Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Deep Thoughts
Wouldn't it have been super if the Republicans had succeeded in privatizing social security and put everyone's money in the MARKET?
So much fun, all spoiled by SOCIALIST FREEDOM HATERS.
So much fun, all spoiled by SOCIALIST FREEDOM HATERS.
then and now
It is perhaps an odd quirk of my personality that I find them equally brilliant and electrifying.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Ladies and gentlemen, our customers!
A borderline guy in a John Deere cap on a cell phone:
She got nice lips.
She got nice lips.
She got nice lips.
She got nice lips, though.
SHE DOESN'T HAVE TO!
Sunday, December 28, 2008
today's revue of human oddities
There have been not one, but two morbidly obese nerds in kilts.
Not even together, they appeared hours apart.
And one of them was with a girl!
A scrawny guy in a tank top with a longbox of CDs and several patches of gauze affixed to his chin with surgical tape wandered around in a daze for ten minutes before realizing he wasn't in the record store.
An emaciated woman with frosted blond hair in a floor length fur coat and wedding ring with more carats than Farmer Brown's vegetable garden complained about the price of our $5.95 calendars.
/edit
one of the last customers of the day was a largish nerd fellow who, while digging through the pockets of his trenchcoat for change, spilled a 20 sided die onto the counter.
In the spirit Stephen Crane, I nearly cried out "COMRADE! BROTHER!"
Not even together, they appeared hours apart.
And one of them was with a girl!
A scrawny guy in a tank top with a longbox of CDs and several patches of gauze affixed to his chin with surgical tape wandered around in a daze for ten minutes before realizing he wasn't in the record store.
An emaciated woman with frosted blond hair in a floor length fur coat and wedding ring with more carats than Farmer Brown's vegetable garden complained about the price of our $5.95 calendars.
/edit
one of the last customers of the day was a largish nerd fellow who, while digging through the pockets of his trenchcoat for change, spilled a 20 sided die onto the counter.
In the spirit Stephen Crane, I nearly cried out "COMRADE! BROTHER!"
Saturday, December 27, 2008
true customer tales
wizened, hunchbacked old woman in a yellow rain slicker:
It's been a while, things have changed- what is this place?
me:
it's a used book store.
her:
Oh, oh! Used to be...used to be....mmmmmmm.
I'M BLIND, I don't read!
me:
Mmmhmm.
her, wandering toward the door:
Ah...MAYBE I should give some of them away!
It's been a while, things have changed- what is this place?
me:
it's a used book store.
her:
Oh, oh! Used to be...used to be....mmmmmmm.
I'M BLIND, I don't read!
me:
Mmmhmm.
her, wandering toward the door:
Ah...MAYBE I should give some of them away!
Holiday in Cambodia
Last year the wife was sick, this year me n' the Fuss are sick.
There's been plenty of festive gathering, but I've only been able to enjoy half an evening of it. There has been some unparalleled food courtesy of Cousin Helen- the best roast lamb I've ever tasted, and last night an epic plate of carnitas. Not to mention her cinnamon rolls.
Infants are hard anyway, when you're sick everything is magnified...and when they're sick, UGH.
Santa brought me a bottle of gin I've never tried before- once my health bounces back there will be a tasting. Also, a pair of pants that fit, an ice cream maker for the Kitchenaid, some festive boxer shorts and a gift card to Peets.
When I was little clothes and gift certificates and hardware would have ruined the season. Now, they're an entirely satisfying haul.
There's been plenty of festive gathering, but I've only been able to enjoy half an evening of it. There has been some unparalleled food courtesy of Cousin Helen- the best roast lamb I've ever tasted, and last night an epic plate of carnitas. Not to mention her cinnamon rolls.
Infants are hard anyway, when you're sick everything is magnified...and when they're sick, UGH.
Santa brought me a bottle of gin I've never tried before- once my health bounces back there will be a tasting. Also, a pair of pants that fit, an ice cream maker for the Kitchenaid, some festive boxer shorts and a gift card to Peets.
When I was little clothes and gift certificates and hardware would have ruined the season. Now, they're an entirely satisfying haul.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
tragedy of the commons
There's this girl who comes in once a week or so and always wants to talk. She's maybe 25, but is already getting that tight too much plastic surgery look, and is way skinnier than she needs to be. I try to be nice, but I can hardly bear to look at her.
Some people I glance at and see their lives spooled out, running past like film- she's one of them.
Today she bought $40 worth of blank journals.
She wondered if I could look for some books and call her if I found them?
Sure, if I had the time.
She wrote on the back of her business card
"It's a little strange, but that's just me!"
Indeed.
=/
Some people I glance at and see their lives spooled out, running past like film- she's one of them.
Today she bought $40 worth of blank journals.
She wondered if I could look for some books and call her if I found them?
Sure, if I had the time.
She wrote on the back of her business card
exotic dancing
bondage/dominatrix
toy poodles
french bulldogs
grooming dogs
"It's a little strange, but that's just me!"
Indeed.
=/
nutball addenda
today adds another gal who bathed in cheap, shitty perfume AND is methodically going through every box of calendars in front of the counter while serenading us with some repetitive half-hummed ditty.
