Somewhere, At Some Point, Somehow, Somebody Decided

The Falling Flakes Were Random And Without Purpose; The Snow Was Drunker Than She Was.

If I Basically View Criticism As Sort Of An Interesting Form Of Writing About Oneself, An Interesting Form Of Autobiography, Then I Don't Feel Any Pressure To Have Any Kind Of Authoritative, Universal Voice. That Kind Of Thing Has Never Interested Me.

Coldplay Songs Deliver An Amorphous, Irrefutable Interpretation Of How Being In Love Is Supposed To Feel, And People Find Themselves Wanting That Feeling For Real. They Want Men To Adore Them Like Lloyd Dobler Would, And They Want Women To Think Like Aimee Mann, And They Expect All Their Arguments To Sound Like Sam Malone And Diane Chambers. They Think Everything Will Work Out Perfectly In The End (just Like It Did For Helen Fielding's Bridget Jones And Nick Hornby's Rob Fleming), And They Don't Stop Believing Because Journey's Steve Perry Insists We Should Never Do That.

[on Political Correctness:] Any Intended Message Mattered Less Than The Received Message, And Every Received Message Could Be Interpreted In Whatever Way The Receiver Wanted.

Instead, We Were Given A Publication Called The Weekly Reader, Which Was Like A Newspaper For Four-foot Illiterates.