As Shadid was about to meet his end via a seizure of the breathing passages, I was rummaging through various bar couches and lost-and-found bins, hoping someone, somewhere, had found this thing and put it aside.
The movement has decried corporate greed and the evils of capitalism run amok, but one economy has seen unprecedented growth since the occupation of Zuccotti Park began last month: the memeconomy…
Get a job at a chain of boardwalk stands through a guy who sold your dad weed a few times. Spend the summers being accused of ripping off tourists and drunk guidos, come up with an endless stream of smart-ass reasons why you can’t “just give me one” of your prizes, which depending on where you’re stationed could mean CDs, sports plaques, Phantom Menace merchandise or half-cartons of cigarettes.
To really understand what’s at stake, you should know that You Are Free was instrumental in bridging a gap in between The Terrible Crap I Listened To Before The Internet, and The World Of Real Music With Meaning. So you should know that “He War” will cut me deep, exposing raw bone from an incarnation of myself long before I moved to New York City.
“Can I just have some ice?” I asked the clerk hawking beers at one of the free Prospect Park concerts on a day when even the evening shade didn’t abate the humidity. He resisted: “You can’t put it in your drink,” he said. “It’s gross. We’re not allowed to give it out.” Once I informed him that my only intention was to apply it directly to my face and neck-skin, he relented.
But the dictionary is far removed from the front lines of vocabularic trenches, a distance that breeds discontent at the buffering lag between The Things We Know Exist and The Things That Have Official Easy To Use Terms So People Know What I’m Blathering About…
I’m really bad at breaking up with girls. No one is good at breaking up with people, but I’m particularly bad at it, because I think I’m doing a good job at it every time. Every time I think I’ve figured it out, that I’ve spent the weekend running recon missions in my head, mapping it out like a raid on Abbottabad.
In fact, Googling “female blogs” provides several directories to some of the top writers, sites and topics on the internet. Google “male blogs,” however, and you’ll fall down a completely different rabbit hole: the top result is “Best Male Blogs — Gay Blog Directory;” eight of the other top 10 results are gay porn-related; one is about male nurses; the other is spam.