See update below re The Atlantic site’s “CMS bug.”
Note 2010-02-28_14-40-08: Context: if you’re arriving here late, the article below was a response to my pal, nostrich’s post about my own lamenting of the recent disappearance of full-content RSS feeds for The Atlantic Monthly's online-only features. It's not about how everything in the world has to be free to everybody all the time forever; it is, in my opinion, about trying to reconcile two incongruous trends: 1) big media properties pushing their writers to post frequently online, then, 2) cutting that great writing off at the knees by not providing its full content in free RSS feeds. ‘Nuff said. —mdm (the Kung Fu Grippe Guy)
People keep posting that picture of Sasha Grey with what is essentially the Cliff Notes to Existentialism, and commenting that oh my look how intelligent she is.
So many things to say. But primarily, I’d suggest that anyone who makes a living trying to quench the endless thirst that is male desire is as close to living the lot of Sisyphus as it’s possible to be.
Charles Bissell? Truly, a guitar nerd’s guitar nerd.
Jerry the Nicest Drummer in the World plays a goddamned box of Cap’n Crunch™
They’re playing in this guy’s apartment. Just for fun.
Per the poster:
You know when you really really like a band or a person, and you think of them in the highest possible regard, so if/when you find out they’re really assholes, it crushes your soul and makes you reconsider everything you hold dear…Not only are they not assholes, they turned out to be the nicest most genuine people I have met in a very long time (and incredible musicians). How nice you ask? Well nice enough to find time between two sold out Chicago shows to stop by a fan’s apartment and give him one of the most amazing experiences of his young life. That fan was me…
Being a love letter to The Wrens and their 2003 album, The Meadowlands. Composed of an improbable combination of gushing prose, digital audio recordings, live and promotional music videos, a handful of amusing quotations, an anecdote involving the rock band, “Creed,” one grudging acknowledgment of a web property that rhymes with, “witch dork,” plus a sampling of band photographs, curated from the modest portfolio of your author. Who is a fan.
received a request for some husker du reposts, but dont worry cause i think this maybe all i have available at the present time. here is what i wrote, mostly verbatim when this was posted a couple years back.
this here is the men of husker du rehearsing the songs of warehouse before hitting the studio sometime between august and november of 86 – the date on the txt file is the 5th of august, but of course its debatable. the rehearsal is cut short by the minneapolis po-po who had several complaints that they were way too loud and you can actually hear the cop saying, and i am paraphrasing, “you guys cant believe how loud it is.” not only does this bring the songs of warehouse into a different light, but its also just pretty bad ass to have.
Inventory: a cold right typing hand, an empty mug of tea, an overturned Blackberry probably blinking. “Love you Dady” valentine wrapped in iPod buds pink as the day it was born. Two pair of reading glasses. One pair on my face. Another set of iPod buds. An overturned CD covered by pens. So many no good pens never where I need them. Mail, two monitors, bad punctuation. Two computers, a printer, a keyboard illuminated by a lamp from my childhood with Indians on it. (They must be cold with so little on sitting so close to the rattling window.) Three remote controls and no control at all. Newspaper. Folders. Sunflower seeds a tiny skull Mom bought me in the English countryside. Index cards. More pens. A binder clip the color of mustard in cartoons. Legal pads—yellow and white. In my ears a D chord at the end of a song and on the periphery of my vision a blur of books and one cold window.