At around 7:00 a.m. on June 16, 1998, Barton McNeil, a thirty-nine-year-old divorced father, woke up on the couch after a muggy, stormy night. It was the beginning of one of those long summers in Bloomington, Illinois, the air so heavy you could chew it. McNeil traipsed to the bathroom and called out to wake Christina in the bedroom next door. McNeil, a prep cook at the nearby Red Lobster restaurant, had less than an hour to drop Christina off at daycare and get to work. He smoked a cigarette on the toilet and called to Christina one more time. Still nothing. So he took a shower, then checked his email again, and finally crept into the bedroom. There she lay, wrapped in the swirl of her flower-patterned sheets, a copy of Go, Dog. Go! beside her. Her eyes were open, her skin clammy and the color of slate. McNeil froze. His stomach churned. Panic took the wind out of his lungs. He scrambled for the phone and dialed 911. Then a new nightmare began. |
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| A troubled woman in Texas had a police record, and had been busted for illegally possessing a weapon, and was still able to buy the AR-15 she used in a shooting. |
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David Bouley—the trailblazing chef who died of a heart attack on Monday at his home in Connecticut—has made my life complicated since 1988, ever since I ate lunch at Restaurant Bouley, his first solo venture, where he was making something old new again. French food but less French. Elegant but not stuffy. Fewer mounted butter sauces. More acid than I was used to. Nourishing, comforting, clearer, cleaner, brighter, quieter flavors. And local to the extreme. After 14 courses, including Provincetown black bass, Nantucket Bay scallops, Maine crabmeat, and New York State foie gras, all drizzled and dotted with vibrant and bracing lemon thyme juice, chive vinaigrette, and Italian parsley sauce, I was spit out of the matrix and into the bright winter sun of Tribeca. Stunned. Moved to tears. At the time I was studying dance at Juilliard. I was on a path. But after that meal, I was a goner. I knew I had to work with Bouley. And a few years later, I did. Not a day has gone by over the past 30 years when I haven't thought about him. |
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You know it's time for something new. |
| The Snooz White Noise Machine is the solution you didn't know you needed. |
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I'll admit it. I don't know what the hell is going on with Rep. Mike Turner, the chairman of the House Intelligence Committee. One thing I do know is that Speaker Mike Johnson has as much control over his caucus as he does over the tides. On Wednesday, Turner went out of his way to demand that the administration release data on an unspecified "serious national security threat." |
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