Daily Briefs: David Foster Wallace Has a Posse

By CHRIS PACKHAM

From the comments:

(the) Trevor as Obama’s eyes says: We see to it that anything on msnbc is properly “reported”. Thanks for showing folks where to look, minion-dawg, we will see to it that you receive an extra portion of wealth redistribution whenst we are in charge for your dedication to not thinking for yourself.

wumble says:

“whenst”?

Really?

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it lately, but my brain is a genius! Because on Friday, it realized — WHILE DRUNK — %{[ data-embed-type=”image” data-embed-id=”57150c4689121ca96b9612d4″ data-embed-element=”aside” ]}%that somebody should adapt Douglas Adams’ Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency as a vehicle for Ricky Gervais. This is just the latest in a long, unbroken chain of genius-grade ideas my brain has generated, starting from the time in second grade when I, from my perspective, invented masturbation, to the time I improved bulleted lists of items forever by replacing the bullets with Truck Nutz. My brain is obviously Whiting Foundation Genius Grant material.

After my brain’s obvious triumph of imaginary cast-directing, everything that was golden and bright about my weekend turned into factory-wrapped shit, because my favorite writer committed suicide on Saturday night. I have no idea how many times since the 1996 publication of Infinite Jest that I’ve said, “Y’know, David Foster Wallace is about due for another novel,” followed by, “I’ll just read this new book of essays by David Foster Wallace while I wait for him to produce a novel.” Probably, like, one million times. Prissy scold Michiko Kakutani, who was constitutionally incapable of ever writing about Wallace without bitching that his books were too long, can’t even get through this fast-track obituary item without unloading references to Wallace’s “self-indulgent books badly in need of editing…” Nice display of editorial restraint, lady. The man was hugely gifted, and you’re dancing on his grave. Here’s a little secret to winning a Pulitzer for reviewing books in the New York Times: Claim that any given book is either the crowning achievement of an author’s entire career, or a complete abysmal failure. Because somehow, those are the only kinds of books she reads, ever.

After the jump, how about this economy? And also some reports about the pharmaceutical side-effects of drinking tap water that would scare you if you weren’t so blissed-out on all the Ritalin and tranquilizers in the drinking water. Click here or here:

Categories: News