Vast swaths of American youth aspire to be the next Hunter S. Thompson. Most of them seem to have come to this noble goal by watching Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas with Johnny Depp. After a certain point, the mention of Hunter S. made me want to weep. One boy sent me a video of himself pretending to be his girlfriend’s bra, walking around with his hands cupped over her bare breasts. Hunter S. might have liked that, actually—but it wasn’t writing.
I got increasingly fed up with hearing about their sex lives, the banal assumptions reflected in what was “crazy” to them, the childhood victories that convinced them they were bound for penmanship and glory. They crowed about their “passion for words” but made the grammatical mistakes of the poorly read. I tired of their repeated demands that we give them a job because they were excited and enthusiastic. (Excited about what, exactly? Music! What music? All music! And words! Their passion for music and words!) When I got to the 700th “I want to inspire people,” I wrote in my notes, “I hate you.” They claimed to be “inspired” by Hunter S. Thompson—but not inspired to mock hypocrisy and greed, not inspired to rage at a world that needed their rage to wake it up. They were just “inspired.” They were inspired by fame. They were excited to join the passionate and musical adventure in the sky that was a job at Rolling Stone.” —Michelle Chihara, I’m From I’m from Rolling Stone: Fear, Loathing, and MTV, n+1, April 9, 2007
Forms: 16- rhyparograph, 17 ryparograph. [rhyparographos painter of low or sordid subjects (Pliny) ruparos] filthy, dirty (rupos] dirt, filth, of unknown origin + -[aros], extended form of -[ros], suffix forming adjectives) +-[graphos] -GRAPH comb. form. Compare French rhyparographe (1611 in Cotgrave as riparographe). Compare slightly earlier RHYPAROGRAPHER n.
Greek *[ruparographos] is apparently not attested.
The sense ‘a painting’ in English is probably due to the influence of LITHOGRAPH n., PHOTOGRAPH n., etc.]
A painter of sordid or distasteful subjects; = RHYPAROGRAPHER n. Also occas.: a painting of such a subject.” —OED draft entry, June 2010
Doing beautiful things is its own reward,” he says, when I ask what enjoyment he can still derive from a trick he has pulled off many thousands of times before. “If you do something that you’re proud of, that someone else understands, that is a thing of beauty that wasn’t there before – you can’t beat that.” He gulps suddenly, like a snake trying to swallow an egg, and when he speaks again his voice has a wobble to it.
“There is that great line in Sunday in the Park with George,” he says, referring to Stephen Sondheim’s 1984 musical about Georges Seurat, “ ’Look, I made a hat where there never was a hat’.” He falls silent again and, as unexpectedly as those coins turn to fish, big fat tears start rolling down his cheeks. “I can’t say that line without choking up, because it states, in profoundly poetic terms, what I have always wanted to do with my life. It’s so simple and so funny, but boy it hits me deep.”” —Benjamin Secher, Penn and Teller interview, Telegraph, July 9, 2010
I thought about the week before, to a night when K___ was promoting (a word, like networking, that means absolutely nothing and yet so many bad things) a party at a club by the High Line. Inside was another multitude, this one having spent its day working at a coveted internship, or for their mom’s friend—exhausted, depleted, eager to preen and regenerate. Tall, proud, dumb looking boys leaned against their tables, faces puffing with drinks and the hope of licking someone.
Were you to transcribe the conversations taking place, they would all be typed out in Comic Sans. Nobody in New York ever wants to be where they are at any given moment, and so bars and clubs serve mostly as a loud, dark place to text other people and ask what they’re up to. All mouths were constantly agape—I was greeted with a hoarse chorus of HeyyEyeyyHeyyyHeyyyyyyyyyy!” —Diary of an Unemployed Class of ‘10 Philosophy Major in New York City, Part 3 - The Awl