The group’s lack of cohesion and its apparent wish to pantomime progressivism rather than practice it knowledgably is unsettling in the face of the challenges so many of its generation face — finding work, repaying student loans, figuring out ways to finish college when money has run out. But what were the chances that its members were going to receive the attention they so richly deserve carrying signs like “Even if the World Were to End Tomorrow I’d Still Plant a Tree Today”?
One day, a trader on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange, Adam Sarzen, a decade or so older than many of the protesters, came to Zuccotti Park seemingly just to shake his head. “Look at these kids, sitting here with their Apple computers,” he said. “Apple, one of the biggest monopolies in the world. It trades at $400 a share. Do they even know that?”
And found out tickets per person (if you can get them as a non-member) are basically the price of floor seats at Radiohead’s next show
This is something I have to admit I’ve never understood about my people. I mean, on one level, I get it (space issues and fundraising), but it’s basically extortion. It’s even more obscene that it happens for Yom Kippur. “Oh, you want to say Yizkor for your dead father? Try StubHub.”
I don’t understand this hate for Thought Catalog at all, because there’s enough cross-pollination between it and other sites (like, um, The Awl) that it seems ridiculous that people who love The Awl hate Thought Catalog.
Why is Alex Balk writing about blow jobs OK but Ryan O’Connell writing about blow jobs not OK?
The surgeon who extracted the eel from Zhang’s bladder explained: “The diameter of the urethra in a man’s penis is just a little narrower. But because eels are quite slippery, its body worked as a lubricant and got into the penis smoothly.”
Leah:who doesn't want to be a van doren in that movie?
Leah:i want to be a waspy public intellectual who teaches at columbia and writes poetry
Jean:who is Ralph boning these days?
Jean:Is he married?
Leah:oh i don't know
Leah:let me check wikipedia!
Leah:OUR GENERATION'S PAGE 6
Leah:apparently no one
Leah:he's a fucking badass
Leah:“In February 2007, staff aboard a Qantas flight from Sydney, Australia to Mumbai, India caught Fiennes leaving an aircraft lavatory with 38-year-old flight attendant Lisa Robertson. At first denying allegations of a tryst, Robertson later confessed to having unprotected sex in the lavatorywith Fiennes, whom she had met just hours before. Fiennes was en route to Mumbai, as a participant in AIDS awareness efforts for UNICEF. The organisation retained Fiennes as an ambassador; Qantas fired Robertson.”
Leah:IF YOU'RE GOING TO GO UNPROTECTED, MIGHT AS WELL BE WITH HIM
The problem with New Girl isn’t that it stars Zooey Deschanel (because really, all of the characters are so one-dimensional that it doesn’t matter who’s playing them), but that her character straddles the border between adorably twee and mentally deficient — and often ends up on the wrong side.
You know, like Charlize Theron in Arrested Development, except that I don’t think this is supposed to be the joke.
“I hope it all makes sense now, I don’t want you guys thinking that all it took was a nice pair of properly fitting jeans, a job that pays over 20k a year and a few dates with a woman in a pantsuit for me to completely sell out. The reality is just that I’ve reached a new level of meta-irony that will take you awhile to understand, that’s all.”—
“I may have finally outgrown my love of Star Wars. I might finally be interested in fancy dresses, kissing boys and dancing until 2am. However, I don’t think I’ll ever regret that I skipped prom to see Star Wars: Attack of the Clones (for the second time in one week). It was one of the first times in my life that I did something out of the ordinary and did not feel like a freak. I felt like I was a snowflake, for once, and not a hunk of gross ice. I might have been a snowflake from outer space, but that just made me even more special and unique.”—
It wasn’t so much that day. That day was too full of confusion and I was too overloaded to figure out really what had happened. The idea that the Twin Towers were not there was like something out of a Twilight Zone episode. It wasn’t real.
It was the next days and weeks. I remember being baffled a few years ago by Glenn Beck’s 9/12 project because it assumed we’d all become immediately full of grace and in love with our fellow countrymen. I don’t know anyone who felt like that on September 12. I remember watching television footage and seeing people shoving photographs of loved ones at the camera as barely-controlled panic morphed into uncontrolled panic in the space of seconds. It was unnerving and horrible. I remember seeing the Falling Man picture and feeling like I wanted to throw up.
A few weeks later I traveled home from Albany to Princeton Junction, NJ by train. I remember looking at the New York skyline and honestly not knowing what city I was looking at. I don’t mean that in a metaphorical sense, I mean I didn’t know the difference between Newark and New York without the towers.
Princeton Junction has, for the last few decades, been a commuter town. My dad said that the months after those attacks were excruciating. There were enough empty spots on his train and he didn’t know if the faces he wasn’t seeing weren’t there because they couldn’t bring themselves to go back or because they couldn’t go back. I found out that a childhood friend of mine’s father worked in the complex and saw the bodies falling.
The anthrax attack was unrelated, but no one knew that then. And it hit my parents’ post office. For months they found themselves on the receiving end of irradiated envelopes. They were crinkled and brittle and sometimes they’d broken down completely and would come in black plastic sleeves.
Yes, the country came together, I guess, but I wouldn’t ever want to feel again like I felt in the immediate aftermath of the attacks. It was awful. It is still awful.
Someone in a Russian class once told me about how he knew a girl who’d been born in Moscow in the last decade of the Soviet Union. She’d described a nice dinner with friends they’d had as being, “very warm, very Soviet.” He was in disbelief that she’d meant it as a compliment.
I think every decade is surreal when you stop and take a look back at it. Nostalgia (which seems to have become a dirty word around these parts lately) is a function of looking back at a time when you were younger and dumber and understood the world somewhat less than you do now — and just because a time seemed simpler in comparison to what came after doesn’t mean that it actually was.
Regional Rail: Paoli/Thorndale line service will be suspended until Thursday morning Sept 8. Expanded service will be provided on the Market Frankford line and Norristown High Speed line to accommodate passengers.
Norristown High Speed Line: Single track service from NTC to Hughes Park Station. All passengers board all trains on outbound track between these locations.
Market Frankford Line: Delays of up to 5 minutes in both directions.
“Storywriting is a tightrope of revealing just so much to keep the audience intrigued, and not holding back so much they’re bored or frustrated. With children you’re sometimes tempted to reveal a little too much a little too early – but any intelligent audience resents that, and younger audiences most of all. You go and see a boring play in the theatre, most adults will sit there politely and wait for it to be over, and may even pretend they quite liked that bit in act two with the chaise longue. Kids won’t put up with it. Kids will want to know why you’re not engaging them. I think increasingly we need to write for mature audiences the way we write for children, not expecting they’ll put up with self-indulgence or sloppiness. The themes may be different, and the concerns may be different, but the approach should be the same. Just try and be good. And don’t believe that for a momen t that just because you’re a Proper Writer, and feel very pleased with yourself, and have a few awards in the cupboard, that you’re intrinsically better than the people you’re writing for.”—