The experience made them even more grateful that they’d chosen to do things the way they had. The costumes granted them a measure of freedom that their friends, people like Kanye West, had long since lost. It’s what allowed the two of them to sit out here on the sidewalk, sipping strawberry lemonade, while Daft Punk was out in the ether somewhere, fighting crime, playing music, or doing whatever superheroes do when their alter egos are somewhere else.
“Here’s the thing,” he said. “Your mama’s dead. And you’re forty years old. And I have a warrant out for my arrest. And I am addicted to getting tattoos. And our air conditioner’s broke. And you are drunk every day. And all I ever want to do is fight and go swimming. And I am addicted to Keno. And you are just covered in hair. And I’ve never done a load of laundry in my life. And you are still technically married to my drug dealer. And I refuse to eat beets. And you can’t sleep unless you’re sleeping on the floor. And I am addicted to heroin. And honest to God, you got big tits but you make a real shitty muse. And we are in Beaumont, Texas.”
The first time we got married, we eloped. I guess we eloped the second and third times, too, but maybe that depends on your definition of elopement. Is it just getting hitched without telling anyone you’re going to do it? Or maybe it depends on your definition of marriage.
“It takes so long to build equity in the brewery, once you’ve got it — especially if your name is on it,” he said. “Do you really want to sell that to some private-equity people that are just there to make a bunch of money and flip it? What does that do for your legacy? That’s not why I spent 30 years building the business.”
Earl saw his dad, upon his return from Samoa, but is not wordy on the experience. “It was crazy,” he says. In the New Yorker article, when Earl’s father was asked whether or not he was familiar with his son’s work, he said he was not. The poet was disinclined to pry, reasoning that when Earl was ready to share music with him, he would. Earl finds reassurance in his father’s response. “I fucked with him after that,” he says, punching a palm for emphasis.
For all its storage capacity, the Internet has a surprisingly short memory. New Internets turn over rapidly, outdating and devouring any recollection of its past iterations. Users might remember sites like AOL or AltaVista, or IRC chats, in name or as punch lines (“You’ve Got Mail!”), but we’re out of luck if we want to go back and revisit the content that was being produced and consumed under those shells. And so, present-day Internet users and the micro-communities they inhabit perpetually retrace the steps of their predecessors.
OH MAN SANDBOX AUTOMATIC
Mark Zuckerberg and Kevin Systrom on What Really Happened When Facebook Bought Instagram | Vanity Fair
Dorsey says the news was harder for him to take, as he felt he had developed a bond with the younger entrepreneur. “I found out about the deal when I got to work and one of my employees told me about it, after reading it online I got a notice later that day since I was an investor,” he says. “So I was heartbroken, since I did not hear from Kevin at all. We exchanged e-mails once or twice, and I have seen him at parties. But we have not really talked at all since then, and that’s sad.” Dorsey’s last Instagram shot perhaps said the proverbial thousand words about it all: a picture of an empty Muni bus.
LOLOL Silicon Valley People, man.
Enough waitressing. Enough guilt. Enough anorexia. Enough pretending I don’t have a hearing problem. Enough numbing myself. Enough sleeping to numb myself. Enough eating to numb myself. Enough starving to numb myself. Enough drinking to numb myself. Enough saying what I don’t want instead of what I do want. Enough sex with people I don’t love or even like very much. Enough living in the past. Enough worrying about the future. Enough wearing 6 inch platform shoes because I feel being short means I am inadequate.