GDI, DFW.

So, as you may know, David Foster Wallace committed suicide this past weekend. We're not going to try to eulogize him, one of our favorite writers ever, with memories or stories or anecdotes or criticisms or frustrations. Others have done it better than we could. We'll say one thing: If you haven't read Infinite Jest, do not. It is a life-changing book, and if anyone ever told us to read something because it was life-changing, we wouldn't. We're saving you the trouble.

Also, this week McSweeney's is posting DFW-related contributions by whomever is inclined to submit. They're all worth your time. Below is our favorite excerpt, from an account sent in by a woman who had DFW as a writing instructor way back in 1987, when he was 25:

I used to confuse "further" and "farther," and, apparently, I did it quite often. In one of my stories, I'd confused them yet again, and in the margins, he'd written, simply, "I hate you." I've never confused them since.