There was nothing remotely banal about the story of Nurse Letby, a fresh-faced, soap-and-water girl-next-door murdering newborn after newborn for not the slightest reason, yet otherwise perfectly sane or at any rate sane enough to stand trial for these crimes of hers.
In this episode Stephen and Dr Fleming agree to disagree on the good, the bad, and the ugly in perhaps Leone’s most celebrated film.
A few quick takes on the Second Republican Debate on Sept. 27. Vivek, who easily won the first debate, continuously was talked over in this one. The others also attacked him for getting some kind of loan from China. He missed a chance to explain how, in business, you get the cheapest capital you can, or your investors sue you. That dough was from China.
What sorrows I have, I drown in brandy. In Armagnac, ideally, and it always strikes me as unjust that this remarkable panacea is essentially regarded as a niche tipple, a rich man’s foible, a postprandial showpiece at a far remove from the alcoholic mainstream of gin, whisky, and vodka. Even Armagnac’s big brother, Cognac, is relegated to the margins of wine lists, to say nothing of local brandies like Italy’s very passable Vecchia Romagna.
Edgar Lee Masters of Illinois was a law partner of Clarence Darrow until Darrow tried to frame him for his own chicanery. He was a biographer of Lincoln and Vachel Lindsay–the only other poet from Illinois. I’ve never much liked his verse, but he did have the knack of capturing the characters of the Midwest.
This a much revised section of a chapter (“The Demands of Blood”) of Volume II of Properties of Blood. It is the first of a series of chapters in which vengeance–its nature, its institutions, its justifications–are discussed. It begins by taking up one of the oldest and still most thorny ethical dilemmas: Why do good men suffer, and what can be done about it? It is the first step in laying the groundwork for understanding the violent anarchy into which American society has fallen and the possible means at our disposal for redressing the injustices.
The twilight hour before bedtime which any sensible boy hopes will never arrive is the high point of his day, and young Vasily, who will be two next month, is no exception. We watch music videos – more or less the same playlist night after night after night – while I smoke my Toscano and savor my brandy, if there is any. The miracle is that I never get tired of these musical selections, whereof by now I know every darn word by heart, and anyone who has ever experienced a true miracle wants the world to hear about it.
What the pundits are missing is the real contest over which party can produce the most outrageously ridiculous member of Congress. Here at SNO we are calling it the Kanye West award.
As this once-great country slides rapidly down the sewer pipes of history, which might be the only place to survive – underground – if Biden accidentally SITS on the Nuclear Button, I try to find some humor.
