“The argument has gotten dully repetitive: How does one argue with someone convinced that the routine massacre of our children is the price we must pay for our freedom to have guns, or rather to have guns that make us feel free? You can only shake your head and maybe cry a little.”—Adam Gopnik, in The New Yorker
“(it’s sort of weirdly teenaged to have a favourite band, but here we are. something about the band just hits a sweet spot somewhere inside me, makes me realize i’m listening to the music i always wanted to and only ever needed to. so i yammer on about them a lot, but it’s out of love, and it’s also out of the fact that it’s a crime that rock radio stations do not have “treat the new guy right” in regular rotation. that last bit is honestly criminal)”—
“Oh, don’t worry—I punch everyone in the face! People, baby ducks, a lion, this Easter Island statue, the ocean…” Okay, well that baby duck is dead now. And you’re a duck-murderer. It’s really easy to believe that “nothing is sacred” when the sanctity of your body and your freedom are never legitimately threatened.”—How to Make a Rape Joke (via ishmaeldaro)
“Being a love letter to The Wrens and their 2003 album, The Meadowlands. Composed of an improbable combination of gushing prose, digital audio recordings, live and promotional music videos, a handful of amusing quotations, an anecdote involving the rock band, “Creed,” one grudging acknowledgment of a web property that rhymes with, “witch dork,” plus a sampling of band photographs, curated from the modest portfolio of your author. Who is a fan.”—if you’re wondering where that last post came from, I’d say it’s from roughly the same space as here: kung fu grippe.