From dad-on-dad rivalries to murder most foul in remote Maine, we present some of 2021's greatest hits.
Owen Wilson is fifty-two. His skin is tanned and healthy—ruddy—and he has enviable blond hair that always looks like he went swimming in the ocean a half hour ago and it dried in the sun, annoyingly perfect. The blue eyes are as blue as they are in the movies, or bluer. His ball cap has a logo of a half doughnut, half taco, a totem from a recent movie shoot in Saratoga Springs, New York. (A man who owned a taco-and-doughnut shop gave it to him.) He does not place his phone on the table, the way most people do. He answers questions not as if he's being interviewed but rather as if he's standing in the corner at a party, chatting and telling delightful stories. America's hot-take economy has created a kind of smart that is indistinguishable from stupid. These days we're soaking in it. It couldn't hurt to read the most iconic marriage manual of my parents' generation… right? Dads bring their sons to Baseball Heaven so they can feel like pros. The facility, situated on an industrial lot off the Long Island Expressway, has recessed dugouts, proper bullpens, and stadium lights. On weekends, the lot fills with so many cars that minivans must illegally park on the roadway verge. Cleats click-clack on pavement, and cooler wheels groan. Fathers jockey for position to record their sons' swings and fixate on pitch velocity, murmuring the incantation "What's he at? What's he at?" Between games, boys wander the park with Gatorade-stained lips and gnash on Big League Chew. Inside the café, televisions simulcast play on all seven fields. The turf is artificial, which means the grass at Baseball Heaven is always green. It's like the world has been rubbing our noses in it. Broken government. Police brutality. A global pandemic. Climate change. Awash in harrowing realities, Joshua Ferris discovers the sustaining power of everyday fictions. On a remote island in Maine, a group of friends thought they witnessed one man killing another with an ax. But no one was ever arrested. In a small town far out at sea, justice sometimes works a little differently. From the time I was old enough to beat Super Mario Bros. 2, I shadowed my dad and hung around our family restaurant every chance I got. It was like theater to be on the sidelines of a working kitchen. Long before the Food Network romanticized cooks and kitchens, I knew there was something special here. Listening to the hiss of noodles as they hit the surface of a fiery wok, followed by the gentle clank clank clank of a metal spoon incorporating the ingredients of a pad thai; breathing in the smell of curries simmering on the stove; watching cleavers chop through an order of gai yang, grilled chicken marinated in lemongrass, fish sauce, coriander, and ginger. This was my favorite dish as a kid, and I loved to sneak tastes of it. |
:sharpen(1,0,false):quality(100)/product/28/921237/1.jpg?7103)
:sharpen(1,0,false):quality(100)/product/41/109817/1.jpg?1956)
:sharpen(1,0,false):quality(100)/product/01/054237/1.jpg?5580)
:sharpen(1,0,false):quality(100)/product/04/556307/3.jpg?3777)
:sharpen(1,0,false):quality(100)/product/58/542044/1.jpg?9647)
:sharpen(1,0,false):quality(100)/product/50/913158/1.jpg?9425)
:sharpen(1,0,false):quality(100)/product/81/425312/1.jpg?4829)
