I can remember this thing happening before on HTML Giant, at least twice. There was a comment-less winter, recently. I also remember summer 2012 being pretty mellow and quiet. I remember posting about trains and like… annual reports.
Commenters and contributors get periodically underwealmed by the quality of what’s being written. Everyone checks out for a few months.
OK. Great. Rather than try to break this up and inject/ejaculate/energize the comments sections (something I don’t have the ability to do anyways), I’d like to lull HTML Giant into a deep and productive slumber: a lengthy hibernation induced by a lack of engaging or enraging content.
A bit about my week.
For readers who don’t know, which I hope is most, I live in Brooklyn and work in Midtown Manhattan. Sometimes this can be really pleasant and even convenient, but this week the Superbowl is being held in New Jersey and New York City is attempting to ensnare peripheral tourists as well as thick swarm of media that constantly moves through the veins of the city.
I think it’s called “Super Bowl Avenue” or something but is really just this lengthy stretch of Broadway (the lurid and fun diagonal street Dickens called the best in the world, at one point), including all of Times Square, that has been packed with a circus of giant logo-filled screens, satellite trucks, giant foam photo opportunities, military police patty wagons, children’s play areas, and maybe 50% more advertising than would be usual.
I get to walk through it on the way to and from my office, which is a lot like dropping acid for breakfast and dinner 5-days in a row. At this point, I’m able walk in the fetal position.
This morning we awoke to unforgiving gray everything. It was a little warmer, in the 30s, we hoped.
Been taking it easy at work. I might have stomach flu or something. Been feeling like shit, body-wise.
Last night, I watched The Hunger Games and cried. Never cried about anything written on this website.
So, I hope you like the Super Bowl, if you plan to watch.
It’s a lot like a Hunger Games, except that everyone dies at like… 50 instead of like.. 17. Oh and I guess it’s all-volunteer, instead of just one person volunteering. I wonder if the world would be more or less violent without the institutional application and transmission of national blood sports?
Today, I’m sort of feeling like blood sports are releasing more tension than causing… who knows.
Heard somebody say, in the last few days, that football is like a war that is possible to win: a grand national delusion of a win-able war. I keep turning that one over again on the room-tempurature BBQ of my mind. I was never personally aware of a war that was won.
At least literature is like… a war that everyone knows they will lose. That’s good.
I’ve been afternoon-dreaming about beaches and swimming pools.
I’ve been trying to remember the center of sleep.
Did you read the recent, and excellent, Laura Miller piece in the New Yorker about dystopic YA literature? It’s built around Suzanne Collins’ massively popular Hunger Games novels, which I’ve read (clumsy sentence-for-sentence writing, but great/addictive plotting) and which are basically Battle Royale for younger readers (group of kids dropped into arena/island, forced to hunt and kill each other as part of a game)… but it also name-checks the great House of Stairs and Singularity author William Sleator (with whom I once did an interview in which he effectively came out of the closet), Patrick Ness (whose The Knife of Never Letting Go had big problems, but was still immersive), and M.T. Anderson, whose amazing novel Feed is like A Clockwork Orange or The Informers or J.G. Ballard stuff masquerading as a YA novel. It’s really brilliant in every respect including the prose, and you should read it immediately if you haven’t and you’re into that sort of thing.
June 24th, 2010 / 11:05 am