The book I am reading at the moment is due back. Do I bother to renew it electronically? And if I have no more renewals, do I keep it and finish or bring it back anyway? It seems that only money, not respect for other readers, has driven my actions all these years, a terrible realization on which I prefer not to linger. Money is the yardstick for value, right? And what has more value than books?
Words, stories, and art, are approximations, part of their pleasure. Think of the obsessiveness of long-career artists to make meaning through time.
“Einstein’s Dreams” is one of those elegant, deceptively simple books you know you need to reread a couple thousand times to fully grasp. Not that the book contains answers; what it contains are possibilities that act like crowbars, wedging your mind open. Now Alan Lightman has a new three-part documentary, “Searching: Our Quest for Meaning in the Age of Science,” that acts the same way.
Ethel Waters did not initially have any grand ambitions for herself, certainly not to be in show business. Her first forays into the world of formal employment were hotel and kitchen work, typical for a lower-class Black woman with a spotty education.
Depression, emptiness, anomie, acedia—we have all sorts of words for this soulsickness. A midlife crisis is simply the announcement of a need for a different, more compelling purpose. Quiet quitting says the job was not worth doing.
Everybody is off on some trip. Get real. Make toast.
Dogs used to have the run of a neighborhood; there were fewer rules about where they could eliminate, fewer leash laws, more actual jobs they could do for us. Now they are pampered and controlled with an iron fist by people terrified of fines, lawsuits, or disapproving neighbors.
Those were long-cooled facts; they held none of the warmth of his flesh. Genealogy is fun detective work, but I understood the hollow feeling in the email’s last sentence: “I have no idea who he was or what he was about.”
Above all, I was impressed by the chatbot’s staunch refusal to give a subjective opinion. I baited it again and again, and its responses sounded like a wise aunt refusing to be drawn into your argument with your parents. In a world splashed with bias, this was refreshing.
The first corporate business I encountered with a cheeky attitude was Ed Debevic’s (“50s Chicago Diner with Snarky Servers”), followed by Dick’s Last Resort, another restaurant in Chicago, then near Navy Pier.