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Kitschen Sink


To a college student, everything that sucks is marvelous. It’s wry to like that which is dreadful, and odd, and bad.

That used to be a straightforward thing. You’d search around for something nobody wanted, and for good reason, and want it in spades. If you were a tastemaker, pretty soon everybody would want one too, and then you’d move on to browner pastures.

That well has been poisoned, of course, because instead of trying really hard to make something good, and failing miserably in just the right manner, manipulative viral tastemakers are now trying to make something deliberately crummy that seems accidentally crappy. I can’t like that stuff, because it is like going hunting in those game preserves you read about where they drug some wild beast and keep it drooling and tottering around in a corral and the idle rich show up and cap them like a mob hit. I like my kitsch free range, thank you.

This is bad. Compellingly bad. Interplanetary, extraordinary bad. Hey look, homely women in ill-fitting reform school prom dresses are banging away at a song like it’s a railroad spike –a song that could be entered as exonerating evidence in a rage murder trial –while a little greasy troll with some sort of nervous affliction beats an upright doghouse like it was a puppy next to a stained carpet.

It’s sublimely bad. Let’s like it.

Day: December 12, 2006

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