Parkening:

( Read more... )

[Because we haven't been really petulant in a while...]

Dear Wilco:

A Ghost Is Born sucks. Buck up ( Read more... )

Max:

Long time. Saw this and thought of more or less talentless hacks like you, hacking endlessly away, the sheer speed of their composition becoming the only thing keeping them from noticing how god-awful their prose is. I can think, honestly, of no worse way to compose a novel. Certainly it is important to get past certain types of stifling ( Read more... )

Lately, every time I see the words "US Troops" at the beginning of a headline, I misread it as "US Tropes." This is perhaps the most strangely logical inversion which my brain has come up with thus far.

Strange the power that newspapers -- or rather, the backs of newspapers -- on subways have over my understanding of the outside world. So much so, in fact, that my heart (O! my heart) went into positive palpitations upon learning that somehow, through some hideous contortion of the time space continuum, or worse, some hideous Tagliabooian cruelty ( Read more... )

"I'm telling you, that bitch was like one of those fuckin' dementors and shit."
"From fuckin'..."
"Harry Potter."
"Right. Fuckin' Harry Potter."
"Except instead of sucking your soul out through your mouth, she fuckin'..."

[This illuminating exchange was cut short by our arrival at 14th Street, where, alas, I had to disembark.]

And then there are the days when only "If You're Feeling Sinister," in its entirety, will do.

A traveler walks into a bar in a strange town, sits down on the stool, and orders a drink. Shortly thereafter, an image of President George Bush comes up on the television behind the bar ( Read more... )

Lately, people have been ascribing irony to actions and habits of mine which I intend quite sincerely, like my country songs, or my beret. Although irritating, I'm hoping this misapprehension will stand me in good stead with regard to the sentence, "If I walk this way, will I get to Manhattan?" which I think I may have slurred to some passers by, ( Read more... )

One wonders about the fiction in Granta. In truth, the more I read this rather well-heeled production masquerading as a Little Magazine, the more I am convinced that anytime they publish something bad, it is a direct result of their editorial mandate and judgment, while every time they publish something good it is a fluke, a happy accident which, ( Read more... )