I’ve run pitchfork.tumblr.com for almost a year now. I had several posts up and I followed 28 people with the account. All my posts are now gone and my address has been changed to pitchfork1.tumblr.com.
Actually when Tumblr released the domain to Pitchfork Media, pitchfork.tumblr.com was completely dormant and empty. There were not “several posts,” on that account, there were zero.
Recently, one of my friends who is subscribed to my pitchfork tumblr was surprised to see a sudden change in the content I was posting.
That’s because Tumblr stole my subdomain and gave (sold?) it to Pitchfork Media Inc.
As per our policy, we emailed this account’s address to inquire about the dormant account. After you failed to respond for 72 hours, we released the domain.
No content was deleted and no accounts were suspended.
So we are clear, Tumblr will release dormant domains to trademark holders pursuant to the law, just as all other web services, but never without advanced notice.
If there was some kind of content quality threshold that failed to be met which led to my blog’s demise, then 98% of Tumblr should now be blank.
This is a disappointing response from the Staff. Snarky, then bureaucratic, ending with a petty neener-neener finish.
“To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing it’s best night and day to make you everybody else means to fight hardest battle, which any human being can fight.”—E. E. Cummings (via surreptitiouslyamazing)
“Valentine’s Day” is being marketed as a Date Movie. I think it’s more of a First-Date Movie. If your date likes it, do not date that person again. And if you like it, there may not be a second date.”—Roger Ebert, dispensing dating advice in his review of Valentine’s Day. (via bensgrabbag)
“Hello, babies. Welcome to Earth. It’s hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It’s round and wet and crowded. At the outside, babies, you’ve got about a hundred years here. There’s only one rule that I know of, babies—God damn it, you’ve got to be kind.”—
And the weirdest part was that I sold out at every reading. I’d love to believe that this was because people were just blown away by my incandescent prose. But I think it had more to do with a kind of communal feeling. Readers liked the fact that the book wasn’t available everywhere.
If this were a traditional publishing endeavor, the next question would be how to get the book a “bigger platform,” meaning a place in the great Barnes-&-Noble-Amazon-Kindle-i-Pad-clusterfuckosphere. But because this is something much more personal, I decided – nah.
I was cool with Harvard Bookstore selling it. But other than that, Minute, Honey is available only at readings. My reasoning is pretty simple: I want the book to be an artifact that commemorates a particular human gathering, not a commodity.
This is how I’ve always felt about writing screenplays—that having a spirited read-through with friends would be more satisfying than selling the damn thing.
“Try never mentioning your spouse, your family, your home, your girlfriend or boyfriend to anyone you know or work with - just for one day. Take that photo off your desk at work, change the pronoun you use for your spouse to the opposite gender, guard everything you might say or do so that no one could know you’re straight, shut the door in your office if you have a personal conversation if it might come up. Try it. Now imagine doing it for a lifetime. It’s crippling; it warps your mind; it destroys your self-esteem. These men and women are voluntarily risking their lives to defend us. And we are demanding they live lives like this in order to do so. Yes, Admiral Mullen. It is about integrity. It’s also about a minimum of human respect.”—Andrew Sullivan, responding to Rich Lowry who said it’s no big deal to live hiding one’s sexual orientation. (via apsies) (via chuckmore)
“The myth of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl was pushed to its most egregious extreme in Garden State, where beautiful Natalie Portman “redeems” a self-pitying, thoroughly unlikeable wimp (Zach Braff) by inexplicably falling in love with him, in spite of his rancid self-absorption and unseemly level of pussitude. In fact, she enables his bullshit, taking out a bottle to preserve his single, precious tear when he finally works up the nerve to cry over paralyzing his mother back when he was a kid. What makes the central relationship in Garden State even more unbearable (though, to the film’s credit, oddly realistic) is that Portman—a childish hipster doofus who mistakes goofy noises and arm-flailing for iconoclastic acts of individuality—is equally unworthy of love. So perhaps it’s best that they end up together rather than poisoning other, more decent people.”—The ugliest truth: 22 romantic-comedy characters who don’t deserve love | Film | Inventory | The A.V. Club