On heartbreak, and anguish, and (sigh) sports.

‘No Time To Die’ is a typical and fairly traditional James Bond experience; but yes, please, I’ll have some.

Jonathan Franzen, maybe the primary professional reason I write at all, returns.

Despite speaking from someplace else, Kurt Cobain’s heart is crystal clear.

On falling madly in love with modern rock’s most meticulous goofballs.

Bazzers and I discuss dreams, and when (if ever) to dust off the white flag.

An act of flash fiction.

Vibes on The Chair, The Plot Against America, and The White Lotus.

A few weeks ago Bazzers caught the thing, and I did my best with a dog.

The eighth episode of The Sopranos’ first season … reiterates the show’s status as TV’s finest ever hour.

Lauren Oyler’s ‘Fake Accounts’ could do with a damn about plot, just to remind us all she’s trying her hand at fiction.

‘No Sudden Move’, Steven Soderbergh’s latest film, proves there will never be nearly enough flowers to lay at his feet.

On returning home, and airports, and the call of duty.

On Boston, the Celtics, and rooting for troubled histories.

How to fix Tottenham Hotspur: a, um, companion piece.

It’s the return of your least favourite movie franchise: How to Fix Tottenham Hotspur.

Raven Leilani’s novel verbalises almost perfectly, I imagine, the endless struggle of being an African-American woman.

What do you get when you cross a selfie with an essay? An interview about advertising, baby!

“In the delightful rejoicing of our own mortality, we may learn something about empathy — about the instincts needed to live life in the midst of others at least sometimes.”

Baseball’s return, come fight me I dare you, is the most wonderful time of the year.