Cynics may decry sport as the ultimate mass opiate, but as a friend puts it, “They should try smoking ten bowls of Chem-Dog x Jack Herer while watching Golden State in the fourth quarter.”
Posts published by “Zack Anderson”
It’s Friday afternoon. An unseasonal sun bakes the city with a gratifying if alarming tropical malaise. Tiny birds sing in the trees. There’s a case…
The first bad sign is Tuesday before the game. Speaking before a tangle of sweaty flesh and Japanese electronics plastered with the corporate logos of…
Sunday morning I wake up and it’s still dark outside. The clock says 5:17, which means it’s already past eight in New Orleans. If Patrick…
The phone rings. I pick up. “Zack, this is The Goob.” The Goob, aka Daniel Johnston, is my fellow AV Panther from the old days.…
It was the Boonville Fair. It was always the fair, scene of so many crimes and misdemeanors, of joys and neon sorrows. The Mendocino County…
Up A Twee: When feeling sad in a natural way, which is about 99% of the time since the Dodgers traded for Adrian Gonzalez and…
I’ve spent the last year schlepping the film from Liverpool to Amsterdam, from Bruges to Istanbul, and from Trivandrum City in India to the glittering emptiness of paparazzi flash bulbs in Cannes. But that’s nothing compared to driving to Point Arena from Boonville on a hot day in June.
Dear Dr. Zack, Please help me, as I am about to lose my mind, or what's left of it. For the past few years, instead…
When I got the news I was in Paris, sitting in the silver rain outside Notre Dame. We were filming a street performer dressed in…
There is a Chinese restaurant in San Francisco a few blocks from my parents’ house. The Garden is indistinguishable from dozens of other Chinese restaurants in Beijing-By-The-Bay: harsh fluorescent lights, black metal chairs that look like they were stolen from a VFW Hall in Fresno, a pair of grubby tanks in which lobsters and fish await the executioner’s pot. A place where rock cod and appetites come to die.