Sublime

It appears that countless women born between the years of 1965 and 1978 are in love with John Cusack. I cannot fathom how he isn’t the number-one box-office star in America, because every straight girl I know would sell her soul to share a milkshake with that motherfucker. For upwardly mobile women in their

Marx put on his coat—camel colored, like Sadie’s. “Your friend is sick as hell. And maybe, a genius. How do you know him again?”

Tony then cites Tyler (on Tim Ferriss’s show) speaking as follows: “I try to stay a bit weird and obscure enough that mostly quite smart people are writing me. If I had too many not smart emails I would feel that I was doing something else wrong with what I’m writing.… The rate of good applications is reasonably high. Maybe I’m lowering it just by

I’m not the biggest fan of confrontation. I ask a lot of questions. Just not out loud.

I’d like to think that I’m the Jason Bourne of social science writing, but I’m probably a lot closer to its court jester.

So when I see you, I want to see back into the deep sources of your self. That means asking certain key questions: Where’s home? What’s the place you spiritually never leave? How do the dead show up in your life? How do I see you embracing or rejecting your culture? How do I see you creating and contributing to your culture? How do I see you transm