jeremy paul gordon

I work for Pitchfork and also write for the Wall Street Journal, GQ, Pacific Standard and others. E-mail me at jeremypaulgordon[at]gmail[dot]com or check out my vaguely professional personal website. I'm also on Twitter.

August 29, 2014 at 3:21pm
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Show Your Balls: How Cubs Fans Can Protest The Team's Scumbag Owner | VICE Sports →

I wrote this for VICE Sports about the Cubs, their bad business practices, and ways of dissent.

7:40am
12 notes
I’m replaying Final Fantasy 8. No, I don’t want to talk about it, not yet. But the game is insane, which I am only now realizing as an adult; it’s tailor made for moody teen boys, which is what I was when I first played it and loved it. Look at this, the gunblade, the weapon used by the main character, Squall. It’s a sword and a gun; it’s a sword with a gun in the handle; it’s a sword that you hack into someone, and then pull a trigger so they also get shot, with the gun. It’s two penis substitutes in one hand. So stupid, so great, I’m hooked, goodbye. 

I’m replaying Final Fantasy 8. No, I don’t want to talk about it, not yet. But the game is insane, which I am only now realizing as an adult; it’s tailor made for moody teen boys, which is what I was when I first played it and loved it. Look at this, the gunblade, the weapon used by the main character, Squall. It’s a sword and a gun; it’s a sword with a gun in the handle; it’s a sword that you hack into someone, and then pull a trigger so they also get shot, with the gun. It’s two penis substitutes in one hand. So stupid, so great, I’m hooked, goodbye. 

August 28, 2014 at 4:16pm
442 notes
Reblogged from pitchfork

That’s my problem with fucking trap music: People are rapping about killing niggas and selling fucking drugs all day, but it sounds happy—that’s bullshit. That shit’s stressful: You’re not going to make no fucking money, somebody’s going to end up dead, and you’re not going to be able to pay for his funeral because his mom probably don’t fuck with him like that, and he don’t got health insurance. So now you have to do a fucking car wash to pay for somebody’s funeral and bury him in some cheap shit. Where’s that song?

— 

Long Beach MC Vince Staples in our latest Rising interview. (via pitchfork)

I talked to Vince Staples.

August 27, 2014 at 2:32pm
11 notes
Reblogged from willystaley
willystaley:

Undercover as a Teen on YikYak. Things are going downhill fast.

willystaley:

Undercover as a Teen on YikYak. Things are going downhill fast.

8:18am
5 notes

Sometimes I can’t seem to do anything. The work is there, piled up, it seems to me an insurmountable obstacle, really out of reach. I sit and look at it, wondering where to begin, how to take hold of it. Perhaps I pick up a piece of paper, try to read it but my mind is elsewhere, I am thinking of something else, I can’t seem to get the gist of it, it seems meaningless, devoid of interest, not having to do with human affairs, drained of life. Then, in an hour, or even a moment, everything changes suddenly; I realize I only have to _do_ it, hurl myself into the midst of it, proceed mechanically, the first thing and then the second thing, that it is simply a matter of moving from one step to the next, plowing through it. I become interested, I become excited, I work very fast, things fall into place, I am exhilarated, amazed that these things could have ever seemed dead to me.

— Donald Barthelme, “Robert Kennedy Saved From Drowning”

August 26, 2014 at 7:40pm
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What I did on my birthday (26th edition)

  • Woke up at my normal time (6:30 AM)

  • Showered, made breakfast (egg & cheese on roll, garnished w/ salt & pepper & hot sauce)

  • Polished a friend’s cover letter for a job; used this act of charity to later abuse her over (what I deemed, perhaps unfairly, as) her poor personal decisions 

  • Dropped off my laundry

  • Emailed my uncle about what dates I’ll be in Amsterdam for

  • Commuted to work without any incident

  • Performed work—notable news stories include new SOPHIE collaboration, announcement of new Bob Dylan Basement Tapes box set

  • Intentionally played the Jim Jones cover of “Goin’ to Acapulco” three times in a row

  • On lunch break, considered breaking my New Year’s resolution by “treating myself” to the Taco Bell I just discovered is nearby the office

  • Considered the tangible sadness of “treating myself” to Taco Bell; got okay sushi instead (See.)

  • Purchased the 33 1/3 book on Kanye West’s My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy

  • Answered various Facebook messages, tweets, emails about my birthday

  • Allowed myself to be self-indulgent by establishing a newsletter about what I’ve been reading (please, subscribe!)

