All Recent Posts Have Been of Eerily Similar Lengths

May 16, 2012

From the New Books section of Harper’s Magazine, this one authored by Joshua Cohen and regarding Nabokov’s Selected Poems;

“Wilson is Edmund, of course, who presumed to question Nabokov’s faithful but faithfully unreadable translation of Eugene Onegin.  Levin, Harry, was a Harvard comparative-literature professor so awed by Nabokov’s alighting in Cambridge that he later plucked him from the butterfly cabinet of the zoology department and pinned him as a humanities professor.  In gratitude, Nabokov once spent an entire evening expounding on the life and work of a nineteenth-century novelist he’d just invented, only because he knew Levin would never admit he hadn’t read him.”

I Need Trow Now

May 15, 2012

I’ve been at work for all of an hour and I’ve already seen five Internet things that make me kind of want to die (“13 Pictures of Writers in Funny Outfits,” “Babies in Car Seats Sing Hipster Song,” “Umpteenth Photographic Montage of Pretty Designers in Their Pretty House”) and to help me NOT want to die, here’s a little GWST, which gives me strength to brush aside my distaste for trivial information (trinfo.)

THE AESTHETIC OF THE HIT

The comfort was in agreement, the easy exercise of the modes of choice and preference. It was attractive and, as it was presented, not difficult. But, once interfered with, the processes of choice and preference began to take on an uncomfortable aspect. Choice in respect to important matters became more and more difficult; people found it troublesome to settle on a mode of work, for instance, or a partner. Choice in respect to trivial matters, on the other hand, assumed an importance that no one could have thought to predict. So what happened then was that important forces that had not been used, because they fell outside the new scale of national life (which was the life of television), began to find a home in the exercise of preference concerning trivial matters, so that attention, aspiration, even affection came to adhere to shimmers thrown up by the demography in trivial matters. The attraction of inappropriate attention, aspiration, and affection to a shimmer spins out, in its operation, a little mist of energy which is rather like love, but trivial, rather like a sense of home, but apt to disappear. In this mist exists the Aesthetic of the Hit.

 

 

Unintentionally Hilarious Headline

May 11, 2012

“Obese Moms Give Birth to Dumber Babies”

Happy weekend, o svelte ones!

Now THIS Is Helpful

May 10, 2012

We got a packet of books here at my office that we’re thinking of publishing –– very quirkily designed self-help books put out by Alain de Botton’s School of Life, located in London.  I’m a fan of de Botton (despite never having read any book of his) and of the SoL, but I don’t have much use for most self-help as I was in therapy long enough to be bestowed an honorary PhD.  Usually, if I need help, I just listen to the air, or read The Tao or Within the Context of No Context for the umpteenth time (both.)  So for work, I was assigned to read Philippa Perry’s How to Stay Sane, one of a series (which includes How to Think More About Sex and How to Find Fulfilling Work) and while it was well-written, most of it just wasn’t unknown to me.  There was, however, one extremely funny and soothing sentence about 3/4 of the way through:

“I sometimes look at a busy street and think: in a hundred years, we will all be dead.”

I think maybe we ought to establish a type of therapy called Radical Acceptance of Death.  In this practice, the patient comes in, begins to speak about his/her dilemmas, a la CBT, and the therapist just responds to every single concern with, “What does it matter?  You’ll be dead soon, anyway.”  Eventually the patient will succumb to the inevitability of his/her demise and things will just seem less important, overall.

Another One Bites the Dust

May 9, 2012

Did I ever tell you my best friend ever told me in elementary school that she uncontrollably sang the eponymous song in her head at funerals? That’s still one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard, and it’s been 20 years, and that… is kind of sad, if you think about it.

N E Way, after my Lagerfeld’s Sandbox post, my friend LB sent me this curt little email:

Subject: sorry to burst your bubble

Body: unless this one has already been busted. but i was reading itinerant daughter, and wanted her to know that this already exists:

http://childrenwithswag.tumblr.com/

I responded with a, “It figures, but at least my captions are funny.”  And they are.

One for the road:

Somebody forgot to tell Esme that yes, she looked cute, but feet-less leggings are so 2003.

Just Thought You All Should Know….

May 8, 2012

That the address for the Apple Corporation is: 1 Infinite Loop, Cupertino, CA 95014.

