I read about the boxing documentary When We Were Kings in J. Michael Lennon's recent biography of Norman Mailer, Norman Mailer: A Double Life--
Released in February 1997, the film won several awards, including the Academy Award for best documentary. It is generally thought to be the finest documentary ever made on boxing and is linked permanently with Mailer's The Fight, often named as the best nonfiction narrative on a prizefight.
The movie is available on Netflix, but it's also on YouTube. I watched it this afternoon and it lived up to Lennon's description. I don't know how I missed it when it first came out, but I did. Those with an interest in boxing or Muhammad Ali should check it out.
Part of what was so great about those early years of blogging was how chaotic it was — a flurry of posts linking to other bloggers (remember linking?), comment flame-wars, and endless discussion about the value of blog widgets like MyBlogLog or your Technorati ranking, or how to set up your RSS feed. Everyone was tinkering with their WordPress or Typepad to embed some new thing or try out a new theme, and there was a natural (if occasionally tense) camaraderie about it.
I remember it well. "So what changed?" Ingram asks. Read his article to find out . . .
I’m a young male associate who’s wondering if I have a legal claim against my law firm. Even though I’m much smarter than most second-year associates, the firm’s female partners all assume I’m a dimwit because of my good looks. Although I do have quite a nice physique (I’m a weightlifter), it’s just not fair that no one gives me credit for my stellar law school record and my high IQ.
My specific problem deals with what happened the other day. The head of the litigation department, who everyone calls “The Barracuda,” dumped four boxes of documents on my desk at 4 p.m. and told me to “have all the privileged stuff flagged by the morning.”
Is the modest lawyer a myth? That’s the conventional wisdom. Yet once or twice each year, rumors begin to circulate of yet another sighting of this silent and mysterious man. Three years ago, he was spotted emerging from a portable restroom at a county fair. Another time he was seen helping a small child unhook a bluegill at a lake in Mississippi. Once he was seen high on a mountain in Colorado, searching for a pass during a thunderstorm.
Despite the frequency of the sightings, only three details remain consistent: the modest lawyer vanishes quickly, leaves no trace, and always remains nameless. Yet it’s possible to speculate about some of his other defining characteristics, and many have done so. There was a theory put forward by a professor at Harvard Law School that the modest lawyer probably graduated from that esteemed institution. Another theory held that the modest lawyer most likely hailed from Texas. Both of these theories were obviously flawed, but others have been less controversial: that the modest lawyer has never appeared on a cable TV news program, for example, or that he most certainly doesn’t have a blog.
Why, exactly, is a healthy and well-adjusted life superior to one that is filled with ardor and personal vision but that is also, at times, a little unhealthy and maladjusted? Might some of us not prefer lives that are heaving with an intensity of feeling and action but that do not last quite as long as lives that are organized more sensibly? Why should the good life equal a harmonious life? Might not the good life be one that includes just the right amount of anxiety?