I am drinking gin & wrote about 18 long titles i randomly chose using wikipedia

37 Comments

1. June 7th, 2012 / 11:31 am Elisa Gabbert—

   I think you’re going to have to better articulate what you mean by “sincere,” because the way you’re using the word doesn’t jibe with the dictionary:

   1. Free from pretense or deceit; proceeding from genuine feelings.
   2. (of a person) Saying what they genuinely feel or believe; not dishonest or hypocritical.

   So when you say, “it’s irrelevant whether the author using them is ‘really’ being sincere,” your argument is already starting to break down. What does it mean for a piece of writing to be sincere but not “really” be sincere? I honestly just don’t know what you mean by that. (I want to understand! Tell me what you mean!)

   The thing is, if we’re going to throw the words “sincere” and “ironic” around we have to agree on some basic definitions. You describe some of these titles as emotive or emotional. That description, I think, applies — but we have to keep in mind that “emotional” and “sincere” are not synonyms. I could say “I’m feeling nothing right now” and be totally sincere about it.

   As always, xoxoxo and then some.

2. June 7th, 2012 / 11:40 am Justin Ross Morris—

   “What makes writing ‘sincerely’ even more delicious when perceived against postmodernism 1960–2000 is that it proposes to offer precisely what pomo said didn’t matter or couldn’t exist: direct communion with another coherent, expressive self, even truth by means of language.”

   — Well, as long as your truth remains “little ‘t’ truth” and not “big ‘T’ truth” then I’m not sure there’s a problem for the “pomos.” And as long as your working with a more, say, communitarian understanding of “the self” as opposed to an atomistic one, then, again, I don’t think there’s much room for disagreement.

   Anyway: Homogenizing postmodernists and lumping them together as you do, suggesting there is a coherent narrative and teleological account of their actions, is, in itself, a gesture “they” might perceive as a very violent, totalizing, and monologically reductionistic maneuver. All I’m saying is: It’s really hard to talk about postmodernists. Especially from what seems to be your metaphysical vantage point. Be careful.

3. June 7th, 2012 / 12:27 pm mimi—

   The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman (1759 – 1767)
   The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha (1605 – 1615)
   The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling (1749)

   By Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept (1945)  

   Lolita, or the Confession of a White Widowed Male (1955)  

   (i’m taking liberties, i know)  

   i just ate leftover pizza for breakfast and i didn’t give any to my dogs although they desperately wanted some sitting by me looking so pathetic and now i am going to be late and slightly under-prepared for work

4. June 7th, 2012 / 12:31 pm A D Jameson—

   Thanks for the comment, Elisa! And, yes, I agree, definitions are needed. Although I think I have already been offering a definition of sincerity and its appearance in writing: that the text appear unmediated, or uncensored, or transparent, or unedited, etc.

   I think the two dictionary definitions you offer might also work. Let’s try it out.

   Tao Lin: you are a little bit happier than i am

   Does that appear to be something Tao Lin genuinely believes? Does it proceed from genuine feelings? I think so, yes.

   Now, when I say it doesn’t matter if Tao Lin really feels this way, I just mean literally that. We can write things that appear one way but that are not the way we genuinely feel. So maybe Tao Lin genuinely feels quite happy, even happier than me? But I don’t think that matters because poetry and fiction need not be true; it’s the projected appearance that matters.

   So I think the New Sincerity is writing that prizes the appearance of genuineness that proceeds from genuine feelings, and it does so through particular literary devices.I agree that “emotional” and “sincere” are synonyms. That said, I think one reason why the NS focuses on emotions is because they are usually a sign of genuineness: “He couldn’t hide his feelings.” Dorothea Lasky, for instance, regularly creates in her work the effect that she has become emotionally overwhelmed, and is “directly” recording that emotional upswell in language. That she’s emoting directly onto the page. Of course that is entirely a rhetorical/formal effect, but it feels spontaneous, genuine, sincere.

   Also, feeling nothing is a feeling. But what matters is the tone of that expression. Do I believe you when you say that? Again, I think this has become an issue in recent literature because it follows hard upon legions of writers, critics, and theorists who extolled the line that the self was fragmented and that language couldn’t communicate, etc. As well as legions of writers who prized irony—who used language to say the opposite of what they were literally saying.