Wouldn't be so bad, but she's off key.
/edit
Perhaps predictably, humming lady turns out to also be one of the Plastic Bag Brigade.
After carrying on about our lack of paper, she ends up requesting a bag after all, subjecting yours truly to a song and dance about how this is all OUR fault.
Wouldn't be so bad, but she's off key.
/edit
Perhaps predictably, humming lady turns out to also be one of the Plastic Bag Brigade.
After carrying on about our lack of paper, she ends up requesting a bag after all, subjecting yours truly to a song and dance about how this is all OUR fault.
Monday, December 22, 2008
today's disenchanting lineup of miscreants
First there was the beefy older gal in the floral print mu-mu, whos waxy skin glistened with a reeking sheen of perfume and took what seemed like 45 minutes to write a check.
Also on the offensive smell tip we have the gravel mouthed urban camper in the greasy leather hat with the peacock feather in the band, who bought an Ancient Forests calendar and dug payment out of a collection of plastic film canisters hung around his neck in a crocheted bag.
Then there was the wiry militant bike enthusiast who pestered me about area bike shops for at least 5 minutes. He seemed to take my ignorance of the subject as a personal affront and dedicated his considerable manic energy to ferreting out my HIDDEN ESOTERIC KNOWLEDGE of the local bicycling underground until I broke out the heavy artillery- "Do you have a book question? If not, I can't help you."
Today has also been replete with people who turn my casual query "would you like a bag?" into a referendum on global climate change, before finally accepting my toxic plastic offering because they forgot their wildcrafted hemp shopping tote, woven by a native women's collective in Hati, in the trunk of the car.
I wonder if they think accepting plastic bags only under extreme vocal protest improves their ecological karma...
Perhaps I can short circuit these righteous screeds by eliminating the modifiers and just grunting "Bag?"
Also on the offensive smell tip we have the gravel mouthed urban camper in the greasy leather hat with the peacock feather in the band, who bought an Ancient Forests calendar and dug payment out of a collection of plastic film canisters hung around his neck in a crocheted bag.
Then there was the wiry militant bike enthusiast who pestered me about area bike shops for at least 5 minutes. He seemed to take my ignorance of the subject as a personal affront and dedicated his considerable manic energy to ferreting out my HIDDEN ESOTERIC KNOWLEDGE of the local bicycling underground until I broke out the heavy artillery- "Do you have a book question? If not, I can't help you."
Today has also been replete with people who turn my casual query "would you like a bag?" into a referendum on global climate change, before finally accepting my toxic plastic offering because they forgot their wildcrafted hemp shopping tote, woven by a native women's collective in Hati, in the trunk of the car.
I wonder if they think accepting plastic bags only under extreme vocal protest improves their ecological karma...
Perhaps I can short circuit these righteous screeds by eliminating the modifiers and just grunting "Bag?"
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Saturday, December 20, 2008
ACTION BLOGGING!
Hot off the presses, a visit from Fiend and Fuss on their way to see Santy Claus at the plaza!
Thursday, December 18, 2008
attn DEVRA
found your phone in the cushions of the Chair of Death, along with $2.75 in loose change, a universal remote and an ink pen.
sweet sick boy
Turns out the Fuss was especially Fussy because of incipient illness.
And he hates having his nose wiped.
New discoveries every day!
And he hates having his nose wiped.
New discoveries every day!
wrangling
Fuss is restive tonight, starting up crying for no discernible reason, inconsolable until I put him over my shoulder and march him around.
His travails are easier for me to take now, because he can be comforted. I don't mind the getting up and the random intensity of it, as long as my efforts create some visible effect. When he would howl and howl, it made you want to push the big red button.
He's finally asleep on the big cushy armchair, under the blue cloud blanket, I can hear him breathing and shifting.
The owl is back in the tree, calling to the moon, thinking.
His travails are easier for me to take now, because he can be comforted. I don't mind the getting up and the random intensity of it, as long as my efforts create some visible effect. When he would howl and howl, it made you want to push the big red button.
He's finally asleep on the big cushy armchair, under the blue cloud blanket, I can hear him breathing and shifting.
The owl is back in the tree, calling to the moon, thinking.
labyrinth of snakes
The last present mom gave me, a few months before she died, was for my birthday, a framed tomb rubbing she'd taken at a Scottish castle. It showed a dinner-plate sized maze of serpents endlessly twining around one another, eating each others tails, collectively forming a massive, unsolvable knot.
I was startled at the depth of the thing.
Her sporadic gift the last several years embodied the banal and depressing, like a commemorative Christmas bulb from the United States Postal Service celebrating the year 1989, or used Polo shirts in unflattering colors.
But they made sense to me. You can't pick a good gift for someone you don't know, or at least I've never been able to. Things for people I'm close to fall into my lap, for anyone else you might as well spin me around blindfolded and shove me through the door of the first handy shop.
This thing was outside her usual scope, so I kept it in the trunk of my car until a couple of weeks ago. Now it's hanging in the living room by the stairs, underneath a picture of teenage me sitting on Bobo's bare mattress in the house on Crandall, so underexposed you can barely trace my outline.
