Calling bullshit has a venerable intellectual pedigree.
When he needed to let off steam after a period of arduous work, Wittgenstein had two principal remedies: go see a movie at the local cinema—ideally a lowbrow American Western—or go for a long walk along the River Cam.
House lights down, music cranked up to eleven, the diffuse buzz of pre-show chatter zeroes in on the two figures taking the stage. TJ: boyish […]
As a child, I rooted for the Three Little Pigs as well as for Wilbur in Charlotte’s Web, and I delighted in the company of Piglet. I also ate ham sandwiches for lunch.