Sitting in sun with a muddy face and a beer: the world is extraordinary. Look around. We have sweet tarts and jumbo jets. We know about atoms and Purple Rain. We crawl into storm drains to save kittens. We try. There’s so much to learn, so many fried egg sandwiches yet to eat.

I think we were born in the wrong century.

Hayao Miyazaki

We're here for such a short period of time. Live like you're already dead, man. Have a good time. Do your best. Let it all come ripping right through you. - Jeff Bridges

"Examine what is said, not who speaks." — Arab Proverb

12-year-old Christopher Walken dressed as a clown

“Yet, even amidst the hatred and carnage, life is still worth living. It is possible for wonderful encounters and beautiful things to exist.” - Hayao Miyazaki

These Bauhaus art students in 1927 look like they're about to start a new-wave band.

My instant smiling adoration of everything about this movie could possibly be Jeff Goldblum effect

Am destined to be Happy Gilmore's grandmother who doesn't pay her taxes for thirty years because she gives up on numbers entirely. Neither of my kids play cash-winning hockey-golf so we all know how this is going to end

I can't overstate what an incomprehensible jumble numbers are to me. I can tell the time on a watch. That's about it. Beyond that, numbers stress me out beyond belief. I make a mess every single time I try, without fail. I emit my own magnetic field of stupid.

"I do not understand you Austrians. If every woman wore a dirndl, there would not be any more ugliness." —Vivienne Westwood EVERY DAMN DAY I SWEAR

Sometimes I wonder if the internet let out the worst in us onto ourselves and our children, like a virus. When I realize what I contemplate most of all is the inoculation of myself, my sons, my mind.

England and Scotland felt like home. Fresh air at Dunstanburgh, a 14th-century castle; our street in Newcastle, the busiest street I'd ever seen; in London for the most Londonish photo you might get. 1977. 🇬🇧

I remember it being quiet. Just a little chugga-chug. We'd stop when we felt like it, following the water road through lush fields and bustling towns, under ancient bridges, to village pubs for lunch. It was one week of our year in England, but in my memories it was everything.

We would walk off level to the ground. Then we'd push the lock and watch the water rush and the boat would sink lower, and lower, until my dad's head was many feet below. I'd jump into his arms, him reaching up as high as he could, and on we would go, along the canals.

Our boat was called the Lady Kathryn. I was impressed with this, though less so with the spelling. Nevertheless it was my boat. As you can see. I spent a good amount of time swabbing the deck, like any good captain would.