Probably the last time I’ll get to write such a name on a game day scorecard. (at Yankee Stadium)
Definitely in the pantheon of the world’s most delicious things. The pastrami sandwich at Katz’s. (at Katz’s Delicatessen)
When I arrived home, after seeing you
I watched Maleficent and thought about how
angry I look when I’m quiet. The first instance
of resting bitch face was by a Doberman in a coma.
You asked me what book I was reading, and it
was Lil’ Bastard by David McGimpsey. The risotto arrived
Hashtag: Awesome Things Happening to Awesome Books
It’s been an amazing week for some Joyland contributors. We’d like to congratulate Molly Antopol, author of The UnAmericans, and Emily St. John Mandel, author of Station Eleven, on being longlisted for the National Book Award for Fiction. We’d also like to congratulate Arjun Basu, author of Waiting for the Man, for his inclusion on the longlist for the $100,000 Giller Prize for Fiction.
Most anthologies lead to brief critical discussions of who was included / excluded but this recent publication (which I found while secondhand book-shopping in Montreal) they say is the most inclusive anthology of Canadian Poetry to date.
It’s funny that exhibitions of Andres Serrano’s “Piss Christ” (a crucifix submerged in the artist’s own urine) were defended with such passion about artistic freedom but when Urban Outfitters touches the sacred garments of the 60s protest era there’s a much more unified chorus of “shame, shame”. When you think of it in terms of artistic freedom, there is obviously nothing wrong with Outfitters’ Kent State jersey. It is no different in intent than countless poems, movies, songs, about Vietnam which seek to memorialize the era’s tragedies. It is in no more or less in bad taste than an Oscar-winning Oliver Stone movie or a Buffalo Springfield song. That the often cloying sentiment of Namporn could be distilled to a T-shirt doesn’t strike me as “new low” territory, but as an inventive and far more sensitive gesture than, say, making a shirt that says “Ft. Lauderdale Bikini Inspector” or “Jersey Shore Goombah”. Actually, discovering a T-shirt can still get under the skin of people with good taste is not insignificantly pleasing to me and my 17 year old self who thought wearing a “legalize marijuana” T-shirt was the height of badassery. Nobody is forcing anyone to wear the shirt, of course, so I wonder why such matters of sartorial discretion did nothing to stop Crocs or to stop a whole generation of would-be rebels from wearing shirts embossed with the image of Che Gueverra (an image which many people also find grotesquely insensitive to the deaths of thousands). Much like Marcel Duchamp’s “ready mades” revolutionized the art world by pointing out the museum’s role in declaring what is and what is not “art”, Urban Outfitter’s has (perhaps unwittingly) called out the relative, discriminatory parameters of elite society’s taste in commodities. De gustibus non est disputandum
Explaining job prospects to a potential MFA is as ridiculous as a tattoo parlor explaining the benefits of sobriety.
It’s good to have a little mantra when you’re walking in and out of the lair of the elite.