A two year old article on David Foster Wallace. I just loved this part:
Wallace grew up in a small town in Illinois, and was an elite junior tennis player, a rare combination of sporting and academic prowess. His was an omnivorous brain, able to ingest complex mathematics, logic and philosophy, and forests full of dope. He majored in philosophy and English at Amherst College and studied creative writing at the University of Arizona. He went on to publish two novels, three collections of fiction and two of non-fiction, and works on rap music and mathematics. He taught writing to college students, ultimately at Pomona, California. His mania for language persisted, to the extent that he would write I hate you on the paper of a student who, say, mistook ‘further’ for ‘farther’.
And this one:
Those who knew him as the tobacco-chewing Dave Wallace, rather than the enigmatic genius David Foster Wallace (the triple-barrelled name was a publisher’s suggestion to distinguish him from another David Wallace), count themselves blessed to have known a loveable and down-to-earth man, and also privileged to have been let in close, because Wallace was so uncomfortable among strangers that his shyness was its own defensive barrier. In one of his stories he writes of becoming so tortured by not wanting to offend people with any of the standard options for ending a conversation that he would end up blurting out, “I need you to go away and leave me alone now.”
That fucking guy.