https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/1981/05/04/safeway
I'm disgusted at the $100 digital-only subscription fee for the new yorker. i am interested in testosterone shots. not for myself, but to write about maybe.
Tao Lin writes very similarily to Frederick Barthelme, who invented "minimalist literature".
Every plot of a story has a good idea. Tao lin’s Richard Yates even has a good plot. It’s written blandly but it has an underlying idea or circumstance driving the story. In his case, superficially it’s about a bored couple whose ages don’t match up: a completely emotional minor with a bored male protagonist (but really he’s the antagonist), but if you go deeper it’s about an autistic vegan not realizing the legal consequences, and the mom trying to stop them but she is a victim of her own depression and mania. The story mimics reality, because there’s no ending. No names.
Some good lines:
- I want to apologize ahead of time for my inconsistency.
- I try to imagine myself standing in the shade of one of the buildings at Brentwood plaza. The summer heat is buzzing around me like a broken cooling unit. I feel anticipation to meet up with friends simultaneously with endless boredom. It is set down, block by block during the summer.
- I can’t wait to go downstairs and make instant noodles at 1 am, triggering the aging cat to wake and rub against my legs. On one hand, the noodles will make me feel good, but on the other hand, the slowly dying cat makes me feel bad.
- It’s funny how you can trick yourself into thinking you’ll never be sad again.