   I really do appreciate this conversation because I want to refine what I sense/mean. Indeed, my exchanges with you have been some of the most helpful in this regard.

   xoxoxo back! Adam

5. June 7th, 2012 / 12:35 pm A D Jameson—

   I definitely agree that it’s a bad idea to homogenize, especially something as vast as pomo. (I’ve written before on why I even have my doubts as to whether pomo really is anything coherent.) But I also think one can generalize at times, and I think it’s safe to say that the general concept of pomo included the notion that language could not be used sincerely: that we were always saying other than what we meant, that the self was incoherent and fragmented, that language was always getting away from us in an endless play of signifiers, etc. Obviously any paper or book on this topic would have to do a much better job of nailing that down, but for now perhaps we can work with something like this? Though I appreciate nuance and clarification.

   Thanks for your comment! Adam

6. June 7th, 2012 / 12:39 pm A D Jameson—

   Also, Elisa, I’ve been thinking more about the New Sincerity and the New Childishness, and I think they’re two separate things, although they strongly overlap at times. Acting childishly can be a good way to “appear sincere.” But one need not follow that strategy to get at sincerity. But one can also use childishness ironically—Ulrich Haarburste’s Novel of Roy Orbison in Clingfilm is a good example.

   One can be childish and sincere, childish and ironic, sincere without being childish or ironic, and childish without being sincere or ironic. (“Without” there means without privileging it in the work.)

   No doubt I’ll try writing more about this…
   A

7. June 7th, 2012 / 12:56 pm Elisa Gabbert—

   Thanks, that does help clarify! I still think *you are a little bit happier than i am* is largely an exercise in irony — in other words, my answer to the questions, “Does that appear to be something Tao Lin genuinely believes? Does it proceed from genuine feelings?” would be no (and I don’t care if he says yes!). I’ll try to blog about this soon so I can go into my reasons in a little more depth.

8. June 7th, 2012 / 1:03 pm A D Jameson—

   Excellent! I’ll look forward to that post. Perhaps I’ll respond by doing some readings of Lin that maybe demonstrate sincerity? Although I don’t want to make the issue of the NS’s existence depend entirely on Lin :)

9. June 7th, 2012 / 1:07 pm A D Jameson—

   Also, if someone else has a better account of all of this (all
   of this!) then please chime in, because I would love to hear
   it! (“2012: The year HTMLGIANT figured out contemporary lit.”)

   I have to go to Michigan tomorrow but will try to follow the conversation here / in the Monday post. And I will put up Part 2 of WWTAWWTATNS this coming Monday morning.

   Till then much love & thanks for reading & considering /discussing all of this,
   Adam

10. June 7th, 2012 / 1:11 pm Ben Brooks—

    enjoying these a lot

11. June 7th, 2012 / 1:16 pm Elisa Gabbert—

    Maybe we should do it Lincoln-Douglas debate style…

12. June 7th, 2012 / 1:24 pm A D Jameson—

    Another way to put it is that what an artist intends to communicate in a work of art need not be what they are actually feeling/thinking. I can write a poem about the death of my dog, and make it appear genuine:

    my dog died last night
    i took off work today
    i called in sick but i’m not sick
    perhaps i am sick with grief, for boss?
    my dog’s name was boss & he was boss
    he had a funny limp & a bad smell
    i’m not sick with grief
    i haven’t cried at all
    maybe i’ll start crying later
    maybe i’ll never cry for boss
    although i miss him
    although i just thought that maybe someday i’ll no longer miss him
    now i’m crying

    And I can write this despite the fact that my dog’s not dead. Because I have never owned one.

    When my dog died, I could have instead written the following:

    For Boss

    If I had known that on that day our time was near the end
    I would have done things differently, my forever best friend.
    I would have stayed right next to you deep into the night
    but I thought I’d see you in the early morning light.

    And so I said “Good night” to you as I walked in through the door
    never thinking of the time when I’d see you no more.
    But if I had known that on that day our time was at the end
    I would have done things so differently, my forever best friend.

    I plagiarized that poem (and retitled it). And it seems to me a “sincere expression” of grief over the loss of a pet.

    Which of the two poems feels more sincere?
    Which feels more hackneyed?
    Which feels more New Sincere?

13. June 7th, 2012 / 1:28 pm A D Jameson—

    Thanks!

