the internets say what we’re thinking
America’s crotchety and rarely-seen literary sweetheart (and the Western states’ answer to JD Salinger) E. Annie Proulx emerges to retroactively, and vitriolically, live-blog the Academy Awards. Um, AWESOME.
To numb leftover Oscar-related pain, Matthew Baldwin reminds us the critics have often scorned what the Academy lauds.
‘kay, now I’m over it, I promise.
um, sort of awesome, but the part about three six mafia seemed sort of unnecessary and borderline . . . not racist, but unaware.
see, i really hate annie proulx and other new yorker writers. i hate their self-awareness and their wintry, minimalist prose, and their snobby east coast attitudes. and annie proulx has always struck me as a just plain mean writer. i can’t think of any other way to express it. there is no warmth to her at all. woman is a giant ice cube.
this is why i don’t want to see brokeback mountain. i don’t want my money going to annie proulx.
i’m serious.