Lifestyle
Are you good at knowing when something should end? Mark Duplass is still learning
Mark Duplass says he’s learning how to finish the creative process now he’s not in “lockstep” with his brother.
MICHAEL TRAN/AFP via Getty Images/AFP
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MICHAEL TRAN/AFP via Getty Images/AFP
A note from Wild Card host Rachel Martin: In the summer of 2012, I was overdue with my first child, and so I went to the movies to get my mind off the fact that, you know, everything was about to totally change. The movie was called Safety Not Guaranteed, and Mark Duplass plays this guy who is dead set on traveling through time.
He’s the kind of person who is dismissed and laughed at, and he is so vulnerable. Like, his heart’s just walking around in the world, exposed, and at any second it could be crushed into a million pieces. But it’s not. The script treats him with so much dignity, and he’s alright in the end. The credits rolled, and when the movie finished, people filed out, and I sat there and sobbed. Really sobbed.
The trailer for “Safety Not Guaranteed.”
YouTube
Having a baby is a bizarre thing. Maybe you’ve heard people say this: It’s like your heart is walking around outside your body. It’s so vulnerable, just like Duplass’s character in Safety Not Guaranteed. And I think when I watched that movie, I needed to be reassured that this baby I was going to bring into the world would encounter kindness. That his tender heart or his wild imagination would be nurtured, not cast off.
That vulnerability shows up in all of Duplass’s creative projects. He and his brother Jay have produced dozens of shows and movies together. Duplass goes back and forth between acting and writing and producing. He’s gotten two Emmy nominations for his role as Chip Black on The Morning Show.
He’s got two new projects out right now. One is a docuseries that he and his brother executive produced called Out There: Crimes of the Paranormal on Hulu. The other is a show he produced and co-wrote called Penelope. It’s about a teenage girl who runs away from home to try to survive in the woods by herself.
The trailer for “Penelope.”
YouTube
This Wild Card interview has been edited for length and clarity. Host Rachel Martin asks guests randomly-selected questions from a deck of cards. Tap play above to listen to the full podcast, or read an excerpt below.
Question 1: What period of your life do you often daydream about?
Mark Duplass: When I was 20 years old, I took a semester off of college at the University of Texas. This was 1997. And I was very inspired by independent artists, whether they were in the music scene or the film scene. And I used to work as a busboy at a restaurant — I’d saved up about $2,000. I decided, “I’m going to record my own record and I’m going to press a thousand CDs and I’m going to book my own tour and live out of my van.” And everybody thought it was crazy. But I just, I really felt compelled to do this.

So I booked a four-and-a-half-month tour. A lot of it was just, like, open mic nights or whatever I could get and a lot of unpaid gigs. But that time — no cell phone, traveling by a Rand McNally map, getting lost a bunch, showing up, not having anywhere to sleep, offering a free CD to anyone who would put me up — the vulnerability of exposing myself in that way, giving myself into the energy and the belief that if I just jump off of this cliff with a little bit of naivete and earnestness, the world will catch me and it will take care of me. And it did.
I would go two to three days sometimes without speaking to someone. I didn’t have a phone in order to escape. So I sat with myself in a way that no 20-year-old, I think, today is offered the luxury — I wanna call it a luxury — to be able to do. And some of that was the inspiration, honestly, behind making my show Penelope — you know, I want to put somebody out in the woods, which is very similar to some of the time that I had to just sit, and be, and just be quiet.
Question 2: How do you manage envy?
Duplass: This sounds maybe more reductive than it should, but the more successful I get, the less I have to face envy in my career. I had a lot of it early on. Like, I had a really hard time being able to enjoy, like, John Krasinski and Zach Braff because I was like, “They’re taking up my spots!” and it made me mad, you know?
It’s actually not really a big problem for me at this point. But it does rear its head every now and then. I talk a lot about my own journeys with mental health on social media and whatnot. So I have to go really to the source, which is what’s happening inside of me.