14. June 7th, 2012 / 1:29 pm A D Jameson—

    Thanks!

    My friend Justin had a great idea: try to find titles that “seem New Sincere” and that are (much) older than 2005.

    The Carver ones are the closest I’ve been able to find so far. (I am not suggesting Carver was NS!)

15. June 7th, 2012 / 1:37 pm Elisa Gabbert—

    But when you say you can “make it appear genuine,” I’m not convinced — knowing that you are the “author” of that poem, it reads to me as ironic, not sincere or genuine. And that’s because I know you are educated and well-read and capable of speaking in higher, more complex registers. So when an A D Jameson or a Tao Lin writes a poem with very simple sentence structures and no capitalization and a childlike vocabulary, and publishes it in a title on Action Books or Fence, as opposed to on their Live Journal, the overall effect is ironic. The context matters. It’s like Jeff Koons selling Michael Jackson memorabilia as high art — there’s a difference between the way we read the Jeff Koons piece and the way we read a Hummel figurine at a garage sale. And it feels like maybe you’re not acknowledging that difference when you say that such and such Tao Lin poem is sincere. It’s more complicated than that, and you have to invoke irony to explain the full effect.

16. June 7th, 2012 / 1:42 pm Elisa Gabbert—

    I still like the example from my blog: “A Modest Proposal for Preventing the Children of Poor People From Being a Burden on Their Parents or Country, and for Making Them Beneficial to the Publick” ;)

17. June 7th, 2012 / 2:46 pm deadgod—

    With respect to the question of defining “sincere” – ‘congruity between statements or displays and underlying motivations and, especially, self-understanding’ – , I think the blogicle clearly puts the calling of something sincere or insincere in a post-modern, ‘suspicious’ framework:

    a desire to appear uncensored, unrevised

    The question of ‘really being sincere’ is, from the get-go, irrelevant or, at least, circumvented, because the real interior of the communicating person — let’s say, poet or storyteller — is neither evident nor, perhaps, perfectly knowable from the outside.

    I think that Adam means that what one has is the poem or story, not the naked, uncontroversial motivation and self-understanding of the writer – not the writer herself, as it were – , and (perhaps) others themselves are never perfectly accessible, anyway.

    –or rather, one does ‘have’ the motivation of a writer, but seen darkly, through the glass of the world that is the condition for the possibility–the necessity–of multiple perspectives.

    Put simply, one can’t know (in a strong sense of methodological distinction of ‘true’ from ‘false’ – a Euclidean or scientific sense) if someone is “sincere”, but one does know, as much (or little) as one knows oneself, whether one thinks another person – a writer, say – is “being sincere”.  And there are ways – commonly known, part of the cultural toolkit of social competence – for communicators to signal — never completely unambiguously — that they’re really being sincere.

    Adam’s systematic tentativity about someone else’s ‘sincerity’ isn’t a breaking-away from “sincerity” (to talk about something else, or, insincerely, only to pretend to talk about ‘sincerity’), as I understand him.  It’s an explicit acknowledgement, an open intrication, of the epistemic opacity universal to perspective.

    (Is there a post-modernist who doesn’t share – indeed, who doesn’t thematize – this tentativity?)

    So, if someone tells you something, whether they’re confessing, or gossiping about other people, or making up a story, you don’t really know if they mean to cause the effects in you they do, but you do know if you think they meant to do that — you even know, if you care to guess, what you think their motivations were.  From that, you ‘decide’, more or less tentatively, if you think they were being “sincere”.

    –and if you know that you don’t know certainly the other person’s motivations for creating those effects, it doesn’t matter to your understanding, at some particular moment, whether they are ‘really being sincere’.  Why would it?–if you understand that that’s not something you can know (in a strong sense of knowledge).

18. June 7th, 2012 / 3:16 pm Elisa Gabbert—

    But if we can’t really know, inside this framework, aren’t all texts equally “sincere”?

19. June 7th, 2012 / 3:17 pm deadgod—

    Let me also suggest that “irony” is not the opposite of “sincerity”.

    Intentional, artfully conscious irony is always both ‘sincere’ and ‘insincere’, truthful (‘I want you to believe me’) and dishonest (‘I know I don’t think what I’m saying is true’); that duality is inherent in deception, ειρωνεια.

