"We need to use the n word while quoting racists so people will know how anti-racist we are, and I don't care if you think that's racist" is a seriously strange take.
Like, yes, I understand that there are arguments to be made that articulating that word is sometimes an antiracist practice. I find them far less compelling than I used to, but I understand them. But this ... isn't that.
Because the argument for quoting slurs in full is an argument about the relationship between the person doing the quoting and the person hearing them doing it—it's an argument about how to best get across an antiracist argument TO YOUR LISTENER.
If your listener is going to be mad at you for quoting a slur, then you can't claim that you're quoting the slur for the listener's benefit.
And if some of your listeners are going to be mad, and others are going to be grateful (or enlightened, or whatever), then what you're saying is that incurring that anger is a calculated decision—that you think it's worth it to piss some people off in order to assist others.
(Some folks in my mentions are suggesting Kasparian is saying that she thinks it was appropriate to quote the full word when she did it, but that she agrees that it wouldn't be good practice today. I don't see any support for that reading in the tweet.)
"I used to enunciate vicious slurs when quoting bigots, and I considered it antiracist practice when I did it, but I wouldn't do it today" is a pretty straightforward position. But it's not the position she's expressing.
BTW, I phrased the embedded tweet imprecisely. What I should have said was that "We need to use the n word while quoting racists to be effective antiracists, and I don't care if you think that's racist" is a seriously strange take.
Wartching Desperately Seeking Susan with the kid, and am overcome by a vertiginous wave of longing for the shitty downtown magic club. If that place existed, I’d be there twice a week.
It’s like Marie’s Crisis, Spain, and the Coney Island freak show had a baby.
This is our second or third time watching it, and was the outcome of a 20-minute “what to watch tonight” negotiation.
Lots of people confused by this claim, and with good reason—the data Yglesias used came from a study that estimated population once a century. His chart, and particularly his tweet, doesn't reflect that.
So yes, London was probably the biggest city in the world in 1900, but no, that doesn't mean it was the biggest from 1900 to 2000, or that Tokyo "suddenly" took over that year.
Everything sucks, nothing's getting better, and it increasingly feels to many people like nothing CAN get better. So OF COURSE if you ask people "how are you doing?" questions they're going to respond in tones of despair.
(To put it another way, if you click through to @Nate_Cohn's thread, I think he's got it mostly right, though I'd underscore existential despair more than he does.)
I also think Cohn is 100% right to say that how people respond to questions about the economy aren't solely, or in many cases even primarily, about how they feel about the economy right now.
This question is grounded in pretended ignorance of the obvious reality that Biden had a list of potential justices available to him well before he won the nomination, and that his people have been refining and tweaking that list on an onging basis over the last year.
The Biden administration is considering all possible nominees. They've been considering all possible nominees since months before he won. Biden's longstanding commitment to putting a Black woman on the Court is not mutually exclusive with a consideration of all possible nominees.
It's just a profundly silly, disingenous, and destructive way of framing the question.
I was just looking up how many times humans have landed craft on the moon since Apollo, and stumbled across this—the first image ever made of the far side.
It literally is, old man.
Someone in replies to Candace Owens' moon-landing-is-a-hoax thread was asking why we'd never gone back since Apollo, and I was curious about the number.
The best, most enduring children's literature often has an anarchic, befuddling formal quality. It appears to embrace the structures of the lesser works that kids are immersed in, and then smashes them for no obvious reason.
Goodnight Moon is my favorite example of this. On its surface, it's a narrator listing the stuff that's in a room, then saying good night to each thing. The soil from which a zillion anodyne board books have sprung.
But hold the lists in Goodnight Moon up against each other, and you discover that they're not parallel at all. They clang and slip and bounce around in ways no modern editor would ever allow.