File Under: Sometimes you luck out, and other times, curb scores just might not be worth the hassle…
Not to bring anyone down, but a surprising, ironic trend is developing in the very sad area of homelessness in California, in which the homeless are hired to deliver eviction notices in order to survive.
We found this think piece very Speak to Dave worthy and hope one day to be past the devastating reality of far too many unhoused Americans.
Well now. In which we discuss the merits of television (“It’s not TV, Dave. It’s HBO”.) portraying our fair city . . . Do they get it right or nah?
By Willy Staley | Jan. 30, 2020
It was probably during the fourth episode of the second season of HBO’s “High Maintenance” when I finally noticed what it was up to. The show follows a weed dealer known only as The Guy while he bikes around Brooklyn, leading the viewer into his customers’ homes and lives, where the cameras remain long after he’s gone, letting us peer into their problems, quirks, traumas and anxieties. Like many representations of New York on TV, it’s loosely predicated on the notion that people who live here are inherently more interesting than people who live in, say, Milwaukee. This particular episode centers on a man named Baruch who has just left one of Brooklyn’s ultra-Orthodox sects. His hair is still twisted into payos, and he’s crashing with a friend in a squalid railroad apartment, looking for whatever work he can find by plugging search terms like “kosher jobs” into Craigslist. He tells his friend that he’s going on a date with a shiksa, one who has been asking him penetrating questions. “Wait a minute,” the friend responds. “Is she a writer?”
Meet fika, the Swedish cake whose word is a flip on the word kaffe and is a widely beloved cultural staple, multi-purpose sweet treat break with no set rules. A seriously delicious treat to learn about and love, GET YOU SOME!
Originally published By Dorie Greenspan | Jan. 8, 2020
“Coffee and” was an expression I heard all the time as a kid. From early morning until late in the afternoon, the aroma that filled the kitchen, wafted through the living room and wisped its way up the stairs was coffee, Chock Full o’ Nuts specifically. The coffeepot burbled steadily in our house, always ready for the next cup, and at least once a day, one or another of my mom’s friends would knock on the unlocked door, push it open and head for the kitchen, knowing that the percolator would be on the stove and that on the counter there would be cake — the “and” in “coffee and.”
