Sublime

At the airport, leaving Nashville, I had a taste for something sweet. I stood in front of the vending machine, trying to find a treat that was both satisfying and not too bad for me. Ridiculous, I know. To my left, a White man hovered. He was pale and small with a drawn face. He had a cap on, and a dark blue uniform that hung on him, leaving his br

Girl Talk, produced by Andy Warhol.

But as is so often the case with men who have made it like this, he was arrogant and self-righteous.

Par ses positions courageuses en faveur de la légalisation de la drogue et de la création d'un statut des prostitués des deux sexes, par celles plus convenues sur les sans-papiers et les conditions de vie des prisonniers, Frédéric Beigbeder était peu à peu devenu une sorte de Sartre des années 2010, ceci à la surprise générale et un peu à la sienne

My favorite Wikipedia entry begins: “Ronald James Read was an American philanthropist, investor, janitor, and gas station attendant.” Ronald Read was born in rural Vermont. He was the first person in his family to graduate high school, made all the more impressive by the fact that he hitchhiked to campus each day. For those who knew Ronald Read, th

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But I returned to an America in which the bohemian and the bourgeois were all mixed up. It was now impossible to tell an espresso-sipping artist from a cappuccino-gulping banker. And this wasn’t just a matter of fashion accessories. I found that if you investigated people’s attitudes toward sex, morality, leisure time, and work, it was getting hard