  • Walked with my co-worker to a coffee shop, where she purchased me a cookie

  • On the train home, began reading the 33 1/3 book; for the first time in a while, conspicuously angled the cover upward like a real goddamn asshole in the hopes that someone would maybe notice and strike up a conversation or at least give me a knowing look (no one did)

  • At home, read two chapters of The Looming Tower, which is the second most important book I’ve read in the last few months

  • Fell asleep, briefly

  • Watched the U.S. Open

  • Picked up my laundry

  • In another moment of self-indulgence, downloaded Final Fantasy 8 on my Playstation 3 so that I might recapture the feeling of being half my age for a few hours longer

  • Felt bad about this, like I’d neglected some time better used for writing and reading

  • Considered the importance of “treating myself” on my birthday

  • Considered that today was just another day; that perhaps all my days are data points on an uncharted map with no discerned purpose or pattern this close to the ground, that I could live the rest of my life and remember this as nothing more than just another nice day in Brooklyn, spent idly under the aegis of some existential terror before the ensuing zombie war, that the membrane between “treating myself” and “wasting my time” was maybe not as terrifyingly thin as I’d considered and maybe I should just shut up and play Final Fantasy for a few hours

  • Ordered Thai food

Overall, a good day. 

1:42pm
2 notes

My Beautiful Dark Twisted Library by Jeremy Gordon →

Hey, wish me a happy birthday by subscribing to this Tinyletter I’m going to try out about books I’ve been reading. I promise it will be entertaining/insightful, as with all content at airgordon dot tumblr dot com. 

9:27am
12 notes
Turned 26.

Turned 26.

August 19, 2014 at 7:46pm
9 notes

Staff Lists: The 100 Best Albums of the Decade So Far (2010-2014) →

For our 100 best albums of the decade so far list, I wrote about Robyn’s Body Talk (#34), Titus Andronicus’ The Monitor (#30) and Real Estate’s Days (#14).

Robyn was the hardest, because I don’t often write about pop and I’m always looking over my shoulder to make sure I’m not showing my ass. I mean, at one point of my life I would’ve said I liked the acoustic version of “Hang With Me” more than the fleshed-out one, which is probably enough to make me wear a big scarlet R on my chest. It came easier after I spent a few hours jumping around my apartment like a lunatic, flinging out imaginary punches to “Time Machine”. 

Titus Andronicus went fine because that album is stenciled so clearly in my memory—I could’ve gone a dozen ways, and I like where I went. (Here’s where I have to point out that, if you catch me with the right number of beers in my stomach, I will say that Local Business is better—which I only sort of believe.) Hard to believe this didn’t place higher; I don’t think there’s a better “rock” album of the last 5 years. (As in, an album that rocks; I don’t count the band I’m about to talk about.) 

Real Estate, though. Man, I love Real Estate. I honestly don’t get the antipathy people have for them—I think they do what they do so well, which is evoke a certain mood, a type of way, a feeling that’s hard to describe and harder to shake. I don’t know if it’s a weed thing or a staying quiet thing, but it hits me so strongly that I wanted to try and articulate that for people who are reflexively repulsed by everything they do. I was trolled enough by Michelle today (hey Michelle) that I don’t know if I succeeded, but that’s what I was going for.

Anyways, hopefully you enjoyed reading! There was so much great stuff on here, it was an honor to take part. 

August 13, 2014 at 10:02pm
14 notes

I constantly struggle with the idea that we have the right to fuck off however much we want. Whenever I’m not doing what I know I should be doing—or , at least, what I think I should be doing—I’m overcome with shame; it’s why I’ve labored to cut down on a lot of what I deem “unproductive” in the last year. Twitter is strange in the sense that it’s an external manifestation of these interior conflicts: I wonder if I should be playing videogames when what’s happening in Ferguson is going on, and then I see some followers tweeting about playing videogames and some followers tweeting about Ferguson. Suddenly, the former seems inescapably banal, as does using Twitter for anything but discussing the most serious thing.

As someone whose feed is mostly gibberish, it’s extremely sobering. But what’s more unsettling to me is the dissonance of doing both: the banality of tweeting about playing videogames co-existing alongside the seriousness of tweeting about Ferguson on the same person’s timeline. I wonder what it says about the immediacy of social media and The Way We Think that one can follow the other in a matter of minutes. I don’t know if it means we’re more comfortable juxtaposing the serious with the not so serious—which would be for the better, as we’re only human—or if it means we’re all attention-less hypocrites. (Somewhere in between, I’m sure.)