Once again we will commence staring outside the sphere of videogames and into the world beyond. A world filled with ice palaces and internet shaming, with emotionally intelligent dogs and with people dressed up as tigers being fake-tranquilised… Think of me as your friendly milkman, except all the bottles are full of web links you can’t use in your cereal and I only bother showing up on Sunday.
This is not the Sunday Papers.
The furor over [Justine] Sacco’s tweet had become not just an ideological crusade against her perceived bigotry but also a form of idle entertainment. Her complete ignorance of her predicament for those 11 hours lent the episode both dramatic irony and a pleasing narrative arc. As Sacco’s flight traversed the length of Africa, a hashtag began to trend worldwide: #HasJustineLandedYet.
Gizmodo has a piece about how ice castles work and are made – which is where I saw the video – but there is also a short story called The Ice Palace by F Scott Fitzgerald. I love the language he uses. The story starts, “The sunlight dripped over the house like golden paint over an art jar…”
They cut the leaves into discs, which they bring back to their nest and chomp them up into tinier pieces so they can grow a fungus on the leaves, and they eat that fungus.
Yet we should not begrudge E. L. James her triumph, for she has, in her lumbering fashion, tapped into a truth that often eludes more elegant writers—that eternal disappointment, deep in the human heart, at the failure of our loved ones to acquire their own helipad.