When an insecure new kid shows up at school, all the hyperactive squirming and unfunny, unoriginal mouthing of memes and stand-up comedy lines says, “Please, please like me. Please accept me.” I feel compassion for the kid, but at the same time I wish s/he’d shut up.
Whenever I read a Rick Levin review, I read in letters as big, blunt and clumsy as a billboard, “Please, please think I’m clever. I can’t tell the difference between clever, intelligent and meaningful, so I’m putting my all into clever. Please think I’m clever.”
I feel compassion for Rick, but at the same time I wish you’d put something else in that space in Eugene Weekly. If you’re not sure what, then just eat some alphabet soup and take a dump while putting on your best hipster-thoughtful face and snapping a selfie for Instagram. Time-stamp it so Rick can’t accuse you of plagiarism.
Did you notice that Rick didn’t make the Best of Eugene for his journalism? Total number of surprised people: zero, including both Rick and his grandmother. Tell him to tone down the desperate attempts at cleverness and he might claw his way to basic readability and leave the pretentiousness behind.