Just. Yes.
{ The Party Politic. I'm throwing a party. Sort of. }
This week, in The Grid, it’s me talking about how and why we (don’t) feel safe on the streets or in bars, and the process of what it was like organizing an afterparty for a nu-wave gurl movement. And how I relate. And why it’s important. It’s tomorrow. Come. Dance. (But please ignore the column title. It makes me cringe.)
Executive realness. Rea made me go watch Paris is Burning. Again.
Siri v. never-aging Nanny Fine
via nerd86
This weekend.
"The writer learns to write, in the last resort, only by writing. He must get words onto paper even if he is dissatisfied with them. A young writer must cross many psychological barriers to acquire confidence in his capacity to produce good work—especially his first full-length book—and he cannot do this by staring at a piece of blank paper, searching for the perfect sentence."
— Paul Johnson. Another Paul, same story. About how to write, and why I write, and keeping writing, and never stop, not even for online commenters.
{ The Night List: March 1-7 }
Things to do in Toronto this week(end), featuring these guys (^) aka Saint Motel.
{ I went to hear DJ Pauly D spin }
…and all I got was this article. Yes, Jersey Shore. Bedazzled headphones and laptops. The people who paid money. Young girls, old dudes. Ok, I know you’re curious. For The Grid.
{ A brief history of love }
…from one lover to another
"The outrage is tiresome and deeply hypocritical, in all the tiresome ways you’ve been tired out by before. M.I.A. was illustrating her line, acting out the attitude of the words: performing. Fine, it may not be legal to flip the bird on television, but that’s simply a remnant of the fifties we haven’t shaken. Unless somebody was handing out Xanax with the foam fingers, Lucas Oil Stadium was ringing with the music of profanities last night. More to the point, television viewers were submitted to ad after ad that likened women—negatively—to sofas, cars, and candy. Mr. Winter didn’t have anything to say about that, so I’d like to raise both of my middle fingers to him and anyone who thinks profanity is somehow more harmful to our children than images of violence and misogyny. (My two sons, fourteen and eleven, thought the Fiat ad was corny, so I guess they will be safe without Mr. Winter’s intervention.) I say we get out of The Pretending To Be Moral game altogether and use the Internet for important things like posting pictures of cats looking at croissants and PDFs of sensitive government documents."
— Sasha Frere-Jones — M.I.A. Shouldn’t Have Apologized (via annaetc)
"Yes. Writing is always a way, for me, of coming to some sort of understanding that I can’t reach otherwise. It forces you to think. It forces you to work the thing through. Nothing comes to us out of the blue, very easily, you know. So if you want to understand what you’re thinking, you kind of have to work it through and write it. And the only way to work it through, for me, is to write it."
— Abridged excerpt from Believer mag interviews Joan Didion. If you write, or want to, read this. Add to: “People who inspire the fuck out of me.” Not even for who she is, or how she writes, but because of the way she approaches her craft.
What, I can like this shit too. But only this one, and only for the muppet-beard/glasses. Are you on Scruff?
As if “woof” didn’t already sound like
how gay adult males with chest hair seriously hit on each otherbabies making the noise a dog makes…#justsayhi
