In the late afternoon of 9/11, my brother and I ventured out from his apartment onto the deserted streets, to withdraw a chunk of cash from an ATM, in the event that we were about to enter a Mad Max-style futuristic dystopia. Anything seemed possible on that day, with the Pentagon under attack and an unknown number of passenger planes still unaccounted for. In one of the few moments of levity in the day – at least in retrospect – we carried tennis rackets with us to ward off looters. We strolled down the empty Upper West Side like Bizarro-world Williams sisters, alert and on the balls of our feet, ready for the apocalypse.
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NEW from New English Review:
- And shouldn’t a ‘Ferguson’ camo pattern be, like, 7/11 & Kool-Aid logos and shit anyhow?
- ‘Rarely have we seen a person fail who has thoroughly followed our path…’
- Everything people are saying about Robin Williams is right — and wrong — at the same time
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- The NYT will close its doors for good within the next ten years: Part XVII
- Rush Limbaugh’s comments on Robin Williams are being unfairly misquoted. Must be Wednesday.
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- Science: We like music we listened to when we were young because we were young when we listened to it
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- Email sent to James Foley’s parents ‘may have been written by working-class Briton’
- Greenfield: Obama: ‘The Golf Game Did Not Reflect the Depth of his Grief Over Mr. Foley’