The rubbing is as perfectly sharp and clear as the framing is comically inept- I think she just daubed some Elmer's on the corners, slapped it on a rectangle of posterboard and cut to fit the first flimsy frame on the pile.
I wanted to fix it, re mount it, get a matte and a nice frame and smooth out the wrinkles, but on reflection I let it be.
It's too perfect an artifact of its author's intent.
I always want to fix things, smooth them over and tidy up.
But imperfections have their own stories to tell.
I was startled at the depth of the thing.
Her sporadic gift the last several years embodied the banal and depressing, like a commemorative Christmas bulb from the United States Postal Service celebrating the year 1989, or used Polo shirts in unflattering colors.
But they made sense to me. You can't pick a good gift for someone you don't know, or at least I've never been able to. Things for people I'm close to fall into my lap, for anyone else you might as well spin me around blindfolded and shove me through the door of the first handy shop.
This thing was outside her usual scope, so I kept it in the trunk of my car until a couple of weeks ago. Now it's hanging in the living room by the stairs, underneath a picture of teenage me sitting on Bobo's bare mattress in the house on Crandall, so underexposed you can barely trace my outline.
The rubbing is as perfectly sharp and clear as the framing is comically inept- I think she just daubed some Elmer's on the corners, slapped it on a rectangle of posterboard and cut to fit the first flimsy frame on the pile.
I wanted to fix it, re mount it, get a matte and a nice frame and smooth out the wrinkles, but on reflection I let it be.
It's too perfect an artifact of its author's intent.
I always want to fix things, smooth them over and tidy up.
But imperfections have their own stories to tell.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
pix
Flickr update!
meggsie was supposed to visit for dinner but her car caught fire, or something.
devra was late because (I shit you not) she had to play WoW with her co-workers.
In her defense, when the pizza arrived and peer pressure began to mount she absconded.
And we had a fine meal, with the Fuss essaying some most excellent dinner theater in the margins.
Did you know he can get nearly his entire foot into his mouth now?
True story.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Why I Love the Internet, pt 403
Because whenever you develop any sort of inchoate idea, you can be sure that someone, somewhere has poured themselves into describing your emotion with precision, and probably done a much better job of explaining it than you would if you'd taken the time to map our your position.
I instinctively hate The Family Guy because it is badly animated and not funny, but that was the extent of my consideration.
But every word of that guy's post rings the bronzed Bell of Truth with Mijolnir, the mythical hammer of Thor, god of Thunder and Rock and Roll.
I instinctively hate The Family Guy because it is badly animated and not funny, but that was the extent of my consideration.
But every word of that guy's post rings the bronzed Bell of Truth with Mijolnir, the mythical hammer of Thor, god of Thunder and Rock and Roll.
Monday, December 15, 2008
shiny new box
took advantage of CYBER MONDAY (which makes me think of sex-crazed nerds on AIM desperately typing each other to a ZORK-style climax) to order a new comp.
My main machine had a mobo problem, so I've been using the backup for a while and lately it has begun reminding me why I replaced it.
Dell had a deal going for a pretty good machine for the price of a new motherboard for the old box, so I bit.
So far so good, although it came with VISTA (I prefer XP, but the bastards wanted to charge me for it).
Vista, what can I say.
It is the penultimate expression of Microsoft's decades-long desire to possess Apple's casual elegance. Alas, they've gone about it like the cannibal who thought eating Einstein's brain would make him a genius.
In concrete terms, Vista plays Zune to Apple's iPod.
Oh well- if it annoys me enough I can wipe the drive and slap my old copy of XP down like a coat of fresh paint.
My main machine had a mobo problem, so I've been using the backup for a while and lately it has begun reminding me why I replaced it.
Dell had a deal going for a pretty good machine for the price of a new motherboard for the old box, so I bit.
So far so good, although it came with VISTA (I prefer XP, but the bastards wanted to charge me for it).
Vista, what can I say.
It is the penultimate expression of Microsoft's decades-long desire to possess Apple's casual elegance. Alas, they've gone about it like the cannibal who thought eating Einstein's brain would make him a genius.
In concrete terms, Vista plays Zune to Apple's iPod.
Oh well- if it annoys me enough I can wipe the drive and slap my old copy of XP down like a coat of fresh paint.
Rule Britannia
Why don't we have headlines like this?
I'm going to start a petition to have 'snog' added to the American vernacular.
I'm going to start a petition to have 'snog' added to the American vernacular.
hollow threats
During an early morning wrangle with an unusually truculent Fuss, the wife was heard to say
"If you don't start behaving, I'm putting on your kitty shoes."
When time came for our morning breakfast ritual, I was greeted by troubling portents of rebellion...
"If you don't start behaving, I'm putting on your kitty shoes."
When time came for our morning breakfast ritual, I was greeted by troubling portents of rebellion...
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Friday, December 12, 2008
consumerist xmas
Book sales tanking.
Of course, this is new books sales, and publishing has a lot in common with the music industry when it comes to setting the wrong course in challenging times.
