James Robison
What Joyce Carol Oates wrote to Elon Musk on Twitter. I am told it rattled him. I love it.
“So curious that such a wealthy man never posts anything that indicates that he enjoys or is even aware of what virtually everyone appreciates – scenes from nature, pet dog or cat, praise for a movie, music, a book (but doubt that he reads); pride in a friend’s or relative’s accomplishment; condolences for someone who has died; pleasure in sports, acclaim for a favorite team; references to history. In fact he seems totally uneducated, uncultured. The poorest persons on Twitter may have access to more beauty & meaning in life than the ‘most wealthy person in the world.’”
Sports radio in the state of Iowa is officially obliterated. Last year it was KGYM. This year it's KXNO.
I hate this for the people who were impacted. If you didn't like their content, fine. But these are people with lives and they talked local sports every day. That's gone.
Eddie Vedder could have walked onto that stage tonight, played the catalog, taken his bow, and gotten on a plane. Nobody would have complained. The crowd would have gone home happy. That would have been enough.
Instead he spent real time with teenage kids from Chicago's South Side, helping them write something that didn't exist before they walked into a room together, rehearsing it until it was ready, and then stepping back while they sang it in front of three former presidents of the United States.
That's not a cameo. That's not a tax-deductible appearance. That's somebody deciding that the most important thing he could do with his access was hand it to someone who didn't already have any. The kids on that stage tonight will carry what happened there for the rest of their lives. That's the part that doesn't show up in the lineup announcement.
@HistoryWJacob One of my favorite Mark Twain quotes:
“Reader, suppose you were an idiot. And suppose you
were a member of Congress. But I repeat myself.”
― Mark Twain
Dear Joe,
I wish I could sit down with you face to face and explain why so many of us were offended by the UFC fight on the South Lawn of the White House.
For me, it had nothing to do with the UFC or who showed up for the fights. The brand you and Dana have built is a bona fide American success story. More power to you. As for the fighters, in my book, anyone brave enough to put it all on the line in the arena is remarkable to witness. Their dedication and discipline inspire me. I don’t understand anyone who can’t admire that.
And as for the people who attended, I, for one, love Shane Gillis. I think he’s hilarious and brilliant. It was a show. A once-in-a-lifetime spectacle. I can’t blame anyone for wanting to witness it firsthand.
My problem is that I believe some of our public spaces are sacred. And unlike many of the great powers that came before us, these American monuments belong to all of us. Not to whoever happens to hold power at the moment.
The White House does not belong to Donald Trump. It does not belong to any President. It belongs to the people. To treat it as Caesar treated the Colosseum is antithetical to everything our founding fathers fought for.
This is not Rome. Presidents are not emperors doling out bread and circuses for the peasants. The White House is the People’s House. This “celebration” could have happened in any stadium within a stone’s throw of the South Lawn. No one would have had an issue with it.
But that was obviously Donald Trump’s whole point. By holding the event on the South Lawn, what he was saying to the rest of us is:
“This is my house. I own it. I will do with it what I please. I’ll build a colosseum and have the gladiators fight under my gaze. I’ll tear down the East Wing. I’ll pave over the Rose Garden. I’ll cover everything in gold and marble. I’ll erase the names of all the men who came before me.”
The fights were an exhibition of imperial domination, not a celebration of our 250th anniversary as a democracy.
The White House is not Buckingham Palace. It is not the Palace of Versailles. It is not the Forbidden City of Beijing. It does not belong to an emperor, or a king, or a commissar.
The White House belongs to us. All of us. The person who sits behind the Resolute Desk in the Oval Office is nothing more than an honored guest. A temporary caretaker.
The President is our servant. Not our Caesar.
Respectfully, Hunter
P.S. Cage match between me and Don Jr.? Your call on the venue. Anywhere but the South Lawn.
A small public service announcement from the Department of Things That You Should Know…
It has not “peeked” your interest.
Nor has it “peaked” your interest.
…It has piqued your interest.
You are not “phased” by something.
You are fazed by it.
If you’ve had a long day, you are weary.
If you suspect someone is an idiot, you are wary.
It is “due course”, not “do course”.
“Per se”, not “per say”.
And while we’re here, it’s “could have”, not “could of”, but that particular battle may already be lost.
Thank you for your attention during this brief outbreak of grammatical housekeeping.
This has been a @LairdofthManor announcement.🎩💙
USA. A Mexican restaurant. We had not yet ordered anything, and the food was already arriving.
Chips. Salsa. Unrequested. Free.
I stopped the waiter. "We have not earned these."
"They just come with the table, man."
They come with the TABLE. In my land, hospitality is a debt. Every gift creates an obligation, weighed carefully, returned in the proper season with interest of feeling. Here, the gift arrives before you have even proven you can pay for dinner.
This is not an appetizer. This is a declaration: we trust you. Eat.
I ate with the gravity the moment deserved. And then — I must report this calmly — the basket emptied, and a new one appeared.
"Did we…?"
"Refill," the waiter said. "It's bottomless."
Bottomless. They have wells of salsa. The supply lines of this nation are beyond anything my ancestors imagined.
My friend warned me. "Don't fill up on chips, dude."
Too late. I had accepted three baskets. Honor demanded each one be finished — an unfinished gift is an insult. By the time my actual food arrived, I was a ruined man.
I was not hungry. I was not comfortable. I had been defeated by a courtesy.
Generosity that arrives before the request cannot be repaid. It can only be survived.
I know the rule now. I have made my peace with the basket. One basket. Two at the most.
Who am I deceiving. There is no number of baskets I would refuse. The trust of a nation is in that salsa, and I intend to honor all of it.
My name is Martin. I am 83 years old. I thought I would spend the rest of my life in silence and solitude, but a 16-year-old cat changed everything.
One day, I read on a website about an old cat named Theo. Its owner requested to relinquish it, but the shelter wouldn't allow them to do so because of its age. I decided to adopt him and keep him with me.
When I spoke to the shelter staff, I told them to let me take him. They said he was about to lose hope, but I assured them I was coming for him. I took my car and, after a 4-hour drive, I arrived there. He was in a kennel lying on a cold floor with the door open. He looked at me and came over. When I picked him up, he started trembling, and after a few minutes, he was in my hands. There was some paperwork to complete.
Then I took him to my car and laid him on a chair, and he slept the entire drive home. When I got home, I lifted him up, and he was still sleeping like a little angel. I then placed him on the couch and covered him with a blanket.
As he woke up, I was watching TV, and he came to me and fell asleep again. It has been 3 months since he came into my life, and a lot has changed for me since then.
I'm not sure Texas Tech is really getting this. Had they just been that scrappy underdog school on the plains with a wacky oil billionaire alumnus who showered them with millions to out-recruit the "blue bloods," I and everybody else would be high-fiving them with glee.
But this Sorsby thing is straight up taking a ginormous shit in the punchbowl. Nobody resents you winning, or paying your team well, it's that you are making excuses for someone who committed the ultimate sin in sports. And no, other teams aren't threatening to boycott you because they're "afraid of you," it's that by taking your giant shit in the punchbowl, you effectively voted yourself off the island.
Noah Shannon didn’t bet on his own team’s games and was villainized while being suspended his entire final season of eligibility. Shannon likely would have gotten a ton more experience, knowledge and film for a potential NFL career. This Sorsby situation sucks for the sport.