— Don’t worry about a thing. I’m hustling this guy. I’ve got him where I want him. — Maybe he’s hustling you. — Maybe he is. But this is not the time to argue about it. If I don’t win, we don’t leave New York!
This week’s episode ends with a scene unlike any I’ve seen on television before, or in any form, really. In it, Hannah returns home after a bad day, distraught. She’s been diagnosed with HPV and she’s discovered that her ex-boyfriend is gay. The guy she’s been sleeping with is an idiot and a liar. She’s alone, on her bed. And she does what we all do now: she goes online.
Specifically, she gets on Twitter, where she faces a box designed for a hundred and forty characters. She types: ‘You lose some, you lose some.’ Self-pity. But she doesn’t hit send. She starts over, this time more explicitly: ‘My life has been a lie, my ex-boyfriend dates a guy.’ Again, she deletes; starts over. Finally, she taps out what amounts to a code: ‘All adventurous women do.’
No stranger who reads those words will know quite what they mean. They’re a credo, a pose—it’s a phrase she heard from a friend, who was repeating what another friend said, giving her a sophisticated attitude with which to face HPV. (Even in the offline world, we cut and paste.) And yet that phrase becomes more expansive than any reference to a medical diagnosis, because Hannah’s telling other people—and of course herself—that her worst experiences are not humiliations and stains: they’re adventures. (They’re material.) As she types, the music rises: Robyn’s ‘Dancing On My Own.’
When her roommate Marnie arrives in the doorway, Hannah tells her about her bad night; the women talk and laugh and dance together. There’s no clear transition in this scene between what’s online and what’s off—Hannah doesn’t have to choose, one leads to the other. She’s upset, and she’s saying so in public, but that online blurt is mediated, and it’s edited: a skill she’s learned through practice, because she’s grown up learning to do that. It’s a way of speaking that lies between writing and conversation, intimacy and theatre.
-Emily Nussbaum on Twitter, Technology, and Girls, quoted on the New Yorker blog (via amyrebeccaklein)
I thought it was a very good detail that the music didn’t just “rise,” but switched to the Robyn song from something sad-sounding, because iTunes was on random. I like that everything that happened at the very end was thus also basically random. Who knows if it would have happened if iTunes had gone to something down-tempo and morose?
One thing I didn’t get to say in the piece is that this isn’t just frustrating to academics, it’s frustrating to angry 13-year-olds too. I’m convinced that every rebellious kid who became a teenager after 1980 has been bewildered to realize that not even experienced punks seem to know definitively how a punk is supposed to live/act/dress/think.
When I was 13, I wrote a hit song about this for my three-piece band, Section 69, called “Punk Mentality.” The first verse went: “What the hell does ‘DIY’ mean? / and how about a ‘zine’? / This fucking punk mentality! / All these words I’ve seen…”
It’s the only honest punk song anyone ever wrote.
Since everyone loves this game, here are some academic papers I didn’t get to mention in the story:
"No Future No Longer: Pop-Punk and the Second-Wave Legacy "
"The Raw and the Rotten: Punk Cuisine"
"Haunted by the Spirit of ’77: Punk Studies and the Persistence of Politics"
"Is it Punk to Protest? Punk Rock’s Rhetorical Features"
"Never Mind the Scholar, Here’s the Old Punk: Identity, Community, and the Aging Music Fan"
“Living the Punk Life in Green Bay, Wisconsin: Exploring Contradiction in the Music of NOFX”
"More Than Music: Notes on ‘Staying Punk’ in the Church and in Theology"
Lady walks into the MIT Press Bookstore. Approaches the two guys at the register, who have been talking about Aimee Mann and the movie Magnolia, and asks a question: “Is it true that if you’re an author you get a discount on your own book?” Yes it is, she is told— 40%! “Oh, great,” she says, before providing her name and the title of her book. “Do you know what section it would be in? It’s about writing.”
Several people have pointed out that it’s quite easy to create the kind of gmail button I am asking for by creating a label or a Google Labs “quick link.” Fine, but actually offering such a button would be pretty different from just making it possible for users to fashion one out of sticks. To do so would take the act of emailing yourself out of the realm of “things everyone does even though they suspect it is stupid and inefficient to do so,” which I for one would welcome, since obviously it is a very common practice and fills some need that Gmail otherwise does not fill.
New Globe Ideas piece, about the history of weather modification and why we can't just make it stop snowing
This brutal winter has made sure that no one forgets who’s in charge. The snow doesn’t fall so much as fly. Cars stay buried, and feet stay wet. Ice is invisible, and every puddle is deeper than it looks. On the eve of each new storm, the citizenry engages in diligent preparations, rearranging travel plans, lining up baby sitters in case the schools are closed, and packing comfortable shoes for work so they’re not forced to spend all day wearing their awful snow boots.
