I’m a little behind on some of these, but it’s August and the world is slow, so I feel no shame.
You slog through your days beleaguered and reactive even when there are no noticeable disasters — a normal day has its many large and small annoyances, and the world, if you care to notice, and it is difficult not to, is burning
Norm Fischer, “For the Time Being,” NYT 8/7, on zen meditation and finding concrete happiness
Surrounded by candles, Stapp strummed an acoustic guitar, with an annotated Bible open on the table in front of him, next to a closed copy of The Art of War.
DX Ferris, “Creed’s Stapp talks breakup, make up and shaved head,” Rolling Stone, 8/7, via Idolator
Who were the people clamoring for a Creed reunion again?
But we have needs we can’t admit, and one is to be in a scrum of thinly clad corpulence milling in brilliant sun in front of the deep-fried-ice-cream stand and feel the brush of wings, hip bumps, hands touching your arm (“Oh, excuse me!”), the heat of humanity with its many smells (citrus deodorant, sweat and musk, bouquet of beer, hair oil, stale cigar, methane), the solid, big-rump bodies of Brueghel peasants all around you like dogs in a pack, and you—yes, elegant you of the refined taste and the commitment to the arts—are one of these dogs.
Garrison Keillor, “Take in the State Fair,” National Geographic, July 2009
“Scrum” is a tragically under-used word in modern writing.
“It’s what we’ve got to keep doing. People feel that here. I think even our drivers feel like, We’re not bringing in doughnuts. We’re bringing in The Inquirer and Daily News.”
Brian Tierney, quoted in “What’s a Big City Without a Newspaper?” NY Times Magazine, 8/6
“How far will reporters go for a story? Some are so desperate, they’ll work for a newspaper.
— Stephen Colbert, Aug. 17, via Obsolete