I try to articulate to the students how empty and frustrating it is for a reader to invest their time and attention in something that they feel that the agenda is basically to show you that the writer’s clever…
- David Foster Wallace via blankonblank
Late to the party, but: I enjoyed hearing some insights into UCB’s economics on the Funny or Die podcast.
People will kill you over time, and how they’ll kill you is with tiny, harmless phrases, like “be realistic.
I read an article many years ago about kids who, for whatever reason, see the world as crazy - they could have crazy parents, an abusive priest, some other awful circumstance. Some kids will blame themselves. They’ll say, ‘I know the priest is good. He’s a man of God. So what he’s doing is good, and I must be wrong.’ But the other child, the Absurd Child, will say, ‘No, I’m not crazy. The world is fucking nuts. My parents are insane. That priest is crazy.’ And that’s the beginning of the comic perspective.
You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should’ve behaved better.
The worst thing to call somebody is crazy. It’s dismissive. “I don’t understand this person. So they’re crazy.” That’s bullshit. These people are not crazy. They’re strong people. Maybe their environment is a little sick.
If I had a soapbox — which I’d build myself — I’d use it to encourage people to make things with their hands or to get outside and walk in a park, to experience the world in ways that don’t involve screens.
If you can stop being clever, you can become wise.
God, this is such an East Coast pharmacy. How are we going to find gauze and bandages in the middle of all this crap?
Uh, I think he keeps ‘em under the thousand-piece puzzle of a lobster trap.
I don’t see it, you mean next to the kadima paddles, or next to the basic black sweatshirt with no writing on it?
No, I think they’re over there between the rain ponchos and the cap guns, and just between the balsa wood gliders and the net bag of flips flops and a beach pail.
Above the set of jacks?
Yes, above the jacks and the bicentennial playing cards, and across from the giant cake with the beach balls next to the wiffle ball bats and the spark spitting cars.
I don’t— Oh! next to the wax bottles of weird juice.
Yes, behind the plastic bag of Mexican soldiers from the Alamo and the super elastic bubble plastic.
Oh, yeah, I got’em.