See, it’s below that makes Dad take the keys with him. But don’t ask me. Maybe ask them.Or them Or them. Or the simple fucking fact that soldiers on active duty are forbade from protesting the CIC. Really, who woke up and ate big bowl of stupid this morning?
OK, after much grumbling, I guess YM will not go dark while I’m away. (You have no idea how insistent Spiers was that she be allowed the option to continue not posting here.) That said, I just want to say that Pareene did not win the Internet today. Fuck Madoff. He and most of the white collar frauds we’ve seen in the last 15 years deserve something worse than Gitmo-style torture. We need to rewrite the law books for these kinds of crimes. Execution privilege.
Remember the old days, when we used to take down followers?
Take a look at everything that got reblogged today, and try and decide if you miss those days. Not that I’m really “about” putting “negative energy” into the world (or whichever one of you Tumbletards wrote that), but it was a great way to get some stress off that didn’t involve Xanax or running. Srsly.
I’m pretty sure I couldn’t be any less interested in what routinely gets posted on YM. Somehow my mission of Jews and volunteerism (topics that couldn’t be of any less interest to 99.9% of you but think about that) has been hijacked. Might be a good time for a complete break, separate ways, etc. With so much tired shit going around, I really don’t have the patience for anything but my own tired shit.
Remember that scene in As Good As It Gets, where Nicholson’s walking out of the therapist’s office, and he sees all the fucking crazies, and he asks the room of people: What if this is as good as it gets?
Thank you, Guest of a Guest. You just helped me have that moment.
Gimme Shelter: The YM contingent of M/OM is currently accepting donations to the Help Fek Move Into Katie’s Apartment Scholarship Fund. Andrew hasn’t yet volunteered to match all contributions, but he will if he knows what’s good for him. Hint: KB’s KB is good for him.
I know you guys won’t know wtf a Lady Gaga is, but just know this: NYU student becomes Eurotrash pop sensation overnight, gets a bestselling single on iTunes. About a year later, and she’s walking around Paris in this.
I’m not sure what the lesson is, there, but I know there is one.
When I think of the words “Old Manhattanite,” I think of being on the Upper West Side, watching over-80’s try to navigate Zabar’s by their lonesome - you know, sans well-to-do grandchildren, the company of whom they’ve probably earned and are being sidelined of - as they hopelessly jockey for position at the lox counter against the newly born and their pissed off, Bugaboo-pushing protectors. I will never be an Old Manhattanite. I’ll fucking let the jellyfish get me before then.
There’s nothing (nothing!) we find more annoying than the “I’m old” trope from people who are not yet 40, not to mention the more absurd among you who haven’t even cracked 30 over your precious heads. That said, we’re officially retiring “Young” from our name because let’s not kid ourselves, we’re fuckin’ old.
This is a book review on Salon of Elaine Showalter’s book, A Jury of Her Peers: American Women Writers from Anne Bradstreet to Annie Proulx, billed as “the first comprehensive history of American women writers from 1650 to 2000.”
There is a really interesting point here about the perception that only men can write the “Great American Novel,” something I hadn’t thought about before reading this but which seems entirely too true:
…Prose is right that many critics and editors, especially male ones, make a fetish of “ambition,” by which they mean the contemporary equivalent of novels about men in boats (“Moby-Dick,” “Huckleberry Finn”) rather than women in houses (“House of Mirth”), and that as a result big novels by male writers get treated as major events while slender but equally accomplished books by women tend to make a smaller splash.
This reminded me of a great piece Meghan O’Rourke wrote a few years ago in Slate that was “in praise of ‘small’ novels”: “[O]ur notion of the great American novel became entwined with a perception that shorter books weren’t, somehow, as serious. Seriousness required self-consciousness, and self-consciousness required expansiveness.”
I remember when I was in 9th grade I wanted to feel (and look smart) but I was also lazy and couldn’t make heads or tails of Nauseau or anything else by Sartre so instead I just stuck to reading the short and easy stuff: Gogol’s Nose, Dostoevsky’s Notes from (the) Underground (the Ur of urban disaffection), and Tolstoy’s Kreutzer Sonata. Eventually, the ruse grew thin and people called bullshit, so I had to slog my way through Dead Souls and Karamazov (though I never got around to picking up War & Peace or Anna Karenina). These days, I read Tumblr.
I had to reblog this, because the best part of the theory is that it’s being advanced by some kind of Smashing Pumpkins fan cult. The big WTF from their website:
Regardless of all the preceding: I have never really accepted Carles’s claim that he is a ‘pretty standard bro’. I personally think Hipster Runoff to be a work of genius, and I never use that term lightly. It makes perfect sense to me that HRO would be the brainchild of an intensely creative and hardworking person, just as it has always made sense to me that the Smashing Pumpkins — and their success — are largely a product of Billy Corgan’s special talent and drive.
Is there some subculture of hipster alt mainstream Smashing Pumpkins fans I was unaware of, or am I missing the lulz?
No, you are on target. Apparently, a rogue strain of Corganitude curdles through the altness.
The Cornelia Connelly Center is an excellent, neighborhood-based independent Catholic middle school on the Lower East Side of Manhattan serving girls living in poverty, particularly those whose academic performance in primary grades has lagged, but who show promise of benefiting from a comprehensive program – intentionally small, nurturing and challenging – designed to meet their needs.