At least they canned Judy Miller

Tom Tomorrow has a good post on a peculiar tic among writers at the New York Times:

Specifically, it appears to be an unwritten rule at the Times that no article about either (a) memory or (b) cookies–or even (c) the sense of smell–can be published without a mention, preferably in the lede paragraph, of Proust and/or his madeleines.

Now, I could just simply have walked away from Tom's observation, quietly chuckling and shaking my head at the pretenses of some people. But, no, I won't let myself be outdone by any fancy-pants big-city types! So apropos of nothing, I thought I should point out how the Vapors (of "Turning Japanese" fame) also remind "one" of Proust, particularly that Proust that shows up a little later than the first 50 pages or so of Remembrance of Things Past. Here's the Vapors' bid for immortality, 80s, new wave wankery-style:

I’ve got your picture, I’ve got your picture
I’d like a million of them all round my cell
I want the doctor to take your picture
So I can look at you from inside as well

And here’s Proust talking about the girls Marcel hangs out with:

It is understood, of course, that this loyalty to the first and purely physical impressions which I formed afresh at each encounter with my friends did not involve only their facial appearance, since the reader has seen that I was sensible also of their voices, more disquieting still, perhaps (for not only does a voice offer the same strange and sensuous surfaces as a face, it issues from that unknown, inaccessible region the mere thought of which sets the mind swimming with unattainable kisses) . . . .

By the way: all of Remembrance of Things Past on-line!