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Hipsters are nothing to be proud of and they are certainly nothing for a national media organization to celebrate. They represent indulgence and failure of every kind. From their incessant need to have pre-marital sex or else masturbate themselves numb to their shameless willingness to feed from the trough of hardworking Americans to support their blogs, indie bands or t-shirt companies, these people embody the death of the Puritan ethic. They live like 14-year olds– emotionally stunted, egomaniacal, crying for no reason and then twittering about it. They dress like 14-year olds as well, often in cartoon character clothes that show off unpleasant patches of skin. Were it not for their bruises and awkward facial hair, it would be impossible to tell them apart from actual drunk teenagers. –“The New York Times Offends & Outrages With Its ‘Hipster’ Agenda,” Stephenson Billings, Christwire
What does it mean when someone takes a photograph of their own beloved pile of shit, or a remarkable thing in the world. See, I think the trick to capitalism and all that it entails, like the dog running round and round after itself, is that ultimately what you’re loving and owning becomes a form of worship. I love David Armstrong’s big naked man statue holding a little naked fella. That is some kind of god. That is David’s church. That a snowman is doomed, that a chewed pile of gum looks like a brain, that a gaping hole in an old tree is lopsided and looks like a talking tree in a fairy tale or a cunt, that the worst kind of fake diorama with tiny trees and doleful instructions or directions, that this pile of things was at one time someone’s ambition, now moved or left to rot in the right or wrong place and someone else saw it… it’s interesting that a picture of a person, usually a woman, is generally a thing—distorted, turned on her edge. And presidents quickly become cardboard figures or masks. Presidents like women can be things. –“Still Lifes,” Eileen Myles, Vice
When we reached Bahia Honda, the palm trees were all curving down, fronds flapping wildly. A construction paper notice greeted us outside the weather-stripped grey wood rental/concession stand: “Due to weather conditions, only experienced kayakers may rent boats today.” I pointed out the sign to Bambi, who smirked and shrugged. Inside, the woman repeated the sign’s assertion, and my mother assured her we were experienced. The woman looked at me, so I grimaced and shook my head, tempted to verbally confirm, no, we’re not experienced, I’ve never been in a kayak, haven’t been in a canoe in a decade, who knows when she was in one last, and I don’t want to go out into an angry sea with a madwoman. I kept my mouth shut. –“Serendipity,” Harmony Neal, Gulf Coast
More from TedRoss:
Freddie Gray’s relatives arrived for the trial in the afternoon, after the prep-school kids had left. By their dress, they seemed to have just gotten off work in the medical and clerical fields. The family did not appear at ease in the courtroom. They winced and dropped their heads as William Porter and his fellow officer Zachary Novak testified to opening the doors of their police van last April and finding Freddie paralyzed, unresponsive, with mucus pooling at his mouth and nose. Four women and one man mournfully listened as the officers described needing to get gloves before they could touch him.
The first of six Baltimore police officers to be brought before the court for their treatment of Freddie Gray, a black twenty-five-year-old whose death in their custody was the immediate cause of the city’s uprising last spring, William Porter is young, black, and on trial. Here in this courtroom, in this city, in this nation, race and the future seem so intertwined as to be the same thing.
Percentage of British citizens who say that Northern Ireland should remain part of the United Kingdom:
In the United Kingdom, a penis-shaped Kentish strawberry was not made by snails.
The Playboy mansion in California was bought by the heir to the Twinkie fortune, and a New Mexico man set fire to his apartment to protest his neighbors’ loud lovemaking.
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“Matt was happy enough to sustain himself on the detritus of a world he saw as careening toward self-destruction, and equally happy to scam a government he despised. 'I’m glad everyone’s so wasteful,' he told me. 'It supports my lifestyle.'”