Primarily, the industry-wide embrace of the 'superstore' to the detriment of the indies, a business model akin to building SUVs because they increase your per-vehicle profit. It made them a lot of money in the short term, but it killed off most of the independent bookstores. Superstores and discount titles at Costco and Walmart make the accountants happy, but they don't make readers- that's what the indies did, and now it's coming back to bite the whole industry in the ass.
Of course, this is new books sales, and publishing has a lot in common with the music industry when it comes to setting the wrong course in challenging times.
Primarily, the industry-wide embrace of the 'superstore' to the detriment of the indies, a business model akin to building SUVs because they increase your per-vehicle profit. It made them a lot of money in the short term, but it killed off most of the independent bookstores. Superstores and discount titles at Costco and Walmart make the accountants happy, but they don't make readers- that's what the indies did, and now it's coming back to bite the whole industry in the ass.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
retro video: She Blinded Me With Science
I found this cassette, one of the only ones I bought, in a box on the shelf. It still has a Cheap Thrills sticker with the date on it, in case you tried to bring it back after 10 days, or whatever their lame return policy was. I doubt there's much left on it except tape hiss, I must have played it 40,000 times.
Cassettes were too fragile to believe in. I bought LPs and taped my own, avoiding a fit of rage when my Walkman inevitably devoured them. Also, making a mix tape from other tapes smacked of depravity and black magic, a grotesque audio cannibalism.
Leafing through mom's records, I see some of my old ones that are probably worth something. The original Blade Runner soundtrack, from when Vangelis wouldn't let them use his score and they re-recorded it with the New American Orchestra. I didn't read the small print and was bitterly disappointed when I returned home not with the eerie dystopian soundscape of a future LA drowning in its own tears, but a bunch of LA session musicians cheerily banging out a paycheck.
Albums have a visual force and a physical presence that doesn't exist in the modern age, when both music and graphics are often as not an invisible binary jumble on a hard drive. The iconic symbol of today's landscape is the iPod, not the album cover.
The sleeves of a bunch of my mom's records still live down in the tangled roots of my memory.
Dan Hicks and his Hot Licks, which she would put on to rouse the troops when I had a slumber party. How Can I Miss You When You Won't Go Away and I Scare Myself (which, I just realized, was covered by Thomas Dolby).
It always baffled Zim- the music was so relaxed an casual, and he expected something more strident.
Black Man's Burdon, Eric Burdon and War.
Notable for a gatefold featuring naked ladies. Sticky Fingers by the Rolling Stones, the Andy Warhol cover with the zipper. Cat Scratch Fever by Ted Nugent, the first record I ever bought, with Ted looking like one of her boyfriends at the time. Sgt. Peppers Lonely Heart's Club Band from the Beatles, and Hotel California from the Eagles- two covers I poured over by the hour when I was young, looking for signs and portents.
These days, I don't really notice CD covers. With their hard plastic shells they're utilitarian and informational, not artistic. And once they're on the machine, I don't really look at them again.
I'm lucky if I know the titles of the songs anymore, everything is numbers.
I asked Jamesy once what was his favorite song of the year, and he answered "Wolf Parade number nine!"
And I knew exactly which one he meant.
Monday, December 8, 2008
lets see if this works
took a little video of the Fuss' morning regimen today with the digital camera and uploaded it to flickr- can you see it?
also, attn ANNER- found my charger thingie for the camera, so Flickr is back on the update track.
also, attn ANNER- found my charger thingie for the camera, so Flickr is back on the update track.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Roger Ebert Surprise
When it comes to cinema he isn't fit to shine Pauline Kael's spitoon, but this is a surprisingly engaging one-stop takedown of Intelligent Design, the latest iteration of Creationism.
Cover Blurb of the Week...nay, YEAR
I priced a book last week, don't remember the details, but the NYT described the author thusly on the verso:
You don't say!
The Grahame Greene of Paraguay
You don't say!
silver linings
There isn't anything I hate more than being sick, except possibly customers who stomp in yelling WARE'S UR NONFICTION SECTION! before spitting up down their fronts and passing out into the sale cart.
Happily I'm generally healthy as a plow horse.
But there's one guilty pleasure to be extracted even from a fever.
With enough blankets you can find a point of perfect equilibrium, where your body is shivering but your brain can tell you're warm.
If you keep your balance you can coast along on its strange frictionless verge for a good ways before tipping and sliding down into the sauna again.
Ok, it's a slim straw to cling to, but I'm working on being a 'glass half full' kind of guy!
Happily I'm generally healthy as a plow horse.
But there's one guilty pleasure to be extracted even from a fever.
With enough blankets you can find a point of perfect equilibrium, where your body is shivering but your brain can tell you're warm.
If you keep your balance you can coast along on its strange frictionless verge for a good ways before tipping and sliding down into the sauna again.
Ok, it's a slim straw to cling to, but I'm working on being a 'glass half full' kind of guy!
Friday, December 5, 2008
Cut wins!
The Hair Poll has closed, the readers have spoken!
Now I just need to find a stylist who won't make a dog's breakfast out of it.
