Letters & Essays
Art & Photography
The truest American and the biggest Allman Brothers fan I know is Phil C., who was the mailman on my street for twenty-five years.
In today’s arts and culture news: the Museum of Failure; communist banquets gone awry; Bulgakov’s eternal toiling; and more.
November 18, 1985—Washington Redskins quarterback Joe Theismann, thirty-six, suffers a career-ending compound fracture of the right leg on a sack by New York Giants linebacker Lawrence Taylor during a telecast of ABC’s Monday Night Football.
“The short story seems to me the most difficult and disciplining form of prose writing extant.”
In the nineties, video-game developers were fixed on the idea of interactive storytelling—a cul-de-sac that led to rich, inventive adventure games.
“The Great Sandusky” was a hard man to get to know. Indeed, getting to meet him was my first campaign. We were both strong men of the world. He would help me. That he was in the city was common knowledge to all the regulars in the gym. I had seen a feature article on him in the paper. It said he lived now in a hotel near the river. I would write him. Of course. The Great Sandusky. Of course!
My classroom was on the first floor, next to the nuns’ lounge. I used their bathroom to puke in the mornings. One nun always dusted the toilet seat with talcum powder. Another nun plugged the sink and filled it with water.
Before I pressed the up button on the elevator, I saw my reflection in the shiny metal doors and said to myself, maybe even mouthed some of the words, Take the elevator back down and leave this building and never return; you don’t have to do this.