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Defendants acknowledge and believe it is unfortunate that, during the course of clearing Zuccotti Park on November 15, 2011, books were damaged so as to render them unusable, and additional books are unaccounted for. Defendants further acknowledge and believe it unfortunate that certain library furnishings and equipment likewise were damaged so as to render them unusable, and other library furnishings and equipment may be unaccounted for. Plaintiffs and Defendants recognize that when a person’s property is removed from the city it is important that the City exercise due care and adhere to established procedures in order to protect legal rights of the property owners.
Poem by Dorothea Lasky, art by Kaori Mitsushima. From their collaboration The Blue Teratorn, a webBook from YesYes Books.
A train was only one of many analogies used to describe ReDigi’s service. At oral argument, the device was likened to the Star Trek transporter – “Beam me up, Scotty” – and Willy Wonka’s teleportation device, Wonkavision. (Tr., dated Oct. 5, 2012 (“Tr.”), 10:2-12; 28:15-20.)
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New pair of penny loafers gets me one step closer to my goal of dressing like a grandpa.
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I know I’m posting it a few days late, but this is the best email newsletter subject line I’ve ever seen.
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Now Sandra was lost in that backyard. Tom searched everywhere. He flagged down the police. He sat in a squad car and searched the Upper West Side blur. He called hospitals. As dusk fell over the park, he sat in the Sandra-less apartment, feeling helpless.
Late that night he sent e-mail messages — ”Sandra is missing, may need help” — to John Sargent, who succeeded him at St. Martin’s Press and is now the chief executive of Holtzbrinck Publishers, its parent company, and to Sally Richardson, the president of St. Martin’s. Maybe, he wondered, former colleagues could help with leaflets.
Mr. Sargent read the message before Monday’s dawn. By 8, an art director was designing a leaflet featuring Sandra’s photograph and Tom’s text. By 9:45, people were being assigned squares on a grid of the Upper West Side. By 10:30, an army of three-dozen was festooning the neighborhood with leaflets that asked: Have You Seen This Woman?
Last week, Sandra Danenberg McCormack, former senior editor at St. Martin’s Press, passed away from Alzheimer’s. In the Publishers Lunch notice, they linked to this New York Times story from 2006 on McCormack.
It’s a heartbreaking, but incredibly endearing story of people finding each other by way of books, which is also the only narrative I like. It is absolutely worth reading this morning.
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Meanwhile, at the MoMA, the curator naming exhibits continues to kill it.
“Books that would be better with the subtitle ‘How I Learned to Live and Love Again After Being Blinded by a Bear’” is a great new tumblr.
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I don’t think people read poetry because they’re interested in the poet. I think they read poetry because they’re interested in themselves.
“If someone asks me, ‘Why do you write?’ I can reply by pointing out that it is a very dumb question. Nevertheless, there is an answer. I write because I hate. A lot. Hard.” — William Gass, The Paris Review
William Gass’ latest (and last?) novel, Middle C is out today.
Oh god yes. William Gass for president of khakis and hatred.
So I thought to myself, you know what, you had a big birthday, why not get yourself a pair of handmade shoes? Now of course these things are super-expensive, and it’s not like I was looking for Daniel Day-Lewis to make them, but we’re still talking several thousands of dollars as an entry point. But why not? Don’t I deserve it? (I don’t, of course. I am pretty much a worthless human being who has inexplicably done far better than any just god would allow, which simply affirms my belief in the randomness and indifference of the universe—and this is not just me exaggerating for effect or anything…. I’m no fucking good. You know how you read about people who are super-depressed and they can’t get past the idea that they’re total drains on everyone around them and the world would be better off if they weren’t in it? Well, those people have serious medical conditions and need and deserve help. I just suck, and even trained professionals would be all, “Well, I’m not supposed to say this, but you’re right to feel that way.” Still, there’s something about a big birthday that makes you briefly consider yourself worthy of a reward.) Yes, I thought to myself, yes I do.
The answer is always buy the shoes.
I once had a breakfast meeting at one of the new breakfast places in my neighbourhood with someone of reasonable renown, and now can no longer return because of the unctuousness and obsequiousness and close-in touching with which I am greeted.
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