Zach: How come when I order a large pizza for myself for lunch I receive one of “those” looks from the delivery guy? Me: Wait, wait, wait…you work from home? Zach: Yes, but not the point. Let’s focus on the pizza delivery guy and his sassy stares here. Me: Well I imagine you’re answering the door in your pajamas with uncombed hair, so you appear all sad and heartsick…or just sick. Or weird. Or a creeper. Yeah, you know what, you DO look like a creeper. Zach: I would take offense, but you’re probably right. Me: Probably? Zach: That’s the story I’m sticking with. Me: I think the point of view on your story is skewed. Zach: YOU’RE SKEWED. Zach: God. That was awful. Forget I sent that. Me: *screenshot* Zach: You’re evil. I knew there was at least one redeeming quality about you. Me: And what about my smart mouth? Zach: You’re right—one and a half. Me: I’ll take my winnings where I can.

“For me as a photographer, it is not only the human stories but the visual richness of cemeteries that is so arresting. Photographing the images for this book has shown me how very many ways Chicagoans over the decades and centuries have found to visibly express their love and loss in beautiful monuments.” –Larry Broutman

Then Lizzie spotted it: the worn hatchet Father had left behind after he'd last brought in the newly chopped wood.

I decided that any team with both God and Nixon on their side was fucked from the start.

The root of the Wallace magic was a cynical, showbiz instinct for knowing exactly which issues would whip a hall full of beer-drinking factory workers into a frenzy--and then doing exactly that, by howling down from the podium that he had an instant, overnight cure for all their worst afflictions: Taxes? Nigras? Army worms killing the turnip crop? Whatever it was, Walllace assured his supporters that the solution was actually real simple, and that the only reason they had any hassle with the government at all was because those greedy bloodsuckers in Washington didn't want the problems solved, so they wouldn't be put out of work.

The ugly truth is that Wallace had never even bothered to understand the problems--much less come up with any honest solutions--but "the Fighting Little Judge" has never lost much sleep from guilt feelings about his personal credibility gap.