micah holmquist's irregular thoughts and links
Welcome to the musings and notes of a Cadillac, Michigan based writer named Micah Holmquist, who is bothered by his own sarcasm.
Please send him email at firstname.lastname@example.org.
Holmquist's full archives are listed here.
Sites Holmquist trys, and often fails, to go no more than a couple of days without visiting (some of which Holmquist regularly swipes links from without attribution)
Blogs that for one reason or another Holmquist would like to read on at least something of a regular basis (always in development)
Friday, April 02, 2004
The point of life
In an annoying article on "adult clothes" from this past Sunday's New York Times, Ginia Bellafante writes:
In the 1990's, men and women in their early 20's, who moved their Pearl Jam collections from shared apartment to shared apartment without any five-year plan, were endearingly called slackers. Slacking was considered its own career - and not a particularly bad one as it did not preclude you from dating Winona Ryder. But that phrase has long since fallen out of vogue, the colloquialism replaced by the gravitas of psychologists' assignation.Fuck this gen X gen y hybrid rainbow party let's all be optimistic and happy shit, as any good slacker like me knows, life is supposed to hard and difficult and sad and rainy and not happy and bad and awful and you aren't supposed to smile and irony is important but not nearly as important as the one thing that makes life worth living and the dream upon which I base my life - the possibility of dating Winona Ryder.
Now I know what you are thinking. Come on Micah, how can you think you have a chance of dating Ms. Ryder? Aren't you crazy?
Well maybe I am crazy, but I am more optimistic about the possibility of Ms. Ryder meeting me and falling in love with me than I have been ever.
Here's my impeccable logic... Atrios once linked to me and this past Wednesday Atrios appeared on The Majority Report, a show which is hosted by Janeane Garofalo and Sam Seder and Garofalo of course was a part of the greatest not really good movie ever, Reality Bites (Ben Stiller, 1994).
It all makes sense.