But, we've waged this war on Madison Avenue. I mean, so many of the commercials that come out there -- in the way of a message, what's really being said? Your life would be better if you could work a little less, if you didn't have to work so hard, if you could get home a little earlier, if you could retire a little faster, if you could punch out a little sooner, it's all in there, over and over, again and again. -- Mike Rowe---
Suppose that, at a given moment, a certain number of people are engaged in the manufacture of pins. They make as many pins as the world needs, working (say) eight hours a day. Someone makes an invention by which the same number of men can make twice as many pins: pins are already so cheap that hardly any more will be bought at a lower price. In a sensible world, everybody concerned in the manufacturing of pins would take to working four hours instead of eight, and everything else would go on as before. But in the actual world this would be thought demoralizing. The men still work eight hours, there are too many pins, some employers go bankrupt, and half the men previously concerned in making pins are thrown out of work. There is, in the end, just as much leisure as on the other plan, but half the men are totally idle while half are still overworked. In this way, it is insured that the unavoidable leisure shall cause misery all round instead of being a universal source of happiness. Can anything more insane be imagined? -- Bertrand Russleposted by delmoi at 4:42 AM on December 9, 2009 [99 favorites]
These assholes wanna treat me for a book that's about cripples?posted by morganw at 9:06 AM on December 9, 2009 [1 favorite]
I'm the best qualified person to write a book about cripples in music?
Kill yourself man, that's better than be a garage mechanic, I think
As long as I keep thinking that, you know, and why, what's the truth I keep saying the Genie will appear and say:
"hey, schmuck! It was really groovy all the time being that garage mechanic out in Islip",
and I'll say "Oh, wow" Why didn't you tap my on the shoulder earlier,
because you wouldn't have listened,
fair enough
The pressure's just too great. You're ab...you're absolu...they're too important. All of them. You go in the door. I..."I got to close this fucker, or I don't eat lunch," "or I don't win the Cadillac..." We fuckin' work too hard. You work too hard. - Dave Moss, Glengarry Glen Rossposted by porn in the woods at 10:36 AM on December 9, 2009
As advanced as we consider ourselves,posted by eggplantplacebo at 1:10 PM on December 9, 2009 [1 favorite]
we still allow ad copy to pander to us.
The scam exposed, it endures with our permission
as a parallel narrative running beside our lives
where we sit with an unbuttered baked potato
and a warm beer in multiple versions of Akron
leavened with foreclusure, heartburn and rain.
[...]
Their genius was to let us criticize them
until it became boring and obvious to do so.
Meanwhile they were up ahead, busily constructing a world
in which boring and obvious criticism
was about the worst thing you could do,
and when we reached them in time they were waiting
with thier multiple Akrons,
always one link ahead in the chain of consent.
...When he learned that I stuttered, he suggested I audition for the school play. (By “suggested” I mean “demanded.”) After stammering my way through a monologue, he stopped me.posted by Balonious Assault at 5:06 PM on December 9, 2009 [2 favorites]
“Mikey,” he said, “This character doesn’t stutter. Understand? Get into the character. You can stutter on your own time.” Without questioning the glibness of his direction, I simply followed it, and read the passage again—flawlessly. A light bulb flashed. New possibilities opened before me.
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posted by awfurby at 4:22 AM on December 9, 2009 [4 favorites]