So it’s less about I’m feeling envious about this person because their independent film really knocked it out of the park and mine didn’t this year, and I’m feeling bad about myself. I really just have to go inward.
And for me, there’s a couple of just really simple solutions, which is, “Did you get your eight hours of sleep? Did you get at least 20 to 30 minutes of rigorous exercise to get your endorphins going? Have you done your meditation? Are you eating good foods?” And as long as I get those basic things in, I stay relatively centered.
Rachel Martin: So envy is just part of the cornucopia of emotions and mental health stuff you’re managing?
Duplass: Yes. The way I describe my life is like: if I wake up feeling something — whether it’s jealous, envy, sadness, overwhelm — I do something I call “the scan.” I look up at the ceiling and I throw all the elements of my life up on the ceiling, and I’m like, “OK, marriage, kids, work life, my jealousy, my envy, my this, my that,” and usually if there’s like one or two things wrong, that means there’s something wrong with those things. And I’ll pick those things out and I’ll solve them. But for me, usually what it is, is they all look wrong to me. And I realize: it’s not that overnight everything went wrong. It’s something going on inside of me that I need to retool so that I can then look at them with clearer eyes.
Question 3: Are you good at knowing when something should end?
Duplass: Wow. Here’s what I’ll say to that. My journey as an artist and a creative person for most of my life has been lockstep with my brother [Jay Duplass]. And what that has meant is that I have only had to learn how to do a certain amount of things well, because I had a partner who could do those other things.
For instance, I still cannot open a box and put anything together — vacuum cleaner, anything — because Jay was older, smarter and he always did that for me. So I have these weird gaps because I was in such close lockstep with someone for so long. One of those things is the finishing of art. I am not good at it.
Mark Duplass (left) and Jay Duplass in 2017.
Frederick M. Brown/Getty Images
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Frederick M. Brown/Getty Images
Martin: What do you mean? Get specific.
Duplass: OK. You and I are hanging out and we’re like, “Let’s make a movie together,” and we come up with a concept. There’s almost no one better than me who will team build and begin this process better. I will look around and say, “This person should be our DP. We’re going to shoot it in this house. We’re going to make it for $50,000. There’s no way it’ll lose money.”
I take that concept, I go and write a pretty good B to B-minus first draft very quickly. So I have this power where I can just galvanize things and get them to the 85% completion mark extremely well.
And then, like a relay race, you’re watching me with the baton trying to pass it off and my legs just start giving out on me and I need a closer. And Jay has always been my closer and he is excellent at it.
But, you know, about five years ago, Jay really requested some creative space from being lockstep, making creativity together. So while we still produce together as a company, you know, I lost my closer and my partner.
So now I’m doing two things. I seek other partners who can fit that for me, because I truly believe you don’t have to do everything to be a good artist — you just got to do a couple of things really well and fit into the puzzle.
But I’m also challenging myself to grow as an artist and see if I can also learn how to close. And I may just discover, “Hey, it’s not what you do well, that’s OK. Leave it.” But it’s not in my natural DNA.
Martin: Were you OK with that ending though?
Duplass: Yeah. Things end. My feeling about that is, when you have these long-term relationships like I have with my brother, my wife, my children, the ending — like all great M. Night Shyamalan movies [laughs] — has something that rebirths itself, in some way. What has emerged from my brother and I ending our lockstep creative partnership has been unexpectedly quite incredible, where we’re now on the sidelines of each other’s artistic pieces, cheering each other on with zero competition, no fighting for breathing space. It’s quite beautiful, but it was very hard.
Lifestyle
‘How to Rule the World’ explores education and power at Stanford University
Students walk on the Stanford University campus on March 14, 2019, in Stanford, Calif.
Ben Margot/AP
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Ben Margot/AP
When Theo Baker arrived at Stanford University a few years ago, he joined the student newspaper, following the path of his journalist parents, Peter Baker, a White House correspondent for The New York Times, and Susan Glasser, a writer for The New Yorker.
Through his reporting as a student journalist, he eventually broke a story about manipulated data in Stanford President Marc Tessier-Lavigne’s neuroscience research that helped lead to the university president’s resignation.
Theo Baker’s book, How to Rule the World: An Education in Power at Stanford University was released May 19. In it, Baker describes Stanford as a place where proximity to Silicon Valley gives rise to a parallel system of influence, recruitment and money, with investors looking to identify promising students almost as soon as they arrive on campus.
He told Morning Edition host Steve Inskeep there was “a sort of Stanford inside Stanford,” where elite students are drawn into an “alternate reality” of excess and access to cut corners.
In the interview, he discusses how Stanford is not just a university but also a pipeline where status and power can matter as much as ideas.
We reached out to Stanford University for comment and have not heard back.
Listen to the interview by clicking play on the blue box above.
Lifestyle
OTB Takes Full Control of Viktor & Rolf
Lifestyle
How having zero points in tennis — or ‘love’ — came to sound so sweet
The scoreboard shows the results of the women’s singles final match between Iga Swiatek of Poland and Amanda Anisimova of the U.S. at the Wimbledon Tennis Championships in London, Saturday, July 12, 2025.
Kirsty Wigglesworth/AP
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Kirsty Wigglesworth/AP
Fifteen points in tennis? Nice. Thirty, 40 — even better. Advantage — that sounds good. “Love” — that also must be great, right? Well, not quite.
As the French Open rolls on and Serena Williams has announced her return to the sport, maybe you’ve been paying a little more attention to tennis. The sport’s scoring system is notably distinct, and can sometimes be hard to grasp for newcomers. But even tennis aficionados might not know why, or how, “love” became the unmistakable callout for zero points. For this installment of NPR’s Word of the Week, we’re exploring how a word that signifies trailing behind got such a sweet name.
“Love” comes from the heart — or an egg?
It’s hard to pinpoint when the first tennis ball went over the net. Tennis is a derivative of lots of other sports, such as “jeu de paume,” a handball game played in France, said JT Buzanga, the collections manager at the International Tennis Hall of Fame museum.

