Articles from Cheeseburger Gothic
I had no idea this HG Wells classic had been remade. I don’t know much about it except that it’s mostly set in Europe, and it looks like the invasion wipes out pretty much everyone in the first few hours.
It kicks off tonight on SBS, if you’re in Australia.
I sent out my first invoice in nearly four months yesterday - since early April, according to my invoicing app. And that last invoice I sent was literally the last invoice I will ever send to Fairfax/Nine. They kicked my arse to the kerb in the first week of lockdown.
And yet I'm still doing better than a lot of people, and a hell of a lot better than most peeps in media and publishing. If you're doing it tough wherever you are, my thoughts are with you.
It’s been a helluva long time since I read Foundation, or tried to. I vaguely recall it being a bit… unfocussed. Or didactic. Or something.
Anyway, I don’t have fond memories of the first book, but I do recognise it earned its chops as a cultural touchstone.
It is done.
I just hit send on the first combined Cheeseburger/newsletter mail out.
Spent the day filling the new digs with things to read.
Soon enough, pointing your browser at this page will redirect to Substack.
For a while there I couldn’t remember the last time I went out for breakfast. Sometime before… all this. (Frantically waves hands around). If it seems a little weird that in the middle of a global pandemic, your maximum author here is sad for bacon, well, I love bacon. And melted cheese. And one perfectly fried egg. Even if it doesn’t love me.
“Can I have an espresso martini?” The young woman asked.
The waiter smiled, but it was a cruel and unusual smile.
“I can make you a martini,” he said. “Or I can make you an espresso. There is no way of combining those two things.”
And gentle reader he was right and she was wrong and you should be ashamed of yourselves for ever having ordered the red-headed stepchild of the cocktail world in the first place.
I had cheese, and it is gone. Certain I was that I did not finish my deliciously mouldy wedge of cheese. The delightful little strips of prosciutto, for sure. The small brick of fancy French Brie? But of course!
But hand on my heart and strike me dead for a liar, I would swear when I left the room that not only was there a solid wedge of stinky blue Roquefort awaiting my return, but an elegant sufficiency of tiny baguette rounds on which to spread it.