When you run with the bulls, it is not just the wine that is red.
Pleasant Memories for Everyone http://goo.gl/azNuwO
Unwise choices are the consequence of being unable to say “I was raped,” of questioning if one is, in fact, crazy—an unreliable narrator unable to be trusted—and therefore to blame, of learning that men are frightening, fallible, unpredictable, and must be appeased, of having no self‑worth. These are the choices one who knows something has gone horribly wrong makes in order to maintain an illusion of control.
Running the Bulls in Pamplona: Blood, Torture, and Sangria http://goo.gl/bx6kWe
This is because, Hemingway be damned, the inconvenient truth is that the glorious tradition of bull fighting with its powerful metaphors for courage and the eternal struggle between life and death involves torturing animals until they die.
"No, it was all working, writing, hanging and drinking with friends, and endless days. Fine. The sun shone a great deal. The car was a sweet ride, and for thirty years, only driven on Sundays (really, that’s what they told me)." http://goo.gl/G1nyZu
"It wasn’t my Uncle Al who my Great Granddad had tried to strangle, it was my Uncle Ken." http://goo.gl/gPDdGw
"I was an anxious child, susceptible to fears of insects, spontaneous conflagration, and heights. I despised soda—the carbonation stung my tongue—and flinched at firecracker explosions and flung Wiffle balls. I refused to eat pork, fearing trichinosis contamination; red meat, with its rubbery tendons and seeping blood, repulsed me. I was a pain in the ass." http://goo.gl/VBsNu5
"The boy soldier prods his AK-47 in the small of my back in a ditch, gives up, and after a while leans on a white UN APC smoking a Marlboro from a pack I’d given him to turn his gun away while I get on with pissing." http://goo.gl/vQdK9p
Arriving at the Day of the Dead http://goo.gl/KDhVI6
"Places of death walk us through our lives. They batter us with our own mortality, demand of us ephemeral answers about eternity, sadden us for people we knew—family that raised us—who selfishly have gone on, and to where? As a place of death, the graveyard is unique. The graveyard has nothing to do with police reports, with emergency medical services, with hospitals, with hospice—with the mess of dying. The graveyard waits for us: placid, organized, carrying a message or a lie."
"He told me in a gentle tone that I was black-listed and my job prospects in India were dim. Without naming any names, he made it very clear that I made some serious enemies. He advised me to go abroad where the long arm of Professor Saxena and his cronies wouldn’t reach." goo.gl/2ZV04q
Tuesday Throwback: Letterman on Fracking http://goo.gl/LqIF3j
As the retirement march continues, we thought we'd bring you this enlightening little snippet from the mind and ire of David Letterman. It a simple presentation on what makes Letterman the king and a glimpse into why he lost the ratings war. Hint: It has something to do with integrity.