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New York, 7:11 PM
Wed Nov 25
55 posts in the last 24 hours
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07/23/09
07/23/09
07/23/09
Never before have I encountered someone with the writing talent to make so many incredibly boring and unpleasant people seem so thrilling and wonderful. Handbags? Countess Crackerjacks?
Your writing is . . . . fantastic, is the only word that comes to mind. I look forward to reading more at tv.com, and I hope (!) that one day, as I peruse my local bookstore, I'll have the opportunity to say to myself "My goodness! Is that Richard's new book?"
Here is the paragraph that I think I love the most:
"If someone were to find a slab of browning butter lying on the side of the road, and they carved New Hampshire's (now deceased) Old Man in the Mountain out of the butter, and then propped it up on thick toothpicks, and then told it to twirl like a pretty ballet princess, but of course it couldn't because it's just old butter on toothpicks, so it cried salty, buttery tears.... that thing would be Prom Queen to Handbags' runner-up. Handbags is one step down from weeping toothpick Old Man in the Mountain butter.
Best of luck, Richard.
07/23/09
That paragraph is so weird! What was I thinking? The poor Old Man in the Mountain, though. That was like all New Hampshire had goin' for it. Sigh.
07/23/09
Richard, I have a friend who used to write fiction for fun, but got so bogged down with work and life that essentially stopped. Reading your recaps actually helped remind him of the fun and creativity in writing, and he's been starting to dip his toes back in the water. There are many of us who will be looking so forward to your book.
07/23/09
The paragraph is really weird, but also completely wonderful. Now, I can't help but think of the poor buttery toothpick ballerina when I read about The Hills. It's the perfect reference.
07/23/09
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07/23/09
Well, it's been a blast, sir. I remember when you were one of us chickens, cracking wise, until you became a single noun, "Richard" like "Cher" or "Stamos," yes, until the arrival of the eventual dual-named recap Goliath you are. I've watched you grow and gain a cult following, a mere Lolcait no more. It's nice that Gawker has provided this place for your spun tales of lapsed ladyhood, douche-regaled gents, and of course, those who sing badly, wear headbands, or use their housewifery vows to disgust, excite, or "Oh, no she ditn't" us. You will be missed. Our midweek will never be the same. As all things Gawker that must end, Commies, FNFF, Mr. Ketch. (Just kidding, Ketch. If you still exist. Was it you all along, Richard?!) you will forever be inscribed and heralded as one of Gawker's better ideas and brighter successes. (Did they offer you more money at least?) So, farewell, good buddy, and good luck. (I didn’t mean that to sound so totally like Smokey and the Bandit.) You know what I mean, though. An end to an era, certainly.
I think they're supposed to hang your jersey from the rafters now or something.
Bye,
SF
07/23/09
I often paste little snippets of Rags McTattershanty's story of class struggle into my gmail away messages, and they never fail to get IMs and comments.
07/23/09
07/23/09
Who will I lament to about The Wire's lack of accolades and awards? Just thought about that.
07/23/09
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07/23/09
Thank you. Thank you for the MacBeth allusion (and the Langston Hughes one yesterday, in the "Prep" recap!). Thank you for words that make my mind hum and my heart full.
You are a nuanced genius, Richard Lawson, with a wonderful sense of the absurd.
Best of luck,
Little Secrets
07/23/09
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07/23/09
bye richard!
07/23/09
Last night was psychotic with a capital WTF. Joey, you are a low-rent Puck, and that is just sad. CJ, maybe you should stop chillin out naked all the time if you don't have the goods to back it up. (And btw, it's impossible to bone every chick on spring break if you don't even possess the skills to get laid ONCE, in CANCUN, while you're STARRING IN A REALITY SHOW.) Aiyiiia...I don't know what to say to you. There's no i in crazy, but there are a lot of both in you.
02/18/09
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived, and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met here on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of it's skin as a final resting place for those who here gave their foreskin that this nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
But in a larger sense we can not dedicate - we can not consecrate - we can not hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled, here, have circumcised it far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember, what we say here, but can never forget what they did here.
It is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they have, thus far, so nobly carried on. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us - that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they here gave the last full measure of devotion - that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have been cut in vain; that this nation shall have a new birth of freedom; and that this government of the penis, by the penis, for the penis, shall not perish from the earth.
02/18/09
Order now!