It has to suck. No, really. If you were one of those teenage prodigy-types who farted out a Finnegan’s Wake during sixth grade study-hall we don’t want to hear from you.
Now it’s your turn. Dig out something really bad and send it in.
Gov. Jeb Bush said Wednesday renewing the Equal Rights Amendment debate would be like “wearing bell-bottoms” or recycling other “retro” relics of the 1970s.
“My personal opinion is that it’s kind of like a retro subject, like going back and wearing bell-bottoms,” Bush said. “Look around this office where we are; women have the highest and most important positions of responsibility.”
Thanks to everybody who wrote in to say “I don’t know what the fuck was going on with the L train but it totally ruined my evening” or some variation on that theme.
You probably know by now that earlier this morning, presumably after service was restored on the L, the cops shut down the Williamsburg Bridge and the J/M/Z train. (The J/M/Z runs over the bridge and was operational when the cab took us home last night.)
The bridge is open for business again now, but during the shutdown WNYC said that the cops were also taking a close look at the Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges.
Okay, it was weird enough when, at the West Fourth Street station, we encountered seven National Guardsmen holding M-16’s, and four or five cops. Some were planted in position, some were patroling, and I heard one of the cops say, “we need to spread out.”
The A train came and we meekly got on and rode it to 14th.
(Members of the National Guard stand in the subways these days, sure, but you only see one or two and the real artillery is reserved for Times Square, Penn Station, Grand Central, and the like.)
Anyway, then the L wasn’t running to Brooklyn. We rode it from 8th Avenue to 3rd where we were summarily told to disembark. We finally hailed a cab with some other stranded Williamsburgers, one of whom said that there has been a police action at Bedford for the last 2 or 3 hours. We crossed the Williamsburg Bridge and there was a sea of cabs trying to struggle toward Bedford.
Anybody know what’s going on? If so, email me: maud[@]miamistories.com.
Here’s a brief story about today’s “die-ins” in New York City, with a photo of some protesters blocking traffic in Midtown and quotes from a couple of participants.
From the Rabbit Blog:
I just keep thinking about Bush’s comments during the presidential debates – he kept repeating how important it was for America to “win wars.” I remember thinking, “Win wars? Who the fuck talks about ‘war’ and ‘winning’ in the same sentence, without feeling ashamed of themselves? How the hell did this nut job make it so far?”
Letters from Choire:
Dear Everyone In My 8:15 p.m. Yoga Class Tonight on Lafayette Street,
I could have sworn I left my cell phone at home. And I’m sure I didn’t mean to set the ringer for panic-and-evacuate-the-building volume. I agree that our yoga teacher girl was cranked up on meth and the class was brutal, and I know you were enjoying your much-deserved relaxation in the dark during those last ten minutes. I nearly drifted off myself, well, until the klaxon surprise of my cell phone…
Savita Iyer describes America’s New Mood:
My office used to be a friendly, open place, always ready for a lively debate. Now, we sit in clumps, divided in our opinions, unsure of how to deal with those who think differently. We sit in our little groups, hunched over our computers, silently reading the websites we choose to read – some alternative, others conservative. We hold hushed conversations on the phone with our friends and families, hesitant to share our views too loudly, even though it is quite well known who belongs to which camp. When we meet in the hallways, we smile, we nod – we talk about the Oscars, the gorgeous spring weather we are having in New York. And we quickly move on.
(Thanks to Tess for turning me on to Alternet, where this story appeared, and to which I am addicted.)
It’s hard not to wonder if the latest crop of Granta‘s “Best of Young British Novelists” might feel a bit uneasy now that the volume of their work has appeared,” says Erica Wagner. (Via The Literary Saloon.)
I, for one, will buy it for the story by A.L. Kennedy alone.
On March 26, 1959, Raymond Chandler died. He was 70.
Today in Literature notes that Chandler was always bemused “by those who confused him with his brooding, tough-guy hero, Philip Marlowe.”
It was news to me, but you fine people probably already know that entering someone’s home phone number into Google will return a home address and a map with directions to that address. (Verified at Snopes.) Continue reading…
The discussion concludes with the provocative argument that The Onion has become a pale imitation of its former self. Continue reading…
Pull out those old journals, find your whiniest teenage writing, and submit!
“I thought I was a fairly erudite and sensitive teen. It turns out I was a functional borderline case who thought only about boys,” a friend said, after reading her old journals this weekend.
I’ve been looking over mine, which also focused on boys and music, but had the added bonus of two-bit philosophy and terrible poetry and prose of my own creation. Continue reading…
THE COLLECTED POETRY OF EMILY DICKINSON
“A lawyer’s daughter and a fierce recluse in her forties, Emily [1830-86] was a writer of startling originality. Her work revisits themes of fame, death and immortality, which as an actor I can relate to. While her language is cryptic, elliptical and sometimes self-dramatizing, her poetry is always compelling, uncompromising and moving. Sure, sometimes I didn’t get it, but that’s how it is with art. That’s how it’s been with a lot of the movies I’ve been in anyway.”