Chast was sweet and grateful but prone to trying something else. She insisted we go on, she would be fine in the chilly dark outside the massive locked building, which we ignored, no doubt to her discomfort.
Paul Guyot decided he would write his own damned book. But first he would have to read all those books he thought absurd.
Nette wrapped each scarf in tissue, tied it with a bow, and added a note with washing instructions. I doled out these packages with diffidence; they offered nothing cool, trendy, or stylish.
Not only did 48 St. Stephen pull it off, but they paid Stark the consummate respect of performing their premiere immediately after such a powerful piece of music with so much historical weight. They also were maybe dropping a breadcrumb to mark a path.
To find what you sought was an object earned. There was no “file” piped through the internet.
Even without tricks, time is spooky. Things move in its medium, are changed, disappear as if never formed. We acknowledge this uncanniness with a holiday at the end of the growing season devoted to ancient fears of death and magic.
Art Spiegelman, the force behind both Wacky Packages and the Pulitzer Prize-winning “Maus,” is that rare artist who knows great art may disregard the precision brush strokes of attempting “the masterpiece.”
Waldo accrued rather a lot of wisdom in his travels. His books teach us to pay attention, if we want to spot the hidden details of the universe.
We expect to get our way and often think we will get away with cheap and easy and quick. Nowhere is this more obvious than with food.
Some griefs, like my overreaction to “Lessons in Chemistry,” overlap with our own past hurts.