Colton and Jordan write emails to their son Bishop every time he hits a milestone. That collection became the audio book Dear Bishop — narrated in Colton's own voice so his son can one day understand exactly who his dad was, what he survived, and why he's so all-in.
Colton explains the genesis of Dear Bishop: a practice he and Jordan share of writing emails to their son's email address after every notable moment — first roll-over, first headbutt, first 'dude.' That collection of dispatches crystallised into a short audio book narrated entirely in Colton's voice[1]— Colton Underwood"Colton and Jordan write emails to their son Bishop every time he hits a milestone. That collection became the audio book Dear Bishop — narr…"1:28:05. He's transparent about its dual purpose: part time capsule for Bishop, part accountability document from himself. His first book contained 'safety lies' — omissions that protected him when he wasn't ready to be fully honest. Dear Bishop corrects the record, addressed directly to a child not yet old enough to hear some of it. Paul calls it inspiring for all parents and suggests dads especially should consider recording audio voice notes of their children's milestones.
Robby Hoffman isn't fearless — she's terrified all the time. The difference is she does it anyway, because not doing it feels worse than the fear itself.
John Mulaney texted Robby Hoffman out of nowhere saying he'd been a fan for a while and wanted to make a Netflix special with her. Robby called it 'shocking, horrifying, anxiety-inducing, surreal and thrilling' — and said yes.
Mulaney is buttoned-up, suit-wearing, classy. Robby is gritty, raw, and undefined. Together they made the collab nobody expected. Batman and Robin. Eminem and Dido.
Music had Pope Gregory forcing notation. Comedy has had 'magical thinking' — he's just got funny bones. But jokes work through discoverable, teachable mechanics. Writing down the rules doesn't kill the magic; it gives more people access to it.
Howard Ashman had one insight nobody else had: animated Disney films should be Broadway musicals. The third song of every great musical is the character sitting alone explaining what they want. That's 'Part of Your World.' That structure — combined with Alan Menken's compositions — generated Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, and The Lion King, and turned Disney Animation into the most profitable creative engine in entertainment history.
The Lion King musical has been running for 30 years across Broadway, London's West End, and global touring companies. It has grossed over $11 billion in total revenue — more than Avatar, more than Avengers: Endgame, more than any album, more than any video game. It generates an average of $350 million in revenue every single year. Disney owns it outright.
The anonymous French artist Invader has hidden 1,500 pixelated mosaic artworks across Paris alone, with thousands more scattered across 80+ cities — affixed to the Eiffel Tower, the Hollywood sign, and even sent to the International Space Station. He might be even busier than Banksy.
The Flash Invaders app turns city streets into a treasure hunt, letting players scan Invader's hidden mosaics for points. Players have collectively logged over 47 million flashes. Unlike most mobile games that glue you to a screen, this one forces you to look up and engage with your surroundings.
New York draws thousands of young, talented performers every year chasing Broadway stardom — but the hard truth is that most of them never make it. Zelig Williams was one of the rare exceptions.
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