Each week, the Sunday Post highlights a few articles we enjoyed this week, good for consumption over a cup of coffee (or tea, if that's your pleasure). Settle in for a while; we saved you a seat. You can also look through the archives.
In a new take on "lose yourself in a books," Reina Hardy remembers a terrifying choose-your-own adventure called The Maze. Surreal and sinister, part puzzle room, part clickbait, the book sounds transfixing. And Hardy's essay, which mimics the looping, confounding style of the classic genre, is as well.
Room 24 was terrifying. And yet, it was also a release. There were no more doors to open, no more secrets to chase. There was no more reason to try. Perhaps the sensible thing to do, when you reach Room 24, is to admit defeat and lie down in the darkness.
Dave Asprey founded an empire around the idea that a pat of butter makes coffee not just tasty, but healthy. (Or should that be "not just healthy, but tasty"? I'm not sure which is more implausible.) His new aspiration: crash-test his body with stem-cell infusions, ice baths, and smart drugs. This is a bit of a train wreck, and I'm trying to find value beyond the fact that I can't look away from Asprey's glossy, glassy grin. Hmm. Nope. It's just pure voyeurism. Enjoy!
Ten days before I met him at his home in British Columbia, Dave Asprey went to a clinic in Park City, Utah, where a surgeon harvested half a liter of bone marrow from his hips, filtered out the stem cells, and injected them into every joint in his body. He then threaded a cannula along Asprey’s spinal column and injected stem cells inside his spinal cord and into his cerebral fluid. “And then they did all the cosmetic stuff,” Asprey told me. “Hey, I’m unconscious, you’ve got extra stem cells — put ’em everywhere!” Everywhere meaning his scalp, to make his hair more abundant and lustrous; his face, to smooth out wrinkles; and his “male organs,” for — well, I’ll leave that part up to your imagination.
Every article Sarah Jaffe writes is a master class in effective activism. This piece, which dissects how school teachers in Los Angeles fought against ongoing funding cuts, is both hopeful and daunting. As Seattle faces its own cuts in funding for schools, are we prepared to mount an equal defense? I'd like to think so. We're not a city starved of resources, after all. We're a city starving itself.
That has meant using the union’s foundation arm to give funds to DACA recipients to renew their papers. It has meant pushing back in bargaining on “random” searches of students on campus. And it has meant calling for the district to establish an immigrant-defense fund to support families threatened by Trumpism. Even the school-funding question, Caputo-Pearl says, needs to be seen through an understanding of institutional racism. California, he notes, used to rank among the states in the nation with the highest per-pupil funding. But as the proportion of nonwhite students in the public schools increased, tax revolts ensured the schools would be starved, and politicians began to cut back further. Now, California ranks 43rd in the nation — this despite the vast wealth that literally looms over the school district in the forms of millionaires’ homes in the hills and studio buildings downtown.