Crowd of people on roofs of rowhouses watching world series game between Boston Braves and Philadelphia Athletics at Shibe Park, Philadelphia. Oct. 9, 1914. [1536x1117]
The way we’re working isn’t working. Even if you’re lucky enough to have a job, you’re probably not very excited to get to the office in the morning, you don’t feel much appreciated while you’re there, you find it difficult to get your most important work accomplished, amid all the distractions, and you don’t believe that what you’re doing makes much of a difference anyway. By the time you get home, you’re pretty much running on empty, and yet still answering emails until you fall asleep.
His aphoristic intelligence was much keener, his eye much sharper, his judgment of others generally shrewder than that of most of his fellows … The thing that escapes Fitzgerald’s myth is precisely his intelligence.
One warm spring night in 2011, a young man named Travis Hughes stood on the back deck of the Alpha Tau Omega fraternity house at Marshall University, in West Virginia, and was struck by what seemed to him—under the influence of powerful inebriants, not least among them the clear ether of youth itself—to be an excellent idea: he would shove a bottle rocket up his ass and blast it into the sweet night air. And perhaps it was an excellent idea. What was not an excellent idea, however, was to misjudge the relative tightness of a 20-year-old sphincter and the propulsive reliability of a 20-cent bottle rocket. What followed ignition was not the bright report of a successful blastoff, but the muffled thud of fire in the hole.
— Caitlin Flanagan, in what might be the most amusing lede I’ve seen in awhile