on at a hundred to one
Hang fire, hang fire, hang fire, put it on the wire, baby
Doo doo
Doo doo, hang fire, hang fire put it on the wire
Hang fire, hang fire, hang fire, hang fire
Put it on the wire, baby
Put it on the wire
SkylieBunnyGirl
Powers, Oregon. Stopped in the diner for coffee once on a drive thru. I shit you not, like straight out of a movie, the other patrons just turned and quietly stared, not touching their own plates, until we left
TheRipsawHiatus
Some friends and I experienced the same kind of thing in a bar/bowling alley in Wisconsin. We decided to go out for bowling, and when we walked into the bar in the front it was like it went from bustling to very hushed and everyone was watching us. The bowling alley in the back was totally deserted and eerie. It was super awkward to be the only people playing, and I swear anytime we glanced behind us towards the bar we’d catch everyone staring. We all agreed it was one of the creepiest experiences we’ve had.
evileen99
Drove through Colorado City a few years ago. Creepy as hell. Giant barracks houses with dirt yards full of giant trash piles.
PirateJohn75
Clearwater, Florida
I had known it was the HQ for Scientology, but had never been there.
Last month, I was visiting family in Florida and my best friend lives a few towns over from Clearwater. He took me to a place that entailed driving through downtown Clearwater. It is impossible not to notice that every building had brand new paint, all the shops looked sparking clean, and there was not a soul to be seen.
All the neighboring towns had hundreds of people milling about, but Clearwater looked like a ghost town. It looked like the set of a Twilight Zone episode.
univek2020
It would be interesting if the guy/gal driving the Google Maps car through all these places could chime in with experiences.
Piqued_a_Pack
Driver of a mapping vehicle here. Most of the truly creepy small towns are down dirt/gravel roads, which typically aren’t mapped. I’ve worked every state except Hawaii and almost every Canadian province, and the only places that I’ve gotten the ‘maybe I should get back in my car now’ vibe from are a handful of small towns in Kansas. You could just feel the eyes the second your feet hit the ground, and not in the typically way you get used to being stared at in those vehicles. It was a palpable aura of unwelcome.
Dessert_Hater
Moscow, Idaho has an actual cult with thousands of followers. Their leader, a self-ordained pastor, has publicly stated he wants to take over the town and turn it into a theocracy. They are deeply misogynist (marital rape isn’t possible) and have a history of sexual abuse within their group (the leader defended a student of their “college” who raped his host family’s daughter, excommunicated the daughter, and then presided over the rapist’s wedding). Their members keep running for local office and failing, but they are buying up all the property in town and moving in people from all over the country to attend their private school, theology “college” and church. Moscow also happens to be the town where the 4 University of Idaho students were murdered in 2022.