Now I just need to find a stylist who won't make a dog's breakfast out of it.
diseased
As a rough estimate I've slept 20 hours out of the last 24, and I still feel like ASS.
We had a fine evening with Devirts, Meggsie & Simey and I thought I was just hung over, a predictable aftereffect of mixing wine and gin.
Alas, it was something more insidious.
The cherry on top of this poop sundae is agreeing to cover for the boss today.
I guess I'll just sit here shivering until relief comes.
We had a fine evening with Devirts, Meggsie & Simey and I thought I was just hung over, a predictable aftereffect of mixing wine and gin.
Alas, it was something more insidious.
The cherry on top of this poop sundae is agreeing to cover for the boss today.
I guess I'll just sit here shivering until relief comes.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
gratz pelf!
He is now being repped by hotshot NYC agency Bret Adams Ltd.
My prediction that he will be one of those overnight success stories 25 years in the making is looking better every day!
My prediction that he will be one of those overnight success stories 25 years in the making is looking better every day!
Monday, December 1, 2008
bibliophile omnibus
Book Design Review's Best Book Covers of 2008
(my vote goes for Harry Harrison's Make Room, Make Room. Although I did buy a copy of Sharp Teeth for the store just because the cover was so great.)
Project Foodie's
10 Best Baking Cookbooks
NPR's 10 Best Cookbooks
I highly recommend Bittman's How to Cook Everything, although they're cheating a bit listing the 10th Anniversary Edition.
NYT's 10 best illustrated children's books
NPR's Best Gift Books (aka What To Get People You Don't Really Know But Have to Buy Something For)
and a selection of Best Books of the Year lists:
Various literary figures chime in at the London Times.
The Globe & Mail offers 100 reasons to give thanks.
The NYT follows suit.
Publisher's Weekly sounds off
Christan Science Monitor's top ten nonfiction books
Amazon's selection
makes me wish I had a few spare minutes to read ANYTHING.
A couple of good books I managed to read this year pre-Fuss, although not necessarily published in 2008:
Fingersmith by Sarah Waters. The best historical novel I've ever read, completely satisfying.
Counting Heads by David Marusek. The most original SF novel I've read since William Gibson's Neuromancer back in the 80's.
Seductions of Rice, which is technically a cookbook but is part autobiography and part travelogue.
Yiddish Policeman's Union by Michael Chabon. A genuine literary talent who regularly strolls through the slums of genre fiction- my kinda guy!
Fooled by Randomness by Nassim Taleb. I hate numbers and 'the market'- compelling me to not only finish but recommend a book examining both is a prodigious feat of writing.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
cinema
Checked out two excellent, very different films this week.
Tekkon Kinreet, a near future anime, and Cache, a psychological thriller often horribly misrepresented as "Hitchcockian".
Both dovetail nicely with the junkpile of my recent history, but they're also impeccable examples of their genres.
Tekkon is based on the manga Black and White, which I haven't read, but the visuals are so reminiscent of Geoff Darrow they should be paying him royalties.
Technically, it's the best melding of computer and human animation I've seen.
Plot wise, it's a neat balance between the outlandish conventions of anime and familiar comforts of Western screenwriting.
The examination of nihilism vs hopefulness hit me harder than it might some others, and it gets a little off track in the 'showstopping' third act, but pulls back together for a thoroughly satisfying ending.
It isn't like a Miyazake film, the kind of anime I'd recommend to everyone without reservation- it will exert more gravity on comic/anime/game nerds than the general populace. But it deserves an audience outside the anime ghetto.
Cache is one I wanted to catch on the big screen but didn't, and there isn't much to say about the plot without giving it away. It's one of those movies that works on multiple levels simultaneously- it's a good psychological thriller, it's works as a political and racial metaphor, it's a penetrating examination of a certain type of marriage.
The aspect that hooked me was its examination of guilt and how twisted up a life can get when someone abdicates responsibility for their actions, however understandable the motivation.
It's a movie you have to watch closely, where everything has a purpose. The wife noticed a Kubrickian flavor to it, and I agree. There are a lot of seemingly static shots and scenes with tremendously powerful undercurrents that generate palpable surface tension.
I don't really like anything else I've seen from this director, which is strange given how much I loved Cache.
Pelf is mad for the German version of Funny Games, but I'm too old for 'torture as cultural criticism'. Maybe I'll give The Piano Teacher another try.
Then again, maybe not.
Tekkon Kinreet, a near future anime, and Cache, a psychological thriller often horribly misrepresented as "Hitchcockian".
Both dovetail nicely with the junkpile of my recent history, but they're also impeccable examples of their genres.
Tekkon is based on the manga Black and White, which I haven't read, but the visuals are so reminiscent of Geoff Darrow they should be paying him royalties.
Technically, it's the best melding of computer and human animation I've seen.
Plot wise, it's a neat balance between the outlandish conventions of anime and familiar comforts of Western screenwriting.
The examination of nihilism vs hopefulness hit me harder than it might some others, and it gets a little off track in the 'showstopping' third act, but pulls back together for a thoroughly satisfying ending.
