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It was tucked into the pages like a bookmark, postmarked Fort Lauderdale, dated December 3, 1979, and addressed to an apartment in Evanston, Ill. There was nothing else in the book—a collection of John Cheever stories I’d just bought at the used bookstore a couple blocks from my Chicago apartment.
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You know what’s a mostly stupid way to spend a day? Making tofu. Man, what a drag.
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These have been a shitty couple of years on the pet front. Last fall, Millie, my beautiful, miraculous boxer, started panting all the time. She was still a radiating core of joy and energy, but her panting was making it hard for her to get comfortable and her energy was slowly but noticeably waning. Also, her appetite…
Do you think shit is funny? Do you think it’s some kind of joke? “If you weren’t so fucking fat, Logan, you’d have no trouble rolling over,” you’d probably like to say. Or maybe, “I’m not sure you really want it, Logan.”
At the risk of doomsaying like some David Brooksian “kids these days” reactionary luddite, it must be said: College now seems crueler than ever before.
The Presidential Election—and the blessed end to this interminable campaign cycle—is finally close enough to start worrying about important deadlines passing. And so, sort of in honor of National Voter Registration Day (which is a real thing that is apparently today) and mostly because the debate last night should…
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Shit, man. Autumn is officially here. Life sucks now.
The bare fact will not surprise you: Many of our country’s young men fritter away potential work hours by enjoying fun leisure activities instead. Nor is it especially news that more men do this more often than they did even a decade ago—we’ve had a recession in the interim, after all. What is odd is how precise the…
Are your underwear emitting an odor of feces or stale urine or stagnant crotch-and-ass sweat that I can smell from a normal, respectful distance? Are you wearing some form of outer garment between your underwear and the outside world? Are you someone with whose underwear I may interact directly in the near future,…
Daryl Homer became the first American man to win an Olympic saber silver since 1904 last month in a bout that lasted mere minutes—as all fencing bouts do. If you blinked, you’d have missed the final point that broke the 14-14 tie and the decades-long medal drought. (Peter Westbrook won bronze in the 1984 games.)
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In case anyone is keeping track, I should note that this will be the last Lunchbox for a little while. We’re going on a hiatus that will test my ability to eat anything other than cheesy popcorn for lunch without the accountability of a blog post. Rather than go out with a sophisticated—and complicated—bang, we’re…
Listen. We are going to form and skewer and grill and eat meat dicks. There’s just no way of obscuring this, so let’s deal with it right here and now.
An apologia of “Sweatpants Kid” over at New York magazine left some of our staff wondering: who was the Sweatpants Kid? Did he exist, and is it accurate to generalize his existence across era and geography? Some of us remembered, or even were Sweatpants Kid in grade school, and a few saw him persist into middle…
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