Also, it might be able to claim among its members the deceased D.F. Wallace, who has been in the news lately thanks to the 20th anniversary of Infinite Jest.
Here's D.F. now (actually some time in 1993) with a slightly different take on "the news":
But when you talk about Nabokov and Coover, you’re talking about real geniuses, the writers who weathered real shock and invented this stuff in contemporary fiction. But after the pioneers always come the crank turners, the little gray people who take the machines others have built and just turn the crank, and little pellets of metafiction come out the other end. The crank-turners capitalize for a while on sheer fashion, and they get their plaudits and grants and buy their IRAs and retire to the Hamptons well out of range of the eventual blast radius. There are some interesting parallels between postmodern crank-turners and what’s happened since post-structural theory took off here in the U.S., why there’s such a big backlash against post-structuralism going on now. It’s the crank-turners fault. I think the crank-turners replaced the critic as the real angel of death as far as literary movements are concerned, now.
I suppose we can tolerate grudgingly the crank-turners, the emulators of what's hip at the moment. After all, without them, there would be no blogrolls that pretend to "admire" other bloggers who have in turn "admired" your own regurgitated hipness (and puked up without insight, please to remember!); there would be no Glenn Greenwald or Matt Taibbi or Chris Hedges; there would be no Will Ferrell or Steve Carrell or Jon Stewart or Bill Maher or Dane Cook or other lame uninventive-but-nonetheless-hugely-popular celebrity.
But you -- you, please, should go on with your formulaic lack of insight, your reliable absence of humor, your dependable restatements of what's obvious as though you were offering big revelations. You can always rely on the fact that someone, somewhere, finds dull-witted mediocrity a grand feast of intellectual treats.
Your smallness and your grey pallor are nothing to be ashamed of. After all, you can probably lay claim to an Obamapostasy like Chalupa, which absolves you of any obligation to have or share insights. You grasped the obvious well after you might have done if not so much a follower (and so devoid of original insight and so lacking in personal courage).
Poems on graph paper with tempera are what little grey people churn out because they can't come up with worthwhile poems. So, please pay attention to the graph paper, the ALLCAPS, and the watercolor. It's what makes the true artist stand apart from the me-toos.
--Karl Franz Ochstradt, possessed of brightness and a yeasty rise, but sadly not angelic.