Here are our popular and notable posts. When I say “notable,” I mean something David Brooks (stopped clocks, etc.) said about the New York Times Notable Books list: that these are the books the New York Times thinks you should have been reading, instead of the ones that are actually doing well.
So, yes, here are some things we published this past week that you either liked, or should have paid more attention to the first time around. Perhaps you’d like to catch up now. Perhaps you will.
Hm. Well, on Monday, we had V.C. Andrews Day, a tale that grew in the telling. Highlights included this amazing piece by Andrews’ editor, Ann Patty, and then Robin Wasserman did a cool interview with her. And then I thought this thing I wrote about illicit reading was pretty good. WHAT. Men do that shit constantly. “Read my thing, it’s great. Give me venture capital. Take my name.” Just read all of V.C. Andrews Day, it was great.
On Tuesday, I really, really loved this long gonzo piece by our Italian correspondent about the whole Berlusconi shitshow. It’s funny and smart and exhaustive and cool. And then Edith Zimmerman and I talked to each other, and it was a little sweet and a little tense and a lot about, like, money and stuff. Oh, and Mallory cracked me UP with this whole Springheel-Jack-featured-image deal on unattractive male authors. None of them are real.
On Wednesday, Mallory did this bananas Texts From Emily Dickinson installment, which is even funnier if you imagine that Emily Dickinson is related to the producer from the “more cowbell” SNL sketch. Have you ever done that? Try now. And then we learned about Buffy the Vampire Slayer and also OURSELVES.
On Thursday, we had Sports Day, because, whatever, we’ll do what we want. Victoria Patterson wrote this cool thing about golf and tennis and PE teachers and family, and I ADORED this weird guns-muscles thing, largely because of this:
My wife wouldn’t be able to keep her hands off me, if I were built. She’d cut her fingernails sharp, like claws, and she’d run them down my chest and abdomen, taking bits of skin along with them, leaving trails of blood. And she wouldn’t stop at my abdomen, either, she’d run her fingernails over my thighs and genitalia, all the way down to my ankles. My body would be just dripping with blood. I’d let out of a scream of pain and desire. My wife would sink her teeth into my calf and I’d lose consciousness.
And today is Friday, so just read everything from today, and keep in mind that maybe my favourite post of the week is up at three pm EST, and it’s this really long, beautiful thing about family secrets and identity.
Okay! So, yeah, it’s my website, I like everything on it. Tell your friends.
WAIT. We forgot Superhero Breakup. Look at those pictures.
