Thursday, December 30, 2004
Dude, you're supposed to eat brie, not rub it on your person
Via the Daou Report, I stumbled across this bit of exceptionally bad writing from a blog called Southern Appeal:
That's the kind of writing that makes red-faced people in dirty wife beaters and stained, baggy boxers belch and nod their heads in emphatic, Vienna sausage-scented agreement, whilst scratching their ample, hairy, soft bellies. It makes the rest of us roll our eyes and mutter, "What a maroon." Outside of that tiny excerpt, I haven't read Southern Appeal, but just reading that one post tells me I'm not missing much.
Incidentally, why do these Babbitts speak of brie as if it were some strange, exotic foodstuff? They've been selling that shit in the Piggly Wiggly for years, y'all.
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Via the Daou Report, I stumbled across this bit of exceptionally bad writing from a blog called Southern Appeal:
To me, Sontag was one of those writers that lots of people, especially "correct people" in literary circles, keep copies of their work on prominent display, but have actually read very little of. I know that outside of tiny excerpts, I haven't read anything by her, although of course I'm usually hardly correct in any measure. But just reading this obit in Newsday tells me I haven't missed much.
"So when I go to a Patti Smith concert, I enjoy, participate, appreciate and am tuned in better because I’ve read Nietzsche. The main reason I read is that I enjoy it. There’s no incompatibility between observing the world and being tuned into an electronic, multimedia, multi-tracked, McLuhanite world and enjoying what can be enjoyed about rock ’n’ roll."
That's the kind of statement that makes people in black turtlenecks, granny glasses, and Birkenstocks nod their heads in emphatic, brie-scented agreement, and the rest of us go, "Huh?" And the rest of us are right.
That's the kind of writing that makes red-faced people in dirty wife beaters and stained, baggy boxers belch and nod their heads in emphatic, Vienna sausage-scented agreement, whilst scratching their ample, hairy, soft bellies. It makes the rest of us roll our eyes and mutter, "What a maroon." Outside of that tiny excerpt, I haven't read Southern Appeal, but just reading that one post tells me I'm not missing much.
Incidentally, why do these Babbitts speak of brie as if it were some strange, exotic foodstuff? They've been selling that shit in the Piggly Wiggly for years, y'all.
