The architect doesn’t just take his girlfriend downtown to show her his favorite buildings. It is not the height or the kind of stone that leaps from the ground. It is the history of the building, the story and all the potential stories that it holds the architect is interested in. He can see the creator’s imagination, the original storytelling, creativity on display, talent.
This is the best way I can think of it, trying to describe the books I like.
When I touched down at the Kennedy Space Center I had been in isolation for 847 Earth days, twenty-eight months, over two years. I was immediately flown to Houston. After a couple of hours with Mission Control and the press conference, I was flown to Washington D.C. The next twelve months ran together and sometimes even repeated themselves. President Teague told me to call him “Phil.” Not Mr. President, not Mr. Teague, not even Phillip. But Phil.
New Story “Athenry” up at Perihelion Science Fiction. A speculative piece on the first man on Mars. One of my more favorite things I’ve written.
Science now tells us, love yourself before all men, for everything in the world rests on self-interest. You love yourself and manage your own affairs properly and your coat remains whole. Economic truth adds that the better private affairs are organised in society—the more whole coats, so to say—the firmer are its foundations and the better is the common welfare organised too. Therefore, in acquiring wealth solely and exclusively for myself, I am acquiring, so to speak, for all, and helping to bring to pass my neighbour’s getting a little more than a torn coat; and that not from private, personal liberality, but as a consequence of the general advance. The idea is simple, but unhappily it has been a long time reaching us, being hindered by idealism and sentimentality.
Crime and Punishment. Fyodor Dostoevsky
“Who’s there?” Alois asked again, more insistently.
And so it went for years. It wasn’t until his deathbed Alois realized he was on the outside of the door.
Thoroughly enjoyed this.
It is played everywhere: in parks and playgrounds, prison yards, in back alleys and farmers’ fields; by small boys and old men, raw amateurs and millionaire professionals. It is a leisurely game that demands blinding speed; the only game in which the defense has the ball. It follows the seasons, beginning each year with the fond expectancy of springtime and ending with the hard facts of autumn.
Americans have played baseball for more than 200 years; while they conquered a continent, warred with each other and with enemies abroad, struggled over labor and civil rights, and with the meaning of freedom.
At its heart lie mythic contradictions: a pastoral game born in crowded cities, an exhilarating democratic sport that tolerates cheating, and has excluded as many as it has included. A profoundly conservative game that often manages to be years ahead of its time. It is an American Odyssey that links sons and daughters to fathers and grandfathers, and it reflects a host of age-old American tensions; between workers and owners, scandal and reform, the individual and the collective.
It is a haunted game in which every player is measured with the ghosts of those who have gone before. Most of all it is about time and timelessness, speed and grace, failure and loss, imperishable hope, and coming home.
- Intoduction to Ken Burns’ Baseball (excerpt)
Cobb coming home via Baseball Screencaps
This is why I love baseball.
And thus we return to the fond expectancy of spring. Welcome back baseball.
The feeling is like dying. Like being released from that constant throb of life you weren’t aware of until you actually died. It’s like getting out of prison. You are free and yet you are more condemned on the outside than the inside. It is that blissful moment when everyone has died around you. They are all dead and you are past it, who cares if the thing is ever published, it is out of you and you are on to the next thing. Always the next thing.
(Been binge watching entire sitcom series lately and began to see a pattern.)
The paper stage: The actors are playing the characters insofar as they have been worked out on the writer’s and creator’s page. It is a flat and self conscious period, where we don’t quite know who we are watching yet….
How I Met Your Mother has been in the last stage for at least five years.