Walt staggers into the lab, falling onto the cold cement floor, where he sees Jesse’s last batch of baby blue. He knows this is the greatest batch of meth ever cooked. And as the life drains from his body, he is struck by one last idea. With his final guilty breath, the scientist takes his first hit of the substance that destroyed the world around him.
FADE TO BLACK.
In his new memoir, the disgraced Liberal leader captures perfectly the preternatural life wisdom that can only be acquired from inside a taxi cab:
As I got into his cab, he pulled his rear-view mirror to get a closer look.
“Are you who I think you are?”
“I am,” I said.
“I voted for you.”
“I’m glad somebody did.”
Then he shrugged and said, “It’s politics.”
It was if he was saying, “Look, this is how the world is. You did not know it before. You know it now.” As we talked, I learned that he was from Lebanon and had been in Canada for 20 years. He combined a cabbie’s shrewd grasp of the democratic politics of his new country and a sardonic memory of the brutal confessional politics of Lebanon. I began to see that “politics” was the word he used for the baffling combination of will and chance that determines the shape of life. The way taxi medallions are awarded in a city, for example, was politics. The way dictators continue to rule poor countries was politics, the way Lebanon was carved up by the civil war was politics and, he was saying, the way well-meaning innocents get beaten was politics. When I paid my fare and left him, I wanted more than anything to write about this politics, this brutal game, this dramatic encounter between fate and will, malignity and nobility that fascinated him as much as it fascinated me.
Silver Lake’s loaded with this sort of zim zam club, where bartenders turn dragon fruit and a half dozen shots of paint thinner-strength rum into ambrosia. What makes Tiki-Ti special is the concoctions are based on its deceased founder’s secret recipes, mixed now by his son and grandson, who have procured each ingredient from some faraway place. If you ask what’s in any given drink, you’ll get a coy smile. Beverages aren’t mixed here so much as conjured.
“The Tiki Ti, Building a Better Tomorrow” by Doug Horne.
How to bury family in a town that may never have actually existed.
“The crows seemed to be calling his name, thought Caw.”
You wake early on a Monday, get into dress clothes, then drive 250 km out of downtown Calgary, southwest to an old mining town at the Alberta/BC border, for the funeral of a cousin you’ve never met. The morning fog drops right down to the road, which twists and rises and dives through the Foothills before exploding into the forest-and-peak splendor of The Crowsnest Pass. A realm in the full-blown Tolkien sense, the Pass swells up into the Rocky Mountains, right down to the Montana border. Within its embrace is the most cursed stretch of towns in Canada. Continue reading
Methamphetamine is not a beauty product. Your Face on Meth is a cautionary app that puts an uncomfortably visceral twist on all those meth addict over time images we spend our lives trying to avoid.
After running the face of everyone you know through five years of meth abuse—after you do it to your teachers, your mayor, all the obvious AMC characters—you’ll want to do the leaders of the free world. (Rehabs.com‘s app is its own kind of addiction.) The results are almost as terrifying as celebrities photoshopped to look like normal people.
The goal of this project is to demonstrate dramatically the immense toll that drugs like meth can have on one’s appearance and the seriousness of addiction. This extreme physical deterioration is often representative of further destruction taking place within an addict’s personal, family and social life.
Just how destructive is meth? So destructive that it changes the physical form of Enrico Letta’s glasses. It destroys all nine lives of Stephen Harper’s cat. Of course, David Cameron looks like he’s merely had a long night at the pub. And François Hollande could have just consumed a case of Château d’Yquem before pulling his face out from beneath a steaming towel of ortolan buntings.