Nobody Works Anymore: RIPDFW Edition

The late, great David Foster Wallace once wrote a piece about tennis champion Roger Federer in which he argued that the man was so good at the game that watching him at his best was akin to having a religious experience, especially if, like Wallace, you spent your childhood as an elite tennis player. Now, I was always so bad at tennis that it was an accomplishment just to get a few volleys going, and I never ceased to be amazed by the fact that some people actually play tennis in such a way that the goal is to try and prevent the other person from hitting that impossibly small spinning little green ball back—mind boggling.

But I think we can all relate to the idea that, when somebody does something so well that you have to remind yourself to keep breathing while you watch, be it tennis or a work of art, it partakes at least a little bit in the sublime. Well, that's the feeling I got while watching this:

[youtube sTNpC6lYYrs]

One of Mr Wallace's many literary talents, in addition to writing such long prose that just finishing his masterwork could be called an accomplishment, was his ability to mix humor and horror. At the risk of riffing too much on a theme, I think he would've appreciated this little clip, especially the reaction of the two anchors at the end:

[youtube 7_1YgYdGzXA]

But you know what DFW would've really appreciated? This.

David Foster Wallace. February 21, 1962 to September 12, 2008.