Equally appropriate at ominous interfaith Hamptons weddings and Division II football games in Virginia horse country, Pulitzer’s designs were light zephyrs that wafted stately debauchery. They paired well with Veuve Clicquot and anything that fits into a Duke coozie.
I’ll never forget how, many years ago, after another approach had failed to give relief, Matthew said ‘Dad, I know I’m going to heaven. Why can’t I just die and end this pain?’
Megachurch pastor and Christianity franchiser extraordinaire Rick Warren, recalling his 27-year-old son Matthew, who committed suicide Friday at the family’s home.
Yes, we’re supposed to be solemn and respectful at a moment of loss such as this. But judging from the *press statement Warren’s Saddleback Church put out about his son’s suicide and longstanding depression*, and speaking as a past sufferer of existential depression, there seems to be no acknowledgment on Rick’s part that maybe, just maybe, his lifelong evangelism promoting a Christian cosmological narrative of love and everlasting life, juxtaposed with a clear inability to connect with his son on the most basic of loving levels, might have further screwed Matthew up and made self-oblivion seem an attractive choice.
As evinced in the quote above. I hear a troubled young man asking for help squaring his upbringing and dogmatic beliefs with what he feels so acutely and painfully. I’m not sure what Rick feels, but given the context in which he offered this anecdote, it seems less like a mea culpa or an introspective “what-if” than a supremely craven impulse to deny any responsibility: “Oh, you know, he was a tortured soul with a death wish, what can you do, anyway he’s in a better place now.”
This, from a man made millionaire many times over for penning a book titled “The Purpose-Driven Life.”
Rick, I’m truly sorry for your loss. I truly wonder whether *you* are.
Dieting tips from a recently ousted Vogue editor.
Best use of stock photos evar of the day.
Is this the sort of third-party intervention that could push North Korea’s brinksmanship into full war mode? Or should we have faith that a totalitarian nation that can’t secure its Twitter probably needs to MacGyver its ballistic missile guidance systems with half a potato and the innards of a smuggled Tamagotchi?
…But despite the fact that it’s been a proven killing machine with a race fetish for nigh on half a century, the Aryan Brotherhood (the “Brand,” among people trying to sound cool) hasn’t quite gotten the heap of opprobrium from Americans that we reserve for Al Qaeda and women who defend birth control. Perhaps it’s because the Brand (#aryanbrotherhood) operates chiefly out of the US penal system, which is something akin to Vegas in the law-abiding American imagination: What goes on in supermax stays in supermax.
Perhaps it has to do with America’s general policy of giving angry white guys a mulligan, because freedom isn’t free, but is rather secured through the vigorous waving of Obama-monkey signs by gun-caressing mostly Anglo mostly male patriots who are constantly fighting the fascist government’s attempts to label them terrorists…
I’m doing some guest writing for Gawker this month.
Men’s room mirror, Riviera Beach, Florida.
Also: Glad to know I can buy The Postcolonial Gramsci from Walmart. Hegemony FTW!