Okay.
This is something that has bugged me for-fucking-ever, and that most authors, I think, don't actually, consciously think about. Hell, I don't like to think about it, if only because anthropology as a discipline has gone so ass-over-teakettle about identifying potential ~influences on one's work that you practically can't get to the essay
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Or, if you like titles, In Defense of Gabe Saporta:
Because Gabe leaks his issues out of every pore. Lyrics, interviews, all of it. His father was a doctor, an actual physician in Uruguay. And I'm not familiar with the standard of living there, but I assume it's higher for a physician in Uruguay than for an unskilled laborer in New Jersey. So, Gabe comes from there to the US with his family and goes from being one class to a dramatically different one AND learning a new language AND being an elementary/middle schooler all at the same time. This is big scary stuff ( ... )
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You know what? I bet he is a big mess (I mean, okay, that's kind of for stylistic purposes, because it's kind of obvious that he IS a big mess) and I bet he thinks he's a sellout, but I unironically love and admire him as much as it's humanly possible to love and admire someone who I've never even talked to. He, and his band, are fantastic performers, and they all ( ... )
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