    Situational irony, dramatic irony, the incongruity of plans and outcomes, and so on — all the many things and relations that are reasonably called ‘ironic’ — … “sincerity” isn’t a parameter of judgement there, is it?

    I mean that when Oedipus seeks the murderer of the former king, and he already knows who did it – he knows that he did it, and he knows that he killed his father and made a family with his mother, he knew before he did these things that he would do them, he knew who he was because Apollo told him — but he didn’t know what he knew . . . Oedipus’s “sincerity” isn’t at all an issue, is it?  Had he just been a liar – ‘Yes, I recognized my father then… and I killed the bastard!’ – , well, the story wouldn’t have the power it does:  an intimation that your discovery of yourself will be a surprise.

    Criticizing an ironist for being insincere – as Plato’s Socrates is criticized – … that would be – it was then! – poetically just αμαρτια, ‘missing the mark’.

20. June 7th, 2012 / 3:41 pm mimi—

    that’s a great example! 

    and then there’s “People Like That Are the Only People Here: Canonical Babbling in Peed Onk” from Lorrie Moore, the master of dry/heart-stabbing ‘humor’

21. June 7th, 2012 / 3:58 pm deadgod—

    Adam might scruple to say they’re not.

    –but I think the premise of the question contradicts its (rhetorical) self-answer:  since we can’t really know, we can’t say uncontroversially whether texts are “sincere”.  Since we do know whether we think some particular writer is being manipulative, even maliciously devious, or deliberately transparent, we call that writer ‘insincere’ or ‘sincere’, respectively.

    There are post-modernists who reason that epistemic opacity indicates that things-in-themselves are a smear or blur of identical whatness — that if we can’t know them perfectly, that all texts are equally “sincere” (or equally “insincere”).  I think their reasoning is mistaken; the opacity is of knowingness, and requires no complete or precise predication of the thing which is by its definition incompletely, but not completely un-, ‘known’.

    Think of this discernment in mercifully everyday terms:  a friend tells you how much they like you, how they share your best interests.  Well, you know something to some degree!  You have reasons – imperfect – for thinking what you do about your friend’s assertion:  they’re drunk, they feel guilty, they feel sorry for you, they really do like you, you’ve always been generous and they want to thank you, etc. etc.  You don’t know with divine certainty, but you can be pretty sure, you can be absolutely sure and yet be surprised, you can be somewhat sure and live a thousand years and nothing ever contradicts your sense, and so on.  Whether that person is not perfectly plain to you – well, pragmatically, it might be 99.9+% clear – , but you work, at any point, with some more or less mutable, more ore less fixed perspective.

    Is that not like how you decide — if it’s important to your relationship to some particular writer — whether you think they’re really being sincere?

    (–and they’re many texts, discerning whose “sincerity” would be laughably beside the point of their effects.  Is Shakespeare “sincere”?  Uh, . . .)

22. June 7th, 2012 / 8:49 pm Sincerity – New? Old? Normative? - Montevidayo—

    […] Johannes on Jun.08, 2012, under Uncategorized Over at HTML Giant, AD Jameson has been blogging about “Sincerity” and “New Sincer… Why sincerity? What is its present value? My broad and still developing belief is that […]

23. June 7th, 2012 / 11:09 pm tao lin—

    enjoyed this post

    i like bukowski’s titles
    It Catches My Heart in Its Hands (1963)
    Poems Written Before Jumping Out of an 8 story Window (1968)
    The Days Run Away Like Wild Horses Over the Hills (1969)
    Me and Your Sometimes Love Poems (1972)
    Play the Piano Drunk Like a Percussion Instrument Until the Fingers Begin to Bleed a Bit (1979)
    You Get So Alone at Times That It Just Makes Sense (1986)
    What Matters Most Is How Well You Walk Through the Fire. (1999)
    Sifting Through the Madness for the Word, the Line, the Way (2003)

24. June 8th, 2012 / 2:46 am Zulema Renee Summerfield—

    i have a question: what happened to the old sincerity?

25. June 8th, 2012 / 10:04 am A D Jameson—

    You know me, and you know I don’t write like that, sure. But what if I started writing like that (the first poem), and then kept writing like that for the rest of my life? Or what if I signed it with a different name?

