“The point is, it’s clear to us that Amazon’s interests, and those of a healthy book culture, whether electronic or not, are antithetical. As most of us here at Melville House have also worked at indie bookstores — including such biggies as Booksoup, Shaman Drum, Brookline Booksmith and others — we feel this especially keenly: Taking money from Amazon is akin to the medical researchers who take money from cigarette companies.”—
Duh! But a “worthy successor,” a show that similarly portrays the truth of a city and the cops who police it while not necessarily being better, because that’s not going to happen, but perhaps it could succeed as its network, procedural cousin?
Also, Tino, did you hear me when I said I LOVE MICHAEL IMPERIOLI?
“When, on their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, Jerome had played his parents an ethereal, far more beautiful version of “Hallelujah” by a kid called Buckley, Kiki had thought yes, that’s right, our memories are getting more beautiful and less real every day. And then the kid drowned in the Mississippi, recalled Kiki now, looking up from her knees to the colorful painting that hung behind Carlene’s empty chair. Jerome had wept: the tears you cry for someone whom you never met who made something beautiful that you loved.”—On Beauty by Zadie Smith (via hannahduval)
“You know, let me conclude with another thing that may interest you. People tell me, “What you are saying is impossible.” Did you notice how strange the word “impossible” functions today? When you talk about private pleasures and technology, everything is possible, you know, like we will live forever, everything will be downloaded, we can do whatever we want. We say impossible is happening everywhere in technology. But, the moment you go to social changes, ah, ah, ah, the idea is—we learned the lesson from the fall of socialism—practically everything that disturbs the market is impossible. So what they ruling ideology is telling us, maybe we will live forever, maybe we will become omnipotent, whatever you want, all these new—we will all travel to moon—that’s all possible. But a small social change of more healthcare is not possible. Maybe the time has come to change this and to less dream about these gnostic possibilities we will all turn into digital entities and more about quite modest social changes.”—Part II…”Slavoj Zizek: Far Right and Anti-Immigrant Politicians on the Rise in Europe”
“Luz found Lacouture with two whores. At first she remained calm. She drank a couple of tequilas in the library with Pedro de Medina and the social-realist poet Augusto Zamora, both of whom tried to calm her down. They talked about Baudelaire, Mallarmé, Claudel and Soviet poetry, Paul Valéry and Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz. Sor Juana was the straw that broke the camel’s back; Luz exploded.”—Bolaño, Nazi Literature in the Americas.
“Let me just acknowlege that the function of grammar is to make language as efficent and clear and transparent as possible. But if we’re all constantly correcting each other’s grammar and being really snotty about it, then people stop talking because they start to be petrified that they’re going to make some sort of terrible grammatical error and that’s precisely the opposite of what grammar is supposed to do, which is to facilitate clear communication.”—
I don’t like this notion (and it should be said that there are errors in this quote, was that purposeful on the original author’s part?). If we don’t correct errors, if we don’t encourage clear, grammatically sound writing, we won’t have an efficient means of communication to speak of. And the idea that any correction is “snotty” is bullshit. If someone were fucking up arithmetic on their blog, they should be corrected, yeah? Of course some people are dicks, but invoking the trolly, snotty grammar corrector is just too easy.
I should probably start a blog about copyediting. I was terrible in a past life and was doomed to have it be my vocation—so close to writing, yet so far!
We got bagels at a place that offered a “huge”-size 44-ounce iced coffee. That is the glory and awfulness of Long Island right there, and I could do a vivid sketch of the person who drinks one every morning, breve with six Splenda.
“Rebecca dotes on her little brother, acting like a cross between his mother and his lover in the quintessentially female way of adoration that shoulders neglect, of delight that is always disappointed, of responsibility that is derived from both love and guilt.”—Jeanette Winterson reviewing Michael Cunningham’s By Nightfall in the NYTBR