Turn out the lights. Rudy Giuliani’s presidential campaign is over. Well, Village Voice and practically every other publication in the city, it looks like you won’t have Rudy G. to kick around anymore. My advice: pile on the abuse while the man is in his final throws of political and cultural relevance. Kick the fucker while he’s down, NYMag! That’s the spirit!
Holy Fuck. Is the name of an undistinguished but entertaining dance-rock outfit from Canada. It was also my reaction when I saw this article on the Village Voice’s website. And when I read it….let me put it to you this way: this article is the most damning critique of Vampire Weekend ever written, althogh it’s an interesting cultural document for reasons other than that: Here we see the critical self-righteousness that propelled VW into the musical stratosphere morphing into critical self-loathing–what have we done?, screams Shepherd, who doesn’t seem to realize that her analysis is tinged with the same classism that makes her hate Vampire Weekend in the first place. That’s right, comp lit geeks: Multiple layers of irony and class antagonism, all within a damning Marxist critique that is itslef open to Maxist interpretations! Where’s Spivak when you need her?
Glad we agree. At least, up until the final sentence. Can we please ditch the Barnard-as-anachronism-that-must-constantly-struggle-to-keep-itself-relevant narrative? Really, people. It’s getting a little tired, and not a little bit obnoxious.
And here it is, your moment of Zen: “Gordon B. Hinckley, Class of 1932, wanted to become a journalist. After serving his mission, he planned to attend Columbia University for a graduate degree in journalism. He never did get there, though. One post-mission meeting at church headquarters led to another, changing his trajectory forever.”