A Pending Project

May 7, 2012

Addressed to: Nitehawk Cinema, Brooklyn, NY

To Whom It May Concern:

This isn’t a press request, but more of a project proposal, and therefore I apologize for perhaps (probably) sending it to the incorrect address.

Allow me to introduce myself: my name is ID, and I am a writer, sometimes-artist, and publishing assistant based in Brooklyn.  I’ve done some pretty cool things in my day, including but not limited to: live in a bookstore in Paris, appear in a New York Magazine article about the denizens and devotees of the Chelsea Hotel, and hunt Burmese pythons in the Florida Everglades.  None of this is relevant to the idea I’m about to put forward, but I just thought you should know with whom you are dealing.

Last Christmas, at my obligatory family gathering, my younger brothers (ages 23 and 25) and I were discussing the canon of Christmas films, and the standout of this quite substantial genre, A Muppet Christmas Carol.  This movie, like many muppet films, is bitingly clever, touching, and replete with raucous tunes.  Who could forget the narrative genius of Gonzo as “a blue furry Dickens who hangs out with a rat?”  Who could resist joining in with Statler and Waldorf as they sing their theme song, “We’re Marley and Marley (Wooooo!)?”  Who could forget mini-Kermit’s heartbreaking portrayal of Tiny Tim?  In addition to this, the film has a great human dramatic star to boot; anyone who believes that George C. Scott even comes close rivals Michael Caine’s Ebenezer Scrooge deserves to have ghosts visit him in the dead of night and recreate for him all the most painful and humiliating moments in his life.

All of a sudden, it dawned on me: this Hensen classic, like all seminal cult films, deserves its own sing-a-long screening.  This would of course take place in December, though a random mid-summer fete might be hilarious, if that’s better.  From what I can tell, the lyrics to many of the songs are available online, and any holes in the libretto I will personally fill in (the movie is the first in my Amazon movie library for this expressed purpose.)  For this small task, whatever marketing I can help with despite not having a Facebook account, and any additional organization you may need, I would ask for only 1% of profit.  On that note, I don’t think it will be difficult to attract viewers to these limited showings.  The Muppets, as you probably know, are experiencing a renaissance of sorts, what with the release of their movie co-starring an Apatow frat boy and a pretty-young-thing Oscar nominee AND the shout-out to them in perhaps the most buzzed-about New York Times op-ed of the last decade.  Plus, if this one is a success, then there’s always Muppet Treasure Island to follow-up.

I don’t really think I need to say anything else.  As I see it, I’m handing you a big silver platter of GENIUS, and all you need to do is partake.  I can just see the advertisements now: come one, come all to Nitehawk Cinema for an evening of popcorn, songs, beer, and cheer.  (Maybe an eggnog cocktail is in order?)  Costumes not necessarily required, pipes need not be perfectly pitched, but a Christmas spirit definitely in order.

With much love,

ID

—-

Publicist Pamela

Apr 2

 

ID,

This is one of the best emails that I’ve ever received.  Thank you.  We’re forwarding your idea on to John Woods, who heads the programming at Nitehawk.

Best,

Pam

Sunday Bluez!

May 7, 2012

“Stop the madness for constant group work.  Just stop it.” 

Thanks, Susan Cain, for enabling my introversion.

Hey Bulldog

May 6, 2012

My friend and I just had a lovely time seeing Yellow Submarine in Technicolor glory at the very old-fashioned and beautiful Ziegfeld Theater.  I won’t go on too much about the genius of the Beatles –– it’s been done before –– but I will note that the film features a glorious, lesser-known B’s song called “Hey Bulldog.”  I suggest you listen to it now.

Are you listening yet?

Hey Bulldog

Sheep dog standing in the rain,

bullfrog doing it again.

Some kind of happiness is measured out in miles.

What makes you think you’re something special when you smile?

 

Childlike no one understands,

jackknife in your sweaty hands,

some kind of innocence is measured out in years.

You don’t know what it’s like to listen to your fears.

 

You can talk to me.

You can talk to me.

You can talk to me.

If you’re lonely you can talk to me.

 

Big man walking in the park,

wigwam frightened of the dark,

some kind of solitude is measured out in you.

You think you know it but you haven’t got a clue.

 

You can talk to me.

You can talk to me.

You can talk to me.

If you’re lonely you can talk to me. (Wowwa!)

It Has Been a Long Week

May 4, 2012

And so I present without commentary, a fucking-incredible-omg-I’d-sell-not-just-my-eggs-but-my-living-CHILDREN Goyard bag.