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Massive Swelling Paperback – Jul 5 2001

4.1 out of 5 stars 22 customer reviews

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Harry Potter and the Cursed Child
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Product Details

  • Paperback: 256 pages
  • Publisher: Penguin Paperbacks; Reissue edition (June 8 2001)
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 014100195X
  • ISBN-13: 978-0141001951
  • Product Dimensions: 15.7 x 1.2 x 17.5 cm
  • Shipping Weight: 177 g
  • Average Customer Review: 4.1 out of 5 stars 22 customer reviews
  • Amazon Bestsellers Rank: #583,029 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
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Product Description

About the Author

Cintra Wilson is a columnist for and the San Francisco Examiner as well as a critically acclaimed playwright and screenwriter.

Customer Reviews

Top Customer Reviews

Format: Paperback
Why do I dig this book? It's because the names "Joey McIntyre" of the New Kids and "Mark E. Smith" of The Fall were but pages apart. I could only imagine the hapless aging New Kid (McIntyre) cowering in terror at the sight of a wizened Mancunian bloke (Smith) shambling towards him and murmuring some bollocks about co-optation by the media.
Seriously, Mark E. Smith as described by Ms. Wilson, is a sorry portrait. It reminded me of the day I fell out of love with a local hero celebrity of mine: Mark Ashwill of the Spitters. Ashwill and his band were so engergetic in their prime that I always went to a show just to be in their "halo." I expected every show to be an epiphanous "life-changing" experience. The last time I saw their flailing frames on stage, it was just that: life-changing. It just wasn't the epiphany I expected.
This last show I saw was at the Continental, on 3rd Av. and St. Mark's in the Lower East Side of Manhattan. The other three original Spitters - besides Mark - were absent. Whether they were dismissed or they departed on their own, I'll never know. In thier place were a bassist and a drummer: Both young, skinny and nervous. They visibly reared away as Ashwill careened about: replicating his old physical shtick for the umpteenth time. They couldn't complete a single song. Ashwill would bark and rant, hurl his mic stand at the crowd (Punk RAWK, dude... ungh.) He slammed into the drum kit and bellowed, "EVERYTHING'S BREAKING! EVERYTHING'S BREAKING!" He continued howling that phrase even after he tore the XLR cable out of the mic. Towards the end, he met the crowds stare with a hang-dog expression that asked: This isn't even fun for you, is it?
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Format: Paperback
In the world of super-hype and fame worship, in a time when all you have to do to prove yourself 'worthy' is to become famous sounds a voice of reason. That voice belongs to Cintra Wilson. Her book is a biting, honest, hilarious and overall amazing look at what the culture of fame has done to us as a society. From the seemingly innocent to the downright scary, all aspects of the need for fame and fortune is brought to light.
Cintra has no fear of stepping on toes or calling things what they really are. This is a great book for anyone who wants to see beyond the marketing and understand what the world of Hollywood is really all about.
"Celebrity is a virulent killer of fundamental human values, and unless Southern California goes up in a shiny moshroom cloud on Judgement Day, the only way to control it is to quit believing in it...
We must stop believing that famous people are better and more beautiful and interesting than other people. They're not. They're just like other human beings, only advertised, massively into major leading brands, like dog food or shaving cream."
-Cintra Wilson
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By A Customer on April 25 2003
Format: Paperback
Cintra Wilson is a hilarious writer. There's no doubt about it. She takes on her topic with scathing snark. She is apoplectic about the celebrity culture that has consumed America, but she does too much finger pointing (her middle one) and not enough analysis of the reasons why save impugning the "maladjusted, bacon-eating" rural and suburban population that isn't as erudite as her and her cocktail set, which she loathes as well. Also missing is an alternative aside from Stop, and Don't watch, don't look anymore, Stop feeding the monster with your infatuation. And too often she comes off as an ersatz Camille Paglia and as someone incapable of dealing with what David Foster Wallace calls "the hazards of freedom". For someone who proclaims to be ultra-liberal and Green-blooded Ms. Wilson is one of the most intolerant people I've ever read, yet I did laugh with her, and after reflecting what I read I laugh at her and her misery. But, hey, she has to be applauded for voicing her opinion that Napalm be dropped on Los Angeles. I second that.
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Format: Paperback
First reading H.L. Mencken - Prejudices, First Series - way back in grad school, I felt as though I were under rhetorical and ideational assault. Over and over again, ambushed by Mencken's relentless pushing prodding needling stratospheric chthonic ribald mocking joyously playful yet deadly serious language, finding it so jaw-droppingly, startlingly funny that I'd be howling out loud at 2 a.m., waking wife, kids, to whom I'd try to read his inimitable raillery against mountebanks, poltroons, Comstockery, "uplift," and the full panoply of the sins and sinners of his age. Mencken's rhetorical excessiveness, his superabundance of sinuous, surprising, jazz-like prose (he wouldn't have liked that simile) thrilled me, made me want more, made me a devotee for life. And after pondering long and hard, the only writer I can today imagine comparing to Mencken is Cintra Wilson - but as a Mencken on a delirious cocktail of speed, acid, extra bile for a less genteel audience, and pther mystery elixirs that may be swirling through the stream of her imagination. But, my God, this is simply startling, uproarious, deadly accurate journalism.
It begins with a brilliance of eye. Wilson sees segments of the spectrum that the rest of us are blind to - great journalism begins in great observation. I would quote, extensively, but I don't want to diminish the pleasures of discovery for any who might pick up this book. Let me simply say that Wilson has a long skewer and, impaled like stacked shishkabob, are a long list of deserving (and deservingly easy) victims, icluding Cher, Bruce Willis, Ike Turner, the dancing-singing-boy groups, and Keanu Reeves; surprising appearances by Jack Nicholson, Jack Palance, and others, and, perhaps most unforgettably (and a most timely inclusion), Michael Jackson and "the nose.
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