EXCERPT

"After we came out of the church, we stood talking for some time together of Bishop Berkeley’s ingenious sophistry to prove the non-existence of matter, and that every thing in the universe is merely ideal. I observed, that though we are satisfied his doctrine is not true, it is impossible to refute it. I never shall forget the alacrity with which Johnson answered, striking his foot with mighty force against a large stone, till he rebounded from it, 'I refute it thus.'"

This is a classic little episode from Sam’s life. On the one hand it’s the reaction of a practical man who has no time for any of the more abstruse or theoretical aspects of knowledge and philosophy. If matter doesn’t exist, then what is all this stuff that I am surrounded by? Sam is a well-educated man—Adam Smith tells Boswell that “Johnson knew more books than any man alive”—and so likely part of him realizes that his so-called refutation is just an extreme and simplistic dismissal of a philosophical stance with some validity in one context or another. On the other hand, Sam can be in fact as categorical as he seems to be, and in many instances he lives up to the caricature of the cranky old man often attributed to him.

EXCERPT

Greg’s first open-mic performance was likely at the New York Comedy Club, then located on the East Side, just over a mile south of Skadden’s building at the time. He could easily get to the club from work. Leslie Adler attended some of Greg’s first standup shows, and she was blown away by Greg’s intellect and precision on stage.

“He was good right away,” Adler said.

Even at this early stage, Greg focused on preparation. He would read newspapers and come up with his own angles on current events. The booming economy fizzled somewhat, and Skadden felt the pain. Several young lawyers were asked to leave. Skadden brought in career counselors to help the new attorneys identify their strengths and weaknesses, and based on his answers to the questions Greg realized that working at a large law firm was not for him. He hated it.

Greg thought about Steve Klein’s suggestion about pursuing comedy seriously. Eventually, he reached his breaking point. One afternoon Greg broke the news to Adler.

“I’m leaving,” he said. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

This confused Adler, who thought about all the student loans Greg owed.

“I don’t understand,” she said to Greg.

“I have a notebook,” Greg said. “I write comedy.”

EXCERPT

There are dangers on the streets at night in my sleepy, pretty little town of Knosting. About a month before I started my general research, a man was killed at the corner of Princess and Division Streets and his body was dragged not into a nearby alley (and there is one, about 100 metres from where the murder took place) or to any other secluded area, but a full block west along Princess to the corner of another street whose name escapes me just now. The police were puzzled. Why kill someone nearly in the middle of downtown and then drag the body for what the police estimate would have taken three to five minutes?

I followed the case closely in the Gazette (embarrassingly large type on the front page for days). The police offered three theories: the killer wanted to be caught; he thrived on the risk; his actions were those of a deranged mind. Frankly, I never thought those explanations were very imaginative or accurate. They sound like lines from a book by some pop-psych criminologist. Or worse: some populist with an agenda that includes (to take theory three) designating murderers as crazy monsters so far beyond the bounds of civilized society that the justice system needn’t waste its time finessing any treatment.

“Kill the bastards,” “lock him up and throw away the key,” and so on.

EXCERPT

Both the minimalist and the hoarder are hiding. The metaphor is obvious for the hoarder, who is literally barricading himself against possible intrusion. And perhaps it’s just as obvious for the minimalist, too: he is trying his best to clear absolutely everything out of his life, mowing down everything around him in a wide radius. If you imagine that they are both fighting a war, which in a way they both are, then the hoarder is in a bunker to protect himself from the enemy. He doesn’t mind being there, and in fact he kind of enjoys the messy, cluttered privacy of his own world. He doesn’t imagine that anyone is going to get through. The minimalist has a much bigger weapon: it can clear out a whole terrain, reduce everything to nothing, and then he doesn’t have to worry about the enemy any more. That enemy has either been destroyed in the process, or will assume that there is nothing left now and won’t even recognize or see that cowering, frightened minimalist lying there amid nothing.

The hoarders get all the attention, perhaps because they are just an extreme version of most people’s natural tendency to accumulate stuff. People tend to save things, even things without sentimental value, and the things they save include items they have not touched for years and which they are pretty sure they will never touch again. There are no moral judgments made against the hoarder: he is doing what we all do, though going a little too far.