[Really, New York Times? A tossed-off remark about Jeff Dunham fans’ weight? This is seriously why middle America hates the New York Times, and why Rush Limbaugh and pals win. What a lazy, poorly thought out comment! Did all the editors get fired last week and this article just got rushed straight to print? No one thought “hey, let’s not call all of Jeff Dunham’s millions of fans, who often view the New York Times as antagonistic, Communist propaganda, fat for no reason since it has absolutely nothing to do with any of the genuine problems that Jeff Dunham’s popularity poses, such as the resurgence of a self-congratulatory type of bigotry that wears its hatred as a badge of honor. Just a bunch of silly fatsos? Perfect. This is going to be a long, protracted culture war!]
—Gabe’s close-reading of the NYTMag piece on Jeff Dunham is an excellent thing that exists on the Internet today.
"This is the magical thing about babies on the subway. They carry the antidote to adulthood. The careful decorum we construct for ourselves — grown-up civilian riders of the underground train — simply dissolves. Very few people are immune to the power, the openness of a baby’s unconstructed glance. It stares without rudeness, smiles without solicitation, and somehow it reaches the unconstructed human that remains inside most of us. We get to step outside all the workaday rules of human contact. We get to make faces in public."
Print media is trying to save itself article by article, and I think the NYTimes made some valiant strides with this all-important editorial on BABYFACES (thanks KatieBakes).
Is it blasphemy that I sort of enjoy “Josie Sings Joni,” in which a girl on YouTube makes a valiant attempt at the voice? It could be seen as an exercise in being-barely-but-not-enough, or, glass full, an exercise in enough-but-just-barely. And I’m feeling optimistic today!
Plus, Josie ALSO fronts a Kate Bush cover band called Hounds of Love. Maybe she’s my hero?
[Inter-city competition aside, the ultimate goal was to impress one’s host, the impeccably groomed “agitator of the absurd” and cad-about-town, David Piper. Those who brought the most bizarre bits were invited to a dinner party held inside a fully restored late-19th century railway carriage, an intimate space stacked with curio and unfathomable steam-powered devices. Drinks were served by a delightfully named gin-master, Louis Xavier Lewis-Smith, and the banquet was created by Bombas and Parr, famed jelly mongers, who say their next project will be the Architectural Punch Bowl, a punch bowl so large you can row a boat across it. Between courses Piper regaled guests with his sparkling innuendo, poetry (on roses and cucumbers), and his table-top tickle machine.Sugared rose petals, quails (and their eggs, with chilli and 24-carat gold) followed by cucumber and Bergamot ice cream (served with gin-jelly) made up the more restrained courses of the feast.]
