Pricey Poems and Emmys Memes

Emily M. Keeler is a writer and the editor of...

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We know about Too Soon, but how much time does it take for an idea, essay, or joke, to be Too Late? I can’t keep track of how tight the cycle is nowadays. Has the buzz been drained, in only a week, from Jonathan Franzen’s longwinded rambling? Either way, I’m urging you to make time for Lydia Kiesling’s little meditation on Twitter and Franzen, because it is, one, excellent, and two, the most thoughtful piece I’ve read about the experience of using Twitter as a writer in the past year at least, if not ever.

In an all but unprecedented move, the new J.D. Salinger documentary has gone back into the editing room after its initial release. Starting this weekend, a new, slightly shorter version of the film will be shown in theatres. The new cut features an interview with Joyce Maynard, the writer who penned the recent The New York Times op-ed about Salinger’s intensely fraught relationships with young women and girls, including with Maynard herself. If you missed Michelle Dean’s reasoned response to Maynard’s incredible essay, now’s a good time to open that tab.

In Montreal, a poem was awarded $20,000. The poem, to be brutishly literal, is about having an antenna sticking out of one’s head. Another poem was withdrawn from consideration for a different, British prize, because the poet admitted to having plagiarized poems before. Yet still another poem failed to win $10,000 USD in a mysterious competition juried by some rich people in an apartment in New York. The poet was nonetheless treated to fine finger foods and champagne.

Where did all these assholes come from?

I don’t love the new iOS, or the New Yorker redesign, but sometimes it can take a while for me to warm up to change. That said, I think Melville House designer Christopher King is onto something when he says it’s a shame that the high-minded rag is including pictures in book reviews in the Briefly Noted section. Also, why did my iPhone make it harder for me to check the weather?

Apparently the Emmys are a thing, and a lot of people care about Breaking Bad and House of Cards. If I were feeling a little highbrow, I’d tell you all about the Dear Television’s Emmys coverage. Instead, let’s just talk forever about Richard Simmons making Emmys memes.

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Tiny Tanks Hauling Ass: A Weekend of Strategy Gaming
“So, I was with this chick I was banging…” Those words actually came out of his mouth with a hitch in their step, like they had jumped over some more reasonable formulation of that thought—”a girl I was dating”? “a woman I was seeing”?—eager to prove how fucking badass their speaker was. “Banging” and “chick” were a tactical error of impression on his part, insomuch as I don’t really think I’ve done anything with a chick that would qualify as banging, per se, and anyway have been raised and conditioned to not think in those terms, even when it is just us guys. I’m very banging progressive.


The Particular Melon
Walid was making a film about a particular honeydew melon. This melon, he said, pointing to the table littered with back issues of The Economist , a Blackberry Pearl, assorted suspiciously pigmented utensils, and the melon which lolled back and forth as their knees hit the table. Why this melon? Frank asked. He was curious. He was over-caffeinated. And why a film? Surely this has something to do with the fruit trade outside Lanzhou, the nefarious laws imposed upon the disenfranchised? No, Walid said. Let me stop you right there. I mean this