Forget the 1980 US men’s hockey team. Forget...um...that other time something really unlikely happened at the Olympics (I’m not sure I’ve watched anything in any of the Games since Michael Johnson and his gold shoes in 1996).
So, yet again, you’ve accepted an invitation to a Super Bowl party and you’re not sure who to root for, since you haven’t watched a football game in your adult life and/or you’ve been too busy writing novellas about how much Justin Timberlake is responsible for everything bad that’s ever happened to anyone, ever,…
...and I’m wondering how much of his halftime show review Juzwiak already has written. If I were a betting man, I’d say he’s got at least 5000 words ready to go, and he just needs to do a find-and-replace for [first song] [second song] etc.
If you’re reading this, I hope you’re, you know, still alive and all that.
So you’re about to run out the door to a Super Bowl party and, yet again, you’ve forgotten who to root for and/or which sport you’re going to be only tangentially watching in about an hour or so. And you don’t know who to pretend to deeply care about, and you need some help.
I vote for the latter, from this story about a DHS employee using work computers to look at porn, only to blame the department for not having better Internet filters to prevent him from doing so:
So apparently there was a movie a few years ago called God’s Not Dead. I have no idea what its main thesis could be (damn you movies with inscrutable titles), but it did a pretty good business, pulling in around $62 million. Now the producers are being sued—for $100 million, because of course it’s for $100 million—by…
You know what hasn’t been talked about enough? The Hulk Hogan trial. I just read Denton’s open letter to Peter Thiel, and of course, I have big important thoughts:
So apparently Sasha Frere-Jones (a name so annnoying that you want to punch him, then his birth certificate) left The New Yorker last year to work for the LA Times. Since then, the Times culture critic has been extremely busy, publishing a whole 45 articles in 8 months. Alas, all that’s coming to an end now, as he has…
As someone who hasn’t listened to any new music since 1998, I tend to assume that things are going steadily along. I just take it for granted that Fiona Apple is still being overlooked because of her sometimes oppressively surreal streak, Courtney Love is still a talentless hack, and somewhere teenagers are rolling…
If you’ve watched The Lives of Others, you’ve probably noticed that East Germany seems to have been run by the kind of people usually seen only in Templar gatherings in Assassin’s Creed games. Not very friendly, and not really all that interested in self-improvement. [If you haven’t seen it, you should; it’s a really…
I must have worked that thing for twenty minutes, and all I got was arrested.
...then there’s still defending Dennis Hastert stupid.
Even in the rarified air of bullshit that is national politics, sometimes it’s good to take time to appreciate true artistry when one sees it. To that end, let’s take a moment to recognize Tom Delay, trained exterminator, former House Majority Leader, one-time convicted felon, and noted asshole. He’s in the news this…
This is one of those times. It’s probably gone now, but I can’t bring myself to go back and check.
What with it being Good Friday and all, a number of poets/English majory types I know on FB are posting their favorite Easter-related poems. This one seems a bit dark for that purpose (even though it’s one of my favorites), so in the interests of not making it seem like I’m mocking them, I’ll leave it here: James…
One of my favorite lines of poetry is from Robert Lowell’s “Skunk Hour,” when the narrator ends a stanza with the admission “My mind’s not right,” which I think about often. Such as when I spend way too much time thinking about William Faulkner writing porn scripts.