Of all things, this snapped Perkus from his daze, just to snipe at my innocence. ‘You’re like the ultimate amnesiac American, Chase. You never can imagine anything actually happened before you wandered along.’
Jonathan Lethem, Chronic City
this isnt actually all that transcendentally humorous but in context it makes me titter.
TRENDING NOW» 01 Iran on Israel 02 Rich kids of Instagram 03 Notre Dame uniforms 04 Rage Against the Machine guitarist 05 MLB fan dies
Lordy, who the hell writes these things? Is this an eidetic replication of what people typed in on the glorious search engines of the world wide Web? Rich kids of Instagram? I know what Instagram is, I know what a rich kid is (free association says that one song on CHANNEL ORANGE. See I know pop culture!), but what? I thought Instagram was egalitarian, opulence for all? Number five… Is this fan’s sister also noted as the/that? MLB fan that died’s sister? Is this disturbing for anyone else? The anonymity, is this why sincerity and empathy is pitied and ironized?
just deserts (= the treatment one truly deserves) is occasionally misrendered *just desserts. Sometimes, of course, it’s a playful pun, as when a bakery is called Just Desserts. But sometimes it’s sloppiness or pure ignorance—e.g.: “The deliciously wicked Francis Urquhart gets his just desserts [read just deserts] in this third installment of the story [the film The Final Cut].” “Best Bets,” Commercial Appeal (Memphis), 21 Feb. 1997, at E2. In that example, the adverb deliciously creates a nonsensical echo in the wrong word desserts.
The Guy who does the Spotify advertisements has such a resonant voice. So melodious. No, I don’t want to go premium yet, thank you for speaking though. Sometimes I’ll actually stay tuned for the commercials. But why. It’s not its anonymity, but its ubiquity; the difference between anyone and someone.
There’s something about a voice that’s personal, not unlike the particular shape or odor of a given human body. After all, that’s pretty much what voice is: Summoned through belly, hammered into form by the throat, given propulsion by bellows of lungs, teased into final form by the tongue and lips, a vocal is a kind of audible kiss, a blurted confession, a soul-burp you really can’t keep from issuing as you make your may through the material world.