As the country was getting collectively ready to gorge itself on food and beer while watching grown men hitting each other as hard as possible in their pursuit of a ball, we got a collective punch in the gut when the news broke that Philip Seymour Hoffman was found dead in his NYC apartment. The kicker was that the hypodermic needle was still in his arm. By all accounts (including two I got directly from two different people who considered him a friend), PSH was a wonderful, caring, down-to-earth person who had a continuing battle with demons. Aside from depriving [...]