It isn't like a Miyazake film, the kind of anime I'd recommend to everyone without reservation- it will exert more gravity on comic/anime/game nerds than the general populace. But it deserves an audience outside the anime ghetto.
Cache is one I wanted to catch on the big screen but didn't, and there isn't much to say about the plot without giving it away. It's one of those movies that works on multiple levels simultaneously- it's a good psychological thriller, it's works as a political and racial metaphor, it's a penetrating examination of a certain type of marriage.
The aspect that hooked me was its examination of guilt and how twisted up a life can get when someone abdicates responsibility for their actions, however understandable the motivation.
It's a movie you have to watch closely, where everything has a purpose. The wife noticed a Kubrickian flavor to it, and I agree. There are a lot of seemingly static shots and scenes with tremendously powerful undercurrents that generate palpable surface tension.
I don't really like anything else I've seen from this director, which is strange given how much I loved Cache.
Pelf is mad for the German version of Funny Games, but I'm too old for 'torture as cultural criticism'. Maybe I'll give The Piano Teacher another try.
Then again, maybe not.
Holiday Sales
Fulfilling my prophecy that used books look pretty good when the economic ceiling caves in we're doubling last years numbers.
I'm also sensing an uptick in the population that equates a trip to the bookstore with exotic, potentially dangerous outings like African safaris. They huddle nervously by the door like nerds at a kegger.
So far so good!
I'm also sensing an uptick in the population that equates a trip to the bookstore with exotic, potentially dangerous outings like African safaris. They huddle nervously by the door like nerds at a kegger.
So far so good!
Friday, November 28, 2008
apropos retro video
I think I wrote something last year about the insane inappropriateness of this seasonal moniker...it's even less acceptable now that the economy has slid off the table and shattered on the floor.
Oh well, Happy Holidays from Wal*Mart!
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
Warning sign that you're an effete Liberal intellectual
You drink gin & tonics from crystal because you find the clinking of ice against proletarian glass to be dull and offensive.
Hair Poll
Regardless of the enthusiasm of customers, my hair has reached that awkward stage where it's long enough to bug me but not long enough to tie back in an archetypal middle aged bookseller PONYTAIL.
I've added a poll to give you, my loyal readers, a voice in its fate.
I do enjoy the Siegfried-esque quality of my current mane, but I've never had much energy for maintaining a 'look'.
My hair has been on a boom/bust cycle for the last 20 years or so.
Until a few years back, I would let it grow until it started to bother me, then buzz it all off with my trusty clippers.
The wife was not a fan of this ad hoc approach, so nowadays I let it grow until it starts to bug me then pay someone to give me an unsatisfactory hair cut. My hair is a bird's nest of contradiction and swirling mayhem (like the brain beneath?) and mom was the only person who could wrangle it.
In lesser hands I end up looking like an escaped mental patient or a gas station attendant in the Ozarks.
I grew it way, way, way out a few years back and donated the resulting braids to Locks of Love, but it was a bit of an ordeal.
Keep all of this in mind as you vote on my fate!
I've added a poll to give you, my loyal readers, a voice in its fate.
I do enjoy the Siegfried-esque quality of my current mane, but I've never had much energy for maintaining a 'look'.
My hair has been on a boom/bust cycle for the last 20 years or so.
Until a few years back, I would let it grow until it started to bother me, then buzz it all off with my trusty clippers.
The wife was not a fan of this ad hoc approach, so nowadays I let it grow until it starts to bug me then pay someone to give me an unsatisfactory hair cut. My hair is a bird's nest of contradiction and swirling mayhem (like the brain beneath?) and mom was the only person who could wrangle it.
In lesser hands I end up looking like an escaped mental patient or a gas station attendant in the Ozarks.
I grew it way, way, way out a few years back and donated the resulting braids to Locks of Love, but it was a bit of an ordeal.
Keep all of this in mind as you vote on my fate!
Obama
Democracy Now just played a sound bite on the financial crisis and it's SO NICE to hear a speech delivered by a competent grown up instead of a querulous, mush-mouthed alcoholic.
I hate most of his appointments, but I'll forgive a lot to have a sane adult running the show again.
I hate most of his appointments, but I'll forgive a lot to have a sane adult running the show again.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Eff iTunes!
It has finally pushed me over the edge, with it's laggy, retarded interface and ceaseless pimping of their puerile store and the goddamn iphone BS it launches at startup and the way nothing it burns will play in the car.
Love the hardware, hate the software.
I'm checking out Songbird, will post a report once I get it installed and put it through its paces.
Love the hardware, hate the software.
I'm checking out Songbird, will post a report once I get it installed and put it through its paces.
visit from the Fiend
She stopped by today, with mama and nona and grandpa bill in tow.
We had a discussion about a potential intruder.
"Teeb, I hear growling."
"Where?"
"Behind the bookcase."
"Behind...zeee...BOOKCASE?" Young Frankenstein fanatic that she is, this got a laugh.
"Yes!"
"Then you'd better check it out."
She crept slowly to the art section and peered theatrically around the corner.
"I see something!" she whispered.
"What is it?"
"I see its terrible paw! Come and look!"
