We’re hiring PAID interns for FALL 2014. Details below:
TheWeek.com is seeking driven, enthusiastic web editorial interns to work out of our Manhattan office for 2-3 days a week from late August/early September through December. The ideal candidate is a bright undergraduate or graduate student pursuing a career in journalism who possesses solid research and writing skills and a knack for all things web.
Interns will gain hands-on experience in a digital newsroom by assisting The Week’s team of editors in researching, pitching, writing, and promoting stories. Other responsibilities include moderating comments, building articles in the CMS, and other aspects of basic web production.
Location: New York City Pay: $8/hour Contact Name: Samantha Rollins
Please send a cover letter, resume, availability, and two writing samples to Rollins@theweek.com with the subject line “WEB EDITORIAL INTERNSHIP.”
“The home is an example of what social scientists call a “sacred space,” one that we fill with material things but also with meaning. It’s where we engage in private family rituals — eating, praying, loving — and it’s where we let our guard down. It’s a place where we set the terms and have control. Failing to govern that space and keep it safe creates a feeling of not only insecurity but profound inadequacy.”—
“Libraries are actually an invaluable public and social resource that provide so much more than simple shelves of books… A world without public libraries is a grim one indeed, and the assault on public libraries should be viewed as alarming.”—
At its best, streaming video offers the potential for discovery — the chance to track down and reappraise a hidden gem which you’d never have seen otherwise. For the month of August, I’ll be counting down movies that were panned by critics when they were originally released, and arguing that they’re actually worth a second look.
Let me warn you upfront: you should not take The Comedy's title at face value. Stars Tim Heidecker and Eric Wareheim built their careers on offbeat showsTom Goes to the Mayor and Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job!. But The Comedy is a different animal altogether — an uncomfortable, almost unbearably alienating film, with several scenes that are so cringe-inducing that even the darkest sense of humor might struggle through them.
Take this scene, in which the film’s protagonist, Swanson, antagonizes a group of black men at a bar:
The Comedy follows Swanson and his equally unlikable friends through a series of similarly uncomfortable encounters as they meander through life in Brooklyn. The film is so alienating that it almost dares you to stick with it — so it’s no great surprise that it scored just 47 percent positive reviews on aggregator Rotten Tomatoes.
I’m not going to pretend that The Comedy is an easy film to watch. But as punishing as it can be, it also offers an unflinching depiction of an extremely specific and instantly recognizable generational type: aging, aimless losers who approach the world through a veil of irony so thick that no genuine emotion can seep in:
The Comedy feels like a acid-laced eulogy for the hipster — an angry film about an angry person who has, despite all his privilege and opportunity, failed to achieve any kind of satisfaction or happiness, and has no one to blame for it but himself. By the time you finish, you’ll probably be angry too— but that’s kind of the point.
“Even in the most masculine moments of Sex, Lies, and Videotape, Graham and John are powerless. They have their own particular techniques to assert their superiority — Graham’s seductive curiosity, John’s roaring sense of entitlement — and each is easily defeated… They both push the women to a new understanding of themselves, and suffer the results.”—
“That’s the problem with current thinking about abortion: A culture of life — one that is truly hospitable not only to the birth of children, but to pregnancy, motherhood, and family life — must be outfitted with legislation that protects pregnancy and mothers as strenuously as it does infants.”—
“Bacall recalls that her husband’s arm and hand were “swollen to four times their normal size” and a “terrible black thing [was placed] in his mouth to keep him from swallowing his tongue.” As she observed him, “he looked so unlike Bogie — still mercifully unconscious… enclosed in another world, protected not by me, but by those raised bedsides, with those bottles and tubes sustaining life.””—Lauren Bacall’s remarkably honest account of Humphrey Bogart’s death