…and it's another great one!
If it wouldn’t increase the costs of the print runs exorbitantly, it would feel totally appropriate for, say, page 50—”Ptolemic Poodles”—to have a pop-up of harajuku-appropriating-era Gwen Stefani belting: “This shit is bananas! B-A-N-A-N-A-S!” Except that the overall conclusion of the book seems to be altogether the opposite. Workman so thoroughly encloses us in a technology-soaked culture that is yet somehow threaded through amber waves of Americana that you start to feel like it’s not really bananas at all. This shit is just the state of affairs.
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