One can’t help but feel a little embarrassed on behalf of the species, to have been involved in all this fuss over something as trivial as the weather. Is the human race not mighty? How are we still allowing ourselves, in the year 2011, to be reduced to such indignities by a bunch of soggy clouds?
Hi guys! So we’re back. I feel like we stopped posting after this weird dude Leon starting dissing us on the internet. He was all “Wavves is better than your blog!!!” or something and then we got heated about it (this all happened via internet btw). That’s not actually why we didn’t update though. I think it more had to do with me moving to LA, and then moving back, and then we got busy doing actual job-work.
We’re still busy doing actual job-work but also, I love doing this blog and I LOVE doing it with Elizabeth. Isn’t she cole-slawsome?
I also wanted to talk about this TV show from the 90s which was such a weird idea. It starred The State before they were “The State” and also Jon Stewart. I guess the premise was that people wrote things and sent them in (it was on MTV) and this cast of sketch comedians would perform them. It wasn’t good.
BUT, how cool is it that MTV used to do shit like this? MTV went like this: awesome (80s), fun (late 80s), slightly cool and experimental (early 90s), embarrassing but also cool (mid 90s), not cool to admit you watched it but you still did (late 90s), totally lame but borderline ironic or at least that’s what I tell myself to justify watching shows like The Hills (the rest of my life).
Anyway, I know I’m not “proving a point” or “opening up the floodgates for an intellectual discussion” but merely “taking a trip down memory lane” and having a “remember when” moment (lowest form of communication) and the reason why I’m using so many “Chris Farley” quotations finger marks like the “in a van down by the river” guy is because this is why I was “attacked” for having this fun 90s blog in the first place.
So if you don’t like the 90s and you don’t like lists (Leon and other boring people) please don’t submit to our You Wrote It, We’ll Blog It contest. This is where you write a list of the things you loved in the 90s, email it to me and I’ll post it.
The sleepless become superstitious. Once she has tried the standard solutions and found them wanting, the insomniac devises her own treatments, her own odd rituals. In order to exhaust themselves, Emily and Charlotte Brontë walked in circles around their dining room table. Teddy Roosevelt took a shot of cognac in a glass of milk, and W.C. Fields found he could only fall asleep if stretched out in a barber’s chair or on a pool table. If rest still remains elusive, you can at least force others to suffer with you: Tallulah Bankhead hired “caddies,” young gay men who would chat with her and hold her hand until she finally drifted off to sleep. Groucho Marx would pick up the phone, dial the first number that popped into his head, and insult whoever answered his call.
If pills and drinks and caddies don’t work, all you can do is wait. When morning comes – when, as Philip Larkin put it in “Aubade,” the rest of the “the uncaring / intricate rented world begins to rouse” – some insomniacs are relieved. Now, at least, they can stop trying to get some sleep; now they have a reason for being awake. “Work,” Larkin wrote, “has to be done.” Others remain in bed. In one diary entry, William Wordsworth’s sister noted that, as of ten o’clock in the morning, the poet was still in bed, hoping to fall asleep. Insomnia infects your whole life. It renders meaningless the distinction between day and night: if you cannot sleep, and you have nowhere to go, you will be as oppressed when the sun is up as when the sun is down.
Can someone explain how it is that Wikileaks represents a new model for information-gathering? Aren’t they just setting a bucket out and hoping someone will be motivated to put things in it? It’s not like the documents in the last two “dumps” they sent to newspapers were in any way crowdsourced. Unless I’m mistaken, which is possible, Wikileaks came upon those documents by way of two individuals, which is not different from how normal reporters get things.
If you're coming to the Juiceboxxx / PRR / Kibblesmith / Roginic event
Make sure you’ve RSVPd or you’re with someone who RSVP’d with a plus one. If you’re not on the list you won’t be able to get in. Also if you get there after 7, you won’t be able to get in until there’s a break, because the space is on the second floor and there will be no one downstairs to let you inside. If you get there late, hang out for a few minutes and someone will come down in between performers.
If you RSVPd and you can’t go— or if you RSVPd for two but you’re coming alone— please let me know at lneyfakh at gmail dot com. There’s a long waiting list for this and I’d like to use all the space we have.
In the spring of 1968… [Lennon] recorded “Revolution,” a song that was widely interpreted as a celebration of the hippie counterculture, and a toxic put-down of the confrontational politics championed by some New Leftists, who had recently clashed with authorities in the streets of London and Paris (and would soon be causing a ruckus at the Democratic National Convention in Chicago). Most people are familiar with the version of the song that was released as a 45 rpm — the one that begins with Lennon screaming abrasively over heavily distorted guitars.
But in another, slower version of “Revolution,” which appeared on the White Album, Lennon added a word to the lyrics: “When you talk about destruction/ don’t you know that you can count me out — in.” He added the “in,” he explained, because he “wasn’t sure” where he stood on the crucial question of political violence — hardly the position of a pacifist.