I write on a matter of great typographical importance. For some time now there have been missing “fi” ligatures in the pages of the New Yorker, and the problem is getting worse. I counted 14 instances of the unligatured “fi” combination in the August 2 issue, and that was without Annals of Justice and the short story. There were five in the essay on Anthony Veasna So alone!
These errors are distressing to the eye, unworthy of the New Yorker, and frankly, I feel, a scandal. My warm best wishes to the magazine’s hardworking and possibly understaffed copyediting department, and I hope that this problem (along with those of missing “fl” and “ff” ligatures) can be rectified as soon as possible.
Very sincerely yours,
(Disclaimer: the below is based on hasty notes taken by a non-professional. Please do not rely exclusively on this information!)
The Boston Public Health Commission holds Narcan trainings twice a month in the AHOPE space on Albany Street. I wish I knew the name of the dynamite person who led the training last night and who obviously eats, sleeps and dreams opioid overdose prevention (with some attendant secondary trauma). But RB and I arrived a few minutes late and they were already in full swing. Anyway, about naloxone, brand name Narcan.
I knew Stephen Brophy for about fifteen years, but I only knew him well in the past three or four. It was my great pleasure to have coffee with him several times a month at Pavement and later in his apartment at our co-op. He was my neighbor, my friend, my mentor in radical politics, and my advisor in love and life. So I want to tell you a little about my experience of this extraordinary person. Read more
This is what has befallen the Little Free Library
near my house since it was erected by the Mass Historical Society
about two months ago.
- Its glass door was broken.
- Its replacement Plexiglas door was broken.
- Its replacement cellophane door was ripped from the staples.
- A large quantity of water was dumped into the library, damaging its floor as well as the books inside.
Who does this to a little free library? Who?
(a) Drunken Red Sox fans?
I consulted T, who replied, “I’m thinking either someone who hates libraries, or someone who hates free things. An illiterate capitalist.”
Me: A nice segue into the title of this post.
T: It could be someone who hates little things too.
is almost certainly the only French zombie series in which one dead person turns to another and asks why they don’t look like zombies. It is no barrel of laughs, though. Creepy, anguished and highly recommended. Read more
I wrote this originally for the Race & Fiction Writing
member page, but I’m moving it here since it’s something I really care about. Emoji smiley face.
A few of us discussed the matter of Dana Schutz’s painting at the April meeting. For me, the issue comes down to artistic freedom versus artistic responsibility. (One of our values being “both/and,” I’ll note that these are not necessarily in opposition.) Something I realized after the meeting was that while I had taken pains to present both points of view in the handout posted here, in fact the artistic freedom (“for the painting”) argument is amply represented in our white-dominated culture. What’s lacking, I feel, is a broadly understood argument for artistic responsibility. Therefore, I recommend that interested folks check out “The Case Against Dana Schutz” by Josephine Livingstone and Lovia Gyarkye at The New Republic. Speaking personally, the great effort it took to open my mind to the idea that I should, need and ought not to write on whatever subject inspires me—to take on board that I might not have a right to do that, and, perhaps more to the point, that I can lovingly and thoughtfully choose not to—the very difficulty of taking that step reminds me how powerful white supremacy is.
Edit: A letter from L.M. Williams in the April 24 issue of The New Yorker makes the point with clarity.
Much has been said in Schutz’s defense about art as empathy and the importance of resisting self-censorship. These are fail-safe points in discussions of artistic freedom, and they sidestep a foundational problem: the decision to make art without regard for the lives involved, and no matter the consequences. Even well-intentioned artistic empathy can become a form of trespass when it comes uninvited and replays the damage done to the people with whom the artist seeks to stand. The kind of racist violence depicted in “Open Casket” still happens, and still goes unpunished. Protesters, in asking, “Where are the images of Till’s murderers?,” are asking why America memorializes hate crimes against its black citizens by gazing at the victims instead of by holding the perpetrators accountable.
I had my best laugh of the week yesterday while listening to NPR. In a solemn voice, the presenter read out the recent Presidential tweet
about “the very sacred election process.” I guffawed aloud upon hearing this. Thanks, Trump!
Anway, I’m retiring my three-post March to Fascism tag. See, when I started it on January third, I really thought we all needed to keep a sharp and educated eye on the White House in order to recognize and call out signs of incipient despotism. That turned out to be totally untrue. A three-year-old under a blanket could recognize this administration’s incipient despotism. The lunacy of it all is in my face every single day from morning to night. I recommend VSB and Luvvie as commentators who can ease the pain for a few moments at a time by expressing our national predicament with concision, insight and outrage.
It must be said, in the current political climate, that I don’t use “white supremacy” on this blog to mean explicit racism as espoused by the white nationalists who’ve rechristened themselves the alt-right
. I use it in the accepted academic sense
a historically based, institutionally perpetuated system of exploitation and oppression of continents, nations and peoples of color by white peoples and nations of the European continent; for the purpose of maintaining and defending a system of wealth, power and privilege
(Sharon Martinas). This is also the definition we use in the Race and Fiction-Writing group. Anyway, I watched a few episodes of “The Magicians,” which is okay. It’s about a school for magic, and speaking of school, I am forced to conclude that there is some sort of Hollywood class which most TV creators have to take called How Not To Be Racist On TV (While Still Being Racist). Once you pass this course, you are qualified to put out into the world all sorts of interesting, entertaining and even intelligent TV shows that are super-racist. Here are the three tentpoles of the course. Read more
I’m not following you, I was going in this direction anymotherfucking way.
Currently my Twitter bio. Said by a homeless woman with a gift for language who hangs out on my street.
Don’t punch girls and I don’t punch a clock
I’m not really cool enough to use hip-hop lyrics as mottos, but it’s true that I don’t punch a clock. Or, as I put it to my neighbor this afternoon, “I have an expensive twenty-hour-a-week not-working habit.”
Pecan, mince, humble
This one is courtesy of my friend J., responding thus to my offer to eat humble pie: “I prefer pecan. I know not everyone likes the savory pies, i.e. pecan, mince, humble, but I’m sticking to my guns.”
“Senate confirmation hearings to begin without all background checks”
by Jennifer Steinhauer and Eric Lichtblau
Several of the nominees are millionaires or billionaires and have vast webs of financial interests that must be untangled. . . . Norman Eisen, Mr. Obama’s ethics counsel in his first term, said the paperwork delays were “totally unheard-of.”