Sommelier Says: “Dan”
In a recent comment thread about anonymous comments, one “Dan” (his quotes) says, of HTMLGIANT:
Every one on this websites is assholes and gives Tao Lin handjobs and is “rich middle class kids” and doesnt now shit about good writing if it punched them.111 you guys also are incestuous and publish only your friends’ writing regardless of merit 11111!!11
Sommelier Says: We suspect either English is not Dan’s first language, or he was on the receiving end of some type of job while composing this comment. Coming off strong with “assholes,” one is reminded of the straight-forward Cabernet; soon he offers supple textures with a descriptive narrative of manual relief, followed by a cultural indictment of an abstract group of people (never mind the “rich middle-class” oxymoron). At first, I thought Dan meant that “a hundred and eleven” of us were incestuous (pretty ample gene pool, what you talking about?) but realized the “111” were simply rushed exclamation points sans the shift key — must be his quivering colon. Dan’s post-laxative rant reeks of prune juice as he makes a mad rush to the toilet. And you thought purple rain was an album.
Waiting for Gato
cat shadow sculpture
Instructions on writing a piece called “Waiting for Gato.”
1. Google an excerpt from Waiting for Godot
2. Using ‘find and replace’ MS function replace “Godot” with “Cat.”
3. Use online translator to translate from English into Spanish.
4. Replace non-verbal sounds with “meow.”
A narcissist edits Faulkner
Wudda been pretty cool huh? Wudda went Benjy full retard for some o’ dat shit.
Sommelier Says: Jereme Dean
There’s so much good whine out there that HTMLGIANT has instituted “Sommelier Says,” in which an indignant comment — either here or in our lit-blog vicinity — is studied for its complexities and rich character by this humble Sommelier. Today, we bring you Jereme Dean’s recent comment to P.H. Madore:
stop looking for kudos and emotional hand jobs and go your own way
Sommelier Says: Jereme Dean’s full-bodied redolence is rather pervasive. Just ask anyone who shares the bus with him on his “three hour commute.” A fan of Bukowski and Asian philosophy, his comments consist of grim verity, with hints of aging self-effaced misogyny and underlying currents of abnegation. His spicy black currant tongue, when not intra-labia, peppers this website with astounding truth. Never the diplomat, always the provocateur, his finish is very dry, with deep tannins which evoke the thickest of skins. This whine pairs perfectly with pudding.
Literary Doppelgangers: Nietzsche’s moustache and bison
Whenever I feel bad I like to browse pictures of Nietzsche because he always looks so miserable. Missouri loves company, so I don’t understand why AWP isn’t held in St. Louis. But I digress. His aphorisms cut nobody any slack. I feel if I met him at a bar, he’d punch me in the face. I think of his deathbed photo and wonder if he did any last minute bargaining with a God he killed for a nice tagline. (The Gay Science, in which he says “God is dead,” is not about anal sex — bear with me, I’m setting up a pun.) Is man merely a mistake of God’s? Or God merely a mistake of man’s?” he also asks. This is supposed to be a quick doppelganger post, so I won’t get too into it, I just think it’s funny how atheists (myself included) seem resentful towards a God they don’t believe in. I guess I’m technically agnostic, which is a philosophical way of saying I have no fucking clue. If there is a God, I don’t think he’s worried about the membership, so I figure either way I’m doing okay. So God bless America, and enjoy the rest of your weakend.
Unhumorous Punchlines
The MotherThe girl wrote a story. “But how much better it would be if you wrote a novel,” said her mother. The girl built a doll-house. “But how much better if it were a real house,” her mother said. The made a small pillow for her father. “But wouldn’t a quilt be more practical,” said her mother. The girl dug a small hole in the garden. “But how much better if you dug a large hole,” said her mother. The girl dug a large hole and went to sleep in it. “But how much better if you slept forever,” said her mother.
“The Mother,” a short piece from Lydia Davis’s Break it Down, perfectly demonstrates, for me, the unhumorous punchline where the last line and components leading up to it operate as a joke, but aren’t funny. Punchlines at their best are oblique and unexpected; it’s the minor epiphany of “getting it” that makes them so visceral — keyword here, because what begins in the brain ends in the gut.
Shoplifting from American Apparel: A Review
Getting a head in life
In writing about Shoplifting from American Apparel, I will try very hard not to say if it’s good or bad. I will also not align myself as a fan or dissenter of Tao Lin, or participate in the murky controversies over what people think about him — controversies which both propel his fame while compromising it. That kind of discourse is inflated and not interesting to me. I will admit I’m ambivalent about writing a review of this book, as it already has had its ample share of attention — I just wanted to write about some formal things I thought about while reading the book. (I am writing this review without the book in hand, and cannot check facts, and I read the book briskly, so this may be a compromised account.)
38 Comments
October 3rd, 2009 / 11:45 am
October 3rd, 2009 / 11:45 am
Ich bin stumm (I’m dumb)
World's heaviest Haut or Not
In +90% of my posts, I do at least some research, usually a simple google, a quick wikipedia read, or even a quicker visit to dictionary dot com. In talking about these authors in this public “Land of ideas” sculpture in Germany, I was set on googling each one — reading up on their bibliography to show how smart I was — but then decided to actually be honest and write this post without doing any research. What’s more important in journalism: the ostensible objective truth about a subject, or the actual truth about one’s subjectivity? I don’t know the answer, I just felt like using the question mark. I also recently learned the keyboard shortcuts for the umlaut, so my fingers are ready. Sigh, what follows is all I know.