You kids these days and your “generation this” and “generation that.” In my day, we were too busy xeroxing our zines at kinkos and listening to the pixies before they were popular to bother with all this generational foofaraw. Just Say NO! to media manufactured intergenerational conflict.  It only distracts from the brewing anti-corporate class war.  Death to the C-level pigs! (mumblelard)

I took a stroll to the bookstore yesterday morning after waking up—which is probably the wrong way to describe it because it wasn’t a stroll so much as a two-block walk and it wasn’t really morning so much as 1:30 in the afternoon, but I’m digressing. Or revealing without making a revelation. Or…

I honestly don’t think Cox was down on Gould so much for being a bad person as a boring writer. The sort of writer who, maybe, tells you he went somewhere after* he woke up (to ensure the reader knows this isn’t some boring shit about a dream excursion, yeah?). The sort of writer who uses cliches and platitudes the way other writers use, you know, original phrases and constructions. (It’s sort of like trading baseball cards! I’ll give you a “thousand-mile stare” for your “silent judging.” Oh, you have a “we get it?” You should send that in to get professionally graded. That’s going to be worth something, someday.) I have an argument to launch with the Slingshot of Old Sayings: Pot, meet kettle. Or, to drop an allusion, I believe Langer is just Cox in a dark mirror.

*Ke$ha’s also into starting her narrative fancies by announcing that she’s risen, but I happen to know the author is more of a Gaga-type.