fuck yeah, chuck klosterman

There are many mornings when I feel certain that the first persepective is irrefutably true: I wake up, I feel the inescapable oppression of the sunlight pouring through my bedroom window, and I am struck by the fact that I am alone. And that everyone is alone. And that everything I understood seven hours ago has already changed, and that I have to learn again. I guess I am not a morning person.

Both groups perceive themselves as the oppressed minority who are fighting against dominant public opinion, although I suppose that has become the way most Americans go through life.

I will pray that she finds endless happiness in life, and I will always secretly hope that she never likes another man as much as she likes me, even if she ultimately loves that man more. And we will never see each other again.

In baseball and sex, cliches are usually true: Pitching beats hitting, and people always want to be loved by anyone who doesn’t seem to care.

It’s far easier to write why something it’s terrible than why it’s good. If you’re reviewing a film and you decide “This is a movie I don’t like,” basically you can take every element of the film and find the obvious flaw, or argue that it seems ridiculous, or like a parody of itself, or that it’s not as good as something similar that was done in a previous film. What’s hard to do is describe why you like something. Because ultimately, the reason things move people is very amorphous. You can be cerebral about things you hate, but most of the things you like tend to be very emotive.

It doesn’t matter what you can do if you don’t know why you’re doing it.

Sometimes I think children are the worst people alive. And even if they’re not- even if some smiling toddler is as pure as Evian- it’s only a matter of time.

Let’s face it: Sadness and evil are always more believable than happiness and love.

Like all self-destructive creatures, she completely meant these words, but only while she spoke them.