
Charles Bethea
Staff Writer at The New Yorker
Freelance Journalist at Freelance
@newyorker staff writer in ATL // [email protected]
Articles
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4 days ago |
newyorker.com | Charles Bethea
Who will help lead the Department of Government Efficiency now that Elon Musk has left the scene? News reports have mentioned Joe Gebbia, a Tesla board member and a co-founder of Airbnb, as a possible replacement. Gebbia is forty-three. Like Musk—his close friend—he is a billionaire, a resident of Austin, Texas, and the rumored recipient of a hair transplant.
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1 month ago |
newyorker.com | Charles Bethea
Last July, the National Basketball Association announced a new eleven-year media-rights agreement with Amazon, NBC, and ESPN, set to take effect at the start of next season. Notably left out of the seventy-six-billion-dollar deal was Warner Bros. Discovery, the owner of TNT, which has held league-broadcasting rights since the late nineteen-eighties. The news alarmed many N.B.A. viewers: what would happen to the greatest studio sports show ever?
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1 month ago |
newyorker.com | Charles Bethea
In Georgia, during the early days of the pandemic, a bald and baggy-eyed Republican state senator named Brandon Beach showed up to the state capitol sick. A couple of days later, the senator disclosed that he’d tested positive for the coronavirus, sending his exposed colleagues into quarantine. “I’m not a bad person,” Beach, who is from New Orleans, and still speaks with a Louisianan accent, told the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, at the time.
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1 month ago |
atlantamagazine.com | Charles Bethea
In an evermore isolating world, a visit to Fantasyland Records invites a return to the simple pleasures of communal browsing. Photograph by John BoydstonI didn’t have a record player back in the early ’90s. But the first word in the name of the shop on Peachtree Road, in Garden Hills, was enough to make an 11-year-old kid beg his mom to pull over and let him wander around inside: Fantasyland Records. It didn’t really belong in broader Buckhead—that much I grasped even then.
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1 month ago |
newyorker.com | Charles Bethea
Jim Chasteen and Charlie Thompson were roommates and wannabe whiskey connoisseurs at the University of Georgia in the late nineteen-nineties. A few years later, Chasteen and Thompson, who’d started careers in real estate, began to explore a clear form of rye whiskey that isn’t barrel-aged. It was not widely available at the time. Maybe they could create their own version, they thought.
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