
Articles
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2 weeks ago |
michaelestrin.substack.com | Michael Estrin
Whenever the shit hits the fan in the old US of A, Christina says something along the lines of, “Oh my god, we’re Rome.” She means ancient Rome, and what she’s saying is that America is collapsing faster than an undercooked soufflé. My response: “We should be so lucky.” The Roman Republic went the distance, nearly 500 years; the Roman Empire went another five centuries; if you count the Byzantine Empire (aka the Eastern Roman Empire), add another thousand years or so.
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3 weeks ago |
michaelestrin.substack.com | Michael Estrin
With a twang in his voice, the Lyft driver says my timing is perfect because he just finished some Del Taco. “I’m terrible with accents, but I’m always curious,” I say. “Oklahoma or Texas?”“Oklahoma, son. Our twang is more laid back — we’re cowboys, you know, but we’re not fixing to make a fuss about it.”“So you’re an Okie?”“I’m an Okie from Muskogee.”“No way. Like the song?”“Like the song, but in the flesh.”“Why’d you move out here?”“The women.”“Really?”“Nah.
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1 month ago |
michaelestrin.substack.com | Michael Estrin
Everyone poops. This is a fact, but more than that, it’s a fact nobody disputes — a rarity these days. Scarlett Johansson? She poops. Elon Musk? He poops. Caitlyn Jenner? They poop. I could do this all day, but I came here chew bubblegum and talk shit, and it looks like I’m all out of bubblegum. At the risk over-sharing, I’ve been pooping a lot these days. If I were a goat, pooping at the drop of a hat would mean the vibes are right.
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1 month ago |
michaelestrin.substack.com | Michael Estrin
I believe it was Yogi Berra who said, “Nobody goes to goat yoga anymore, it’s too crowded.” He was half-right. The people running goat yoga at LA’s Laughing Frog yoga studio packed us in like sardines. On the mat to my left was my friend, long-time yogi, and unpaid Situation Normal photographer Jennie. To my right was a woman who seemed ambivalent about the man on her right.
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1 month ago |
michaelestrin.substack.com | Michael Estrin
The other day, I found myself on Ventura Boulevard. I didn’t know I was lost, but that’s where I found myself. I had just left Pita Kitchen, where the shawarma is on point. I wasn’t in a hurry to get back to my car, because I had earlier hit the parking lottery: A meter with nearly two hours left. A more violent man might’ve said he was “killing time,” but I prefer the term lollygagging, which has the same effect, minus the casualties.
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