I poked my head around the corner, and sure enough there were the monstrous carved feet holding up our oak table.
We had a discussion about a potential intruder.
"Teeb, I hear growling."
"Where?"
"Behind the bookcase."
"Behind...zeee...BOOKCASE?" Young Frankenstein fanatic that she is, this got a laugh.
"Yes!"
"Then you'd better check it out."
She crept slowly to the art section and peered theatrically around the corner.
"I see something!" she whispered.
"What is it?"
"I see its terrible paw! Come and look!"
I poked my head around the corner, and sure enough there were the monstrous carved feet holding up our oak table.
Vampire Frenzy
Twilight is a big fat hit!
This is excellent news for my 1st edition of New Moon, which I will now let age in the cellar, like a fine wine.
This is excellent news for my 1st edition of New Moon, which I will now let age in the cellar, like a fine wine.
customer comments
middle aged gal, browsing the calendars:
later, checking out
People read all kinds of things into my work poker face.
Your hair is amazing, it's so wild!
later, checking out
I didn't mean to embarrass you about your hair, but it's just so beautiful!
People read all kinds of things into my work poker face.
is it almost Thanksgiving?
This week?
Christ!
I'm even more disoriented by the emotional tilt-a-whirl than I thought.
I think we're making pies, and I need to make gravy.
The wife's aunt has a lot of weird food hang ups she imposes on guests at the table, one of which is the yearly vat of mashed potatoes you're supposed to eat plain.
EFF THAT.
I'll roast a few chickens this week and save the drippings.
Christ!
I'm even more disoriented by the emotional tilt-a-whirl than I thought.
I think we're making pies, and I need to make gravy.
The wife's aunt has a lot of weird food hang ups she imposes on guests at the table, one of which is the yearly vat of mashed potatoes you're supposed to eat plain.
EFF THAT.
I'll roast a few chickens this week and save the drippings.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
four months
Yesterday was the fuss's 4 month anniversary.
I don't think he's changed much until I scan the photographic record, which documents a startling transformation from angry red grub to professional sumo wrestler.
He's the size of babies twice his age.
I'm hoping he won't be any larger than me. I'm at the very edge of that sheer cliff over the edge of which you have to buy your clothes at the Freak Store.
The fear is that mom's prenatal partying, two pack a day cigarette habit & reliance on formula for my nutritional needs inhibited my own growth, implying the sky's the limit for the Fuss, who swims in the bottomless sea of breast milk pouring from his teetotal mother.
He's strong as hell and revving up to crawl. He has my tree trunk legs, and during Tummy Time uses them to plow across the blanket, face first. He hasn't integrated his arms into the equation yet, but it's just a matter of time. And he can keep his balance standing up, with some helping hands.
And he's doing a lot of talking.
I used to think little kids from Ireland made the cutest noises on earth, but Fuss Babble is the new heavyweight champion. I got a good 5 minute stretch on tape yesterday, once I figure out how to get it on the computer I'll post it.
We've also been calling random friends and having him leave messages.
I haven't been successful at separating the craziness of having a baby from the generalized chaos of the last year, it's all wound up in a single massive tangle.
The moment-by-moment demands imposed by the Fuss have short circuited my habitual brooding on and chewing over things until I figure them out to the 10th decimal.
Modern life is shooting an endless series of rapids, with no time to consider much besides dodging the next boulder and avoiding that mid-stream tree trunk.
It's a different set of challenges and rewards, more immediate and overt than what I've been accustomed to.
I don't think he's changed much until I scan the photographic record, which documents a startling transformation from angry red grub to professional sumo wrestler.
He's the size of babies twice his age.
I'm hoping he won't be any larger than me. I'm at the very edge of that sheer cliff over the edge of which you have to buy your clothes at the Freak Store.
The fear is that mom's prenatal partying, two pack a day cigarette habit & reliance on formula for my nutritional needs inhibited my own growth, implying the sky's the limit for the Fuss, who swims in the bottomless sea of breast milk pouring from his teetotal mother.
He's strong as hell and revving up to crawl. He has my tree trunk legs, and during Tummy Time uses them to plow across the blanket, face first. He hasn't integrated his arms into the equation yet, but it's just a matter of time. And he can keep his balance standing up, with some helping hands.
And he's doing a lot of talking.
I used to think little kids from Ireland made the cutest noises on earth, but Fuss Babble is the new heavyweight champion. I got a good 5 minute stretch on tape yesterday, once I figure out how to get it on the computer I'll post it.
We've also been calling random friends and having him leave messages.
I haven't been successful at separating the craziness of having a baby from the generalized chaos of the last year, it's all wound up in a single massive tangle.
The moment-by-moment demands imposed by the Fuss have short circuited my habitual brooding on and chewing over things until I figure them out to the 10th decimal.
Modern life is shooting an endless series of rapids, with no time to consider much besides dodging the next boulder and avoiding that mid-stream tree trunk.
It's a different set of challenges and rewards, more immediate and overt than what I've been accustomed to.
Friday, November 21, 2008
recipe
It's been a while!
