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Things to read this week.

Punch: Who Is The Millennial Drinker?


In the ultimate 1980s teen angst film, John Hughes’ The Breakfast Club, five high school students belonging to different social cliques—“a brain, a beauty, a jock, a rebel and a recluse”—are forced to spend a day together under one roof serving detention. Over the course of eight hours, in spite of each one continuing to some degree to play to type, they begin to share their frustrations about the way they’re pigeonholed both by each other and by society at large. “You see us as you want to see us—in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions,” reads the letter the students write to their principal, in answer to his request to explain who they are.

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The New Yorker: How To Listen To Music


There’s a distinct possibility that I would never have been able to finish reading “Moby-Dick,” in my early twenties, had it not been for the Guns N’ Roses song “November Rain.” Released in 1991, when I was a teenager open to anything offered by MTV, “November Rain” was one of the many unusually long songs on the Los Angeles rock band’s two-volume “Use Your Illusion.” At the time, I was accustomed to songs that didn’t outstay their welcome, maxing out, typically, at four or five minutes. Thanks in large part to a gloriously overblown video, I found all nine minutes of “November Rain” enthralling. I had no idea what the song’s lyrics meant, or whether its drama really justified its lavish construction. But it was the first song I liked that could soundtrack my entire drive to school, or the time it took to run five laps. Perhaps it would have happened anyway, but “November Rain” ended up being the song that primed me for the pleasures of extravagantly long, immersive experiences. Before I could imagine making it through six-hundred-page novels, endurance-test cinema, or hour-long jazz suites, I first loved a power ballad full of internal detours, false endings, and epic solos, and a music video highlighted by a man diving into a wedding cake.

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GQ: Why London Is The Captial Of The World


In 1942, Olaf Hambro, an Old Etonian merchant banker, was eating oysters alone at the bar of Wiltons, Jermyn Street, when the church at the other end of the road took a direct hit from aLuftwaffebomb, killing everyone inside.


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