Not the Jack Black that you’re thinking of. This is the autobiography of a burglar at the turn of the 20th century who feels like someone ripped out of a cartoon or something. I love stories with unreliable narrators, and this one takes the cake. Full of safe-cracking and train-hopping, it’s one of my favorite books. At one point, he buries a bunch of stolen cash in the ground, and returns years later to retrieve it only to find the stash trapped beneath a house that was built on top of it.
head to the pub with a deck of cards and a limited social battery and your spirits will be lifted. you don’t have to talk, just easy silent companionship. feels liberating to be ambience for other people’s conversations even better when playing offbeat card games that confuse the other patrons - i.e. italian card game SCOPA which is super fun, easy to learn and has funky suites
sink your teeth into this one and chew slowly ! its that good revisiting all the music my parents used to play in the car when i was young and this album makes my eyes well and heart soar! human condition baby we‘ve all got it and it’s terminal
having a single ally in a seminar or at work makes me feel so seen and affirmed. whenever someone says something stupid i look at a particular person and finding out that they are looking back? better than crack. we have a sacred bond that is so precious. clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here i am...