    Again, though, Elisa, and I can’t stress this enough, regardless of whether you read it as being ironic or sincere, there is still a formal aesthetic present that we can describe, and that is what interests me, and that is what I want to isolate and describe. You and I may find the NS, ultimately, ironic, but that doesn’t change the fact that Tao Lin uses certain devices, as opposed to the devices that, say, Virgina Konchan uses.

    It seems to me your interest, so far, has been in determining what is the effect of the work. That is not my interest. I am concerned here and now with isolating and identifying the formal devices that produce a particular style or body of styles, inasmuch as that can be done.

26. June 8th, 2012 / 10:19 am A D Jameson—

    That’s a good example of a title whose argumentative effect does depend on “looking” as sincere as possible for as long as possible. If you know that Swift is putting you on right away, the piece loses a lot of its satirical effect. And who knows? Maybe some contemporary NS writers are using NS techniques to do precisely the same thing.

    But I don’t think the Swift example contains any of the NS aesthetic devices. It’s not rambly or “emotional,” for one thing (two things). It seems calculated, precise, analytical. The only thing in it that might “appear” NS is the diminutive “modest.”

    Elisa, of course once an aesthetic is established, writers will be able to use it in various ways. One can use the NS aesthetic satirically and ironically. As I mentioned above, you seem focused on discussing the effects of the style in general. I think that’s wrong, because you should focus more on individual works, and not the entire style. (Saying that all NS writing ultimately reads ironically is, I think, an indefensible claim—and not unlike saying that “all Impressionists paintings produce the same effect,” or something like that.) You have to go work by work. Different NS writers will use the strategies to do different things. For me, I’m interested in the devices, the strategies (for now).

    So maybe a particular Tao Lin piece or book is satirizing other NS writers? That would be an interesting claim. Having read all of his work, I don’t see it as having any one single goal or effect. Rather, Lin strikes me as an utter formalist who has been rigorously exploring a certain aesthetic, or small set of aesthetics, in a variety of ways. And that to me is a large portion of his artistry.

    What motivated me to get started on all of this, we should recall, is that I wanted to dismiss criticisms of Lin by Josh Cohen and others that Lin’s work is artless and lacks artifice. Here’s a perfect example of someone thinking the work is “just sincere”:
    http://www.bookforum.com/inprint/1703/6361

    On the opposite side of the spectrum, you have something like this:
    http://wewhoareabouttodie.com/2010/09/07/unedited-feelings-on-tao-lin-and-tao-lins-richard-yates/

    Obviously something is going on. People are reacting to this writing as though it’s sincerity made flesh. Me, that’s not the reaction I have; I never read it and think, “Oh, now I have a window into Tao Lin’s soul,” or a window onto his private life. All I see is the style, and the form. And that’s all I want to describe.

    I am not interested in surveying people’s responses to the work, seeing who thought it sincere, who thought it ironic. Again, the “really sincere / really ironic” angle is, I think, a dead end! (It’s Wimsatt & Beardsley’s Affective Fallacy.)

27. June 8th, 2012 / 10:28 am A D Jameson—

    And before anyone says it, affect and effect are totally different things. An artist can design an artwork to have an intended effect, and its success as an artwork doesn’t necessarily depend on whether people really respond that way. So, for instance, a joke is intended to be funny. And if I write a joke and tell it to you, and you don’t laugh, that doesn’t mean the joke isn’t successful or well constructed. It might just be that you never laugh at jokes.

    Cabin in the Woods is a horror film, and it is designed to scare some percentage of its audience. (It’s also intended to make viewers laugh.) And it remains a horror film even if you yourself weren’t scared be it. (Me, I found it terrifying, but I am easily scared by horror films.)

    We know it’s a horror film not necessarily because of any particular effect it has on any particular viewer, but because it is constructed in a way that participates in a certain formal tradition—the horror film tradition. And then it goes about playing with those devices and forms and tradition in very particular ways.

    So what interests me about Lin’s work, for example, and the NS in general, is how a body of shared aesthetic devices is growing that artists can then communally work with. What they do with it, and what any particular reader’s response to it is, is now what interests me.

    Elisa, did you like Cabin in the Woods?

28. June 8th, 2012 / 10:29 am A D Jameson—

    I was wondering if Bukowski might be some precedent here, in particular Play the Piano Drunk. Thanks, Tao!