Last night Devrits and Meggsie dropped in and I whipped up a variation of my standard quick tomato sauce. It didn't add much prep time and was a hit with the guests, so here it is.
ingredients
1 28oz can diced or crushed tomatoes, preferably packed in juice and not tomato puree- they don't usually tell you, so check the fine print on the label.
3 tbs olive oil
2-3 cloves of garlic, minced
3 Anchovy fillets, minced
1 handful of good olives, roughly chopped (I used some Kalamatas from Trader Joes)
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp sugar
Sautee the garlic and anchovies in olive oil for a minute or so.
dump in the can of tomatoes and cook over medium heat until the sauce begins to thicken and the tomatoes to break down, stirring occasionally, about 10 minutes.
After the sauce thickens add the olives, salt and sugar, stir well and cover until the pasta's done. Check and adjust the seasoning if required, then mix it all together and serve with grated Parmesan.
If you time it right (which I hardly ever do) the sauce & pasta will be ready simultaneously.
Last night Devrits and Meggsie dropped in and I whipped up a variation of my standard quick tomato sauce. It didn't add much prep time and was a hit with the guests, so here it is.
ingredients
1 28oz can diced or crushed tomatoes, preferably packed in juice and not tomato puree- they don't usually tell you, so check the fine print on the label.
3 tbs olive oil
2-3 cloves of garlic, minced
3 Anchovy fillets, minced
1 handful of good olives, roughly chopped (I used some Kalamatas from Trader Joes)
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp sugar
Sautee the garlic and anchovies in olive oil for a minute or so.
dump in the can of tomatoes and cook over medium heat until the sauce begins to thicken and the tomatoes to break down, stirring occasionally, about 10 minutes.
After the sauce thickens add the olives, salt and sugar, stir well and cover until the pasta's done. Check and adjust the seasoning if required, then mix it all together and serve with grated Parmesan.
If you time it right (which I hardly ever do) the sauce & pasta will be ready simultaneously.
glasses
Last night we drank wine from my great grandmother's crystal goblets, paper thin and etched with vines and leaves.
Mom ignored these heirlooms, piling the loot of three generations against the back wall of the garage like chests of gold in Ali Baba's cave. The upstairs cabinets she stocked with mis-matched cups and glasses from thrift stores, and gracelessly modern plates and bowls in blank white ceramic.
As a particularly insightful therapist once told me, you can't deny the tragedies of your past without also denying the treasures. Mom packed it all away together, boxes taped shut and doors locked behind them.
I've rescued some wonderful, impractical pieces from the vault.
Gilded teapots, purple leaded glass vases, a stack of monogrammed highball glasses, a box full of mantle clocks. A pristine movie projector from the dawn of cinema.
I've also given away truckloads of chipped, broken and irrelevant junk.
Successfully opening the door to the past demands an absolutely unsentimental appraisal of reality. If you can't separate the wheat from the chaff there's a real danger of suffocation.
Mom ignored these heirlooms, piling the loot of three generations against the back wall of the garage like chests of gold in Ali Baba's cave. The upstairs cabinets she stocked with mis-matched cups and glasses from thrift stores, and gracelessly modern plates and bowls in blank white ceramic.
As a particularly insightful therapist once told me, you can't deny the tragedies of your past without also denying the treasures. Mom packed it all away together, boxes taped shut and doors locked behind them.
I've rescued some wonderful, impractical pieces from the vault.
Gilded teapots, purple leaded glass vases, a stack of monogrammed highball glasses, a box full of mantle clocks. A pristine movie projector from the dawn of cinema.
I've also given away truckloads of chipped, broken and irrelevant junk.
Successfully opening the door to the past demands an absolutely unsentimental appraisal of reality. If you can't separate the wheat from the chaff there's a real danger of suffocation.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
attn ADRIAN
Follow up on Arthur Agee and William Gates.
Hoop Dreams is a top ten all-time documentary and I urge all my readers to check it out. You don't need to like basketball, it's mainly a story about race and class.
You can watch free on Hulu, so no excuses!
Hoop Dreams is a top ten all-time documentary and I urge all my readers to check it out. You don't need to like basketball, it's mainly a story about race and class.
You can watch free on Hulu, so no excuses!
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
the power of Flight of the Conchords
A couple of tourists came in looking for books on Marilyn Monroe, and I could tell they were from New Zealand, not Australia.
ANNER WILL BE SO PROUD!
ANNER WILL BE SO PROUD!
Most Over the Top Cover Copy of All Time
And it's not even close.
From Psychiatry: THE ULTIMATE BETRAYAL by L. Ron Hu...er, Bruce Wiseman:
I'm guessing the solution involves bowing down to Xenu and accepting Tom Cruise as our benevolent overlord.
From Psychiatry: THE ULTIMATE BETRAYAL by L. Ron Hu...er, Bruce Wiseman:
IS THERE A SINGLE FORCE BEHIND SOCIAL CHAOS?
Our cities didn't become lawless battlegrounds ruled by criminal gangs without a reason. Nor did drugs travel by themselves from the streets to our grade schools. There have to be reasons why today's high school graduate can't read or find his own city on the map. