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Archive for the ‘Media coverage’ Category

I’m going to retract the invective I wrote about Gawker a few days back, but just for this post. Gawker’s Rumormonger has a lengthy thread on Tucker Max that holds a true literary gem:

The more I thought about it, however, the more the fact that TM is basically lying in his stories began to bother me. His whole hook is that these stories are “true.” Anyone could just make this shit up and pass it off as fiction, it would get e-mailed around a few times and be forgotten. But Tucker presents it as true, that it actually happened to him, and it didn’t, he’s lying and that’s unacceptable. What gets Tucker his attention is people going “Man, I can’t believe that this actually happened to someone, that shit is so crazy!! I wish I were him.” In short, he was interesting because he represented something that many people wish they were but don’t really have the balls to be. Unfortunately, he wasn’t really that person, Tucker is more a persona than anything else.

The people I know who worship TM, do so because he’s “living proof” that a man need not be perfect to score. I’m not a frequent Tucker Max reader (to date, I’ve read but half of I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell) but I’ve always defended my fascination by arguing that reading his misogynistic stories allowed me to make important sociological-cum-psychological observations about male behavior. But what if his various books, blogs, stories–his entire mythology–were nothing more than a great big fiction?

More importantly, I wonder how many men have dicked their way to success using TM as a placebo?

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Willie, let me down!

Willie, let me down!

There’s been a lot of hubbub over Toby Keith’s country dumbness, but I thought I’d do my part to help set the record straight on Beer for my Horses:

Blumenthal never mentions that Keith sings “Beer For My Horses” with Willie Nelson, and it’s actually Nelson who sings the supposedly incriminating lyrics (as you can see at about the 1:43 mark of the music video).

Now Willie Nelson’s been called a lot of things—a pot head, a tax cheat, etc—but I don’t think anyone’s ever called Willie Nelson (who just recorded an album with Wynton Marsalis) a racist. So if Blumenthal wants to argue that Keith is pro-lynching, he needs to argue that Nelson is, too—which is something he doesn’t do.

Hat tip to Jesse Walker (one of my bosses at Reason).

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Bob Barr campaign v The World for the mantle of most emotive political ad:

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The New Republic’s

When black people dance, they dance like this. But when white people dance, they dance like this.

You have now essentially experienced every episode of “The Arsenio Hall Show.” You have also now essentially read the entirety of Stuff White People Like, a comedic blog which may have recently popped up in your inbox, forwarded to you by an enthusiastic friend (him or herself no doubt, like the blog’s author, white).

For those few who haven’t yet seen it, read about it in the Los Angeles Times, or heard about it on NPR, the blog was created by a 29-year-old aspiring comedy writer in L.A. and it is, by its own description, “devoted to stuff white people like,” presented as numbered, encyclopedia-style entries, e.g. #1 Coffee; #5 Farmer’s Markets; #69 Mos Def; or #79 Modern Furniture.

A few observers have already pointed out, rightly, that Stuff White People Like isn’t about white people in general, but rather about a very specific demographic sliver of left-leaning, city-dwelling white folk–in other words, people like me. These people have previously been trapped and tagged alternately as yuppies, or Bobos, or (by yours truly in New York magazine) grups. Basically, they embody the uneasy marriage of urban affluence and liberal (and/or progressive, and/or alternative, and/or “indie”) ideals. For example, there are plenty of white people in America who fairly obviously don’t like (#15) yoga or (#46) The Sunday New York Times or (#28) not having a TV. But it’s much funnier and, at least on its face, more original to say “White People” rather than “Yuppies.” I mean, if someone sent you a link to a blog called “Stuff Bobos Like,” would you even open it, let alone forward it to all your Bobo friends?

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Where were you when you learned Playgirl had boxed up the back issue with Burt Reynolds on the cover, turned off the coffee maker, and locked the door? I was crying in an office in Washington, D.C.

It’s not just a magazine with an ambiguous audience. (Does a picture of a dude stroking his fully erect wang appeal more to women or gay men?) It’s a feminist institution.

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