Schlepping Out

To paraphrase a famous math textbook: David Foster Wallace wrote a cruise ship story for Harper’s in 1996 and died in 2008, by his own hand. In 2014 Caity Weaver spent a week on a Paula Deen cruise and so did Taffy Brodesser-Akner, but fortunately both still live. There was also Imogen West-Knights’ “Gone Girl Cruise” story, which it’s unclear whether anyone survived. Now it is Gary Shteyngart’s turn to write about taking a cruise, and he’s filed a self-deprecating 9,400 word jeremiad on the cult of cruising and the petty cruelties of American class hierarchy which I can’t believe The Atlantic didn’t title “Schlepping Out.”

Cruise stories are like gospels—the basic structure is inherently compelling but they start to feel a little same-ey after you’ve read one or two, and you suspect most of the details were made up. It’s hard to imagine taking another crack at the gospel after John had his say (even if it was largely Jesus fanfic) or writing another cruise story after Caity had hers. But the ASME award dominating Atlantic Magazine paid nineteen thousand of Lee Greenwood’s Holy U.S. American dollars to put Gary Shteyngart in a mall-facing suite on history’s largest cruise ship, so he did his best.

It would be so easy to act cool, like I’m too good for yet another cruise ship story. But I devoured every word of this one without a pause, and I think it’s time to admit to myself and the god of my understanding that I’m powerless against a cruise ship story. I’ll keep drinking that garbage as long as the budgets of upscale current-affairs magazines will underwrite its production. This one is worth it for the epilogue, which starts: “The maiden voyage of the Titanic… at least offered its passengers an exciting ending to their cruise.”

☴ ROOM FOR DISAGREEMENT:

Auntie Joyce is not a fan.

According to The Athletic, Nike and Major League Baseball don’t agree on whether it’s a problem (and if so whose problem it is) that professional baseball’s new uniforms provide a nearly unimpeded view of every player’s Wonderboy. And to be fair, some fans are unbothered at the addition of translucent trousers to what has been described to me as “a very butt-first sport.” Maybe we should just update the classics and roll with it, for the good of the game?

PEMDAS is woke now. “Dear Abby: The farmstead I bought came with a morbid surprise.” Skull issue, if you ask me. A Louisiana bill proposes hard labor for librarians who dare to join the American Library Association. Elon Musk’s social network X pioneers free blue checks for “influential member[s] of the community.” Twitter could never have done this. The Links I Would Gchat You Guide to (In)Famous Internet Essays. Caitlin Dewey is putting in the work to bring vital internet history to the people. No Labels: no platform, no candidate, no campaign. Looks like Joe Lieberman’s fake political party was buried with him and nobody will miss it. What in the Dr. Seuss is this, NPR? “Try to employ curiosity gap and not give away too much in the inbox. We want them to click to read the piece,” reports the New York Times.

Finally: Let’s head into the civilized weekend with a heist.

Hell yeah. HELL YEAH. They said you couldn’t heist anymore, because of woke. Look like they were wrong! Let’s check the mood meter:

Today’s Song: Simian Mobile Disco, “Hot Dog.” This one’s for the Discord, from Music Intern Sam. How many hot dogs do you eat a year?

Good to see work in here from Senior Managing Editor for Graphics and Fanfic Alison Headley again (to be clear, it’s the good one not the mood meter). It’s been a while and I have no one to blame for that but myself. This feels like a short post but I guess you’ve got nine and a half kilowords of cruise ship story to get through so you better get started.

Premium Pinnacle Status, Diamond, and Diamond Plus subscribers: look for an open thread tomorrow. Free readers, please hold very still and remain calm for your mandatory subscription pitch, starting in 5… 4… 3…