29. June 8th, 2012 / 10:52 am Anonymous—

    Signs that say what you want them to say and not Signs that say what someone else wants you to say, 1992-3.
    The best known work of visual art by Gillian Wearing, in the form of a cycle of photographs of people she approached at random on the street and gave a pen and blank sheet of paper and asked to write absolutely whatever they felt like writing.  This is not just an appropriate title, but a good example of what NS stands for?  I could be totally off.
    Also,
    Everyone I Have Ever Slept With: 1963-1995, by Tracey Emin,
    although appropriate to a lesser extent, I think.

    There are not a lot of examples of NS from visual art here, nor from Europe; just an observation.

30. June 8th, 2012 / 11:10 am Anonymous—

    ‘Signs that say what you want them to say and not Signs that say what someone else wants you to say’, 1992-3 by Gillian Wearing.
    This is Wearing’s best known work, which takes the form of a cycle of photographs.  Each picture shows a different person who the artist approached at random on the street and gave a pen and blank sheet of paper and asked to write, and then hold up for display, absolutely whatever it was they felt like.  If I am understanding NS somewhat correctly, this is a good example not only for it’s meandering title, but for its content, for the raw sincerity of strangers which it successfully unfettered.

    Perhaps I might also suggest ‘Everyone I Have Ever Slept With: 1963-1995’ by Tracey Emin, although it’s considerably less apt than Wearing, methinks.

    There aren’t very many examples of NS taken from visual art, nor from Europe; just an observation.

31. June 8th, 2012 / 12:37 pm Anonymous—

    J.V. Foix, the Catalan poet (self-proclaimed “investigator of poetry”) 1893-1987, was known for his long titles which acted as surreal stories…although he was also know for an “ironic vision” 

    I ARRIVED IN THAT TOWN, EVERYONE GREETED ME AND I DIDN’T
    KNOW A SOUL: WHEN I WAS ABOUT TO READ MY VERSES, THE
    DEVIL, HIDING BEHIND A TREE, CALLED OUT TO ME
    SARCASTICALLY AND FILLED MY HANDS WITH NEWSPAPER
    CUTTINGS

    AT THE ENTRANCE TO A SUBTERRANEAN STATION, TIED HAND AND
    FOOT BY BEARDED CUSTOMS MEN, I SAW MARTA LEAVING IN A
    FRONTIER TRAIN. I WANTED TO SMILE AT HER, BUT A MANY-HEADED
    MILITIAMAN TOOK ME OFF WITH HIS MEN, AND SET FIRE TO THE
    WOODS

    A SICILIAN PILGRIM, THE VICTIM OF THREE BUDDHIST HEROIN
    TRAFFICKERS, WATCHES NIGHT AND DAY OVER THE AQUARIA, AND
    ASSAULTS THE WINGED INSECTS WITH AN ORCHID.

    A ROSE WITH A DAGGER IN ITS BREAST
    LEAPS, BLEEDING, OUT OF THE WINDOW.

32. June 8th, 2012 / 7:15 pm J Lorene Sun—

    Sincerity, to me, is synonymous with honesty. I just can’t separate
    a deceitful artist with his/her work that is sincere exclusively by its own
    devices. Artist intent matters to me and sometimes it hard to tell whether it’s sincere or not.

33. June 14th, 2012 / 8:02 am 23 brief replies to Blake Butler & Elisa Gabbert & Johannes Göransson & Chris Higgs re: (dear god, what else?) the fucking New Fucking Sincerity | HTMLGIANT—

    […] Göransson penned a response (at Montevidayo) to my post “I am drinking gin & wrote about 18 long titles i randomly chose using wikipedia.” I read it right away and it seemed to me that Johannes wasn’t really replying to my […]

34. June 15th, 2012 / 9:03 am Ernest Hemingway in a bathing suit and other important news | Nico Mara-McKay—

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35. August 29th, 2012 / 11:31 pm I’m going to be on the radio later today « A D Jameson's Blahg—

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36. October 31st, 2012 / 10:27 am Faev snogs: The Shaggs, “It’s Halloween” (with some musings on the New Sincerity and faux-naive art in general) « A D Jameson's Blahg—

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37. November 4th, 2015 / 4:20 pm Sincerity – New? Old? Normative? | Montevidayo—

    […] Over at HTML Giant, AD Jameson has been blogging about “Sincerity” and “New Sincer… […]