After a night of drinking, it is a common activity amongst my friends to settle down in a common room and watch the Woodstock DVD. If it is early enough, we will continue to drink while watching, and will watch the whole thing through.
Are you a dog person or a cat person? The question is laden with meaning. I have never had a pet, but the cat versus dog distinction is one I can understand. It is not about which animal’s wet fur you would prefer to clean up off your couch, but which traits you value the most.
There are mannequins coming out of the ceiling. That is the first thing you notice when you walk into the Paper Moon diner. There are mannequins tangled in ceiling fans with garlands of ivy. There are Barbie dolls and action … Read More
If you ask me who my favorite writer is, I’ll probably say Albert Camus, because I love his writing and his ideas and also because his name is recognizable and thus me liking him helps construct a certain image of me. But I am less moved by Camus and the Nobel-prize-crowned glory of his rhetoric than by one more obscure author, whose ideas boil down to little more than a grammar of unhappiness: my favorite novelist, Romain Gary.
Senator Joe Biden wasn’t the first to peg Barak Obama as counter to a stereotype. Indeed, before Obama became a U.S. Senator, before he became a presidential candidate for that matter, he was generally known as an “articulate,” “well-spoken” black … Read More
There is a certain passivity and convenience embodied both in the physical experience of train riding and in the indifferent machines themselves. Suspended between origin and destination: mandated leisure.
Blind Guy sits on park bench, looks out, the day reacts: A Man jogging by with his buxom new Bride envies a Widower, lonely old fat— propelled by gravity, on a skateboard he glides sips a milk-shake, hits a hidden … Read More
Have you ever blindfolded yourself and ran head-on towards oncoming traffic? Or laid down in an empty road at night with Ryan Gosling? If Benjamin Franklin never flew that kite, you would never have even seen that seminal, dangerously romantic film.
The case for Anne Carson’s _Nox_ might begin with its box (that’s not binding): grey with white binding (that’s not binding) and a single silver sliver, in which stands a boy diver on grass maybe forty summers ago, wearing superhero … Read More