But tennis became a patented, official sport in 1874, said Steve Flink, a journalist whose tennis coverage got him inducted into the International Tennis Hall of Fame. It has retained its unique, mysterious scoring system ever since.
“By and large, the original system has held up almost entirely,” Flink said.
The use of “love” goes back to the late 18th century, said Jesse Sheidlower, a lexicographer. But it was used earlier than that in card games such as whist and bridge. Before the term made its way to tennis, the sport favored plain old “nothing,” or “nil,” he said.
Why love in the first place, though? Historians don’t really know for sure, but there are a few theories.
The French could have something to do with it. Some historians believe “love” derives from “l’oeuf,” which means “the egg” in French. Because eggs are shaped like zeros, terms such as “goose egg” and “duck’s egg” have been used in other contexts to mean zero, Sheidlower said.
It’s also possible English speakers mispronounced l’oeuf as “love.” But Sheidlower isn’t convinced that’s the answer.
“It’s the French equivalent of an English expression. But since that expression doesn’t appear in French, the French word wouldn’t have been used,” he said.
To be sure, France has had a lot of influence on tennis culture, Buzanga said. For example, “deuce” or a game tied at 40 points, comes from the French word for “two”: “deux.” But he prefers another prominent theory: that “love” comes from the idiom “for the love of the game.” Even if a player hasn’t scored, it doesn’t matter, because their heart is in it. It’s the theory Sheidlower said is the most plausible, because the idiom was used by the English before tennis was popularized.

Another variation of the “love of the game” theory is that the word could have come from the Dutch “lof,” or “honor” — or the Latin “amare,” meaning “to love,” Flink said.
But if tennis’ “love” doesn’t come from a French word, the theory at least has a French sensibility.
“I think the ‘for the love of the game’ is kind of romantic,” Buzanga said.
“Love” probably isn’t going anywhere
Tennis used to be a sport of leisure. The style of play has changed a lot over the years; players are more athletic and competitive, for instance, Flink said. But the rules of the sport are more steadfast, he said.
“There’s this incredible, enduring respect for tradition in tennis,” he said. “Changes are not made easily.”
There has been one major change in modern history: the tie-break. Matches can go on and on because players have to score two consecutive points to break a deuce, or by two games to break a tied set. But the onset of television meant matches would have to get shorter if the sport wanted to capture a larger audience, Flink said.

Change even came for “love.” An alternative sprouted up in the 1970s, and is still used today: “bagel,” named for its zero shape, Sheidlower said. Novices may say “zero,” and insiders will understand what they mean, but they “will needle them about it,” Flink said.
But “love” still prevails.
“People kind of like it,” Flink said. “It’s different. Why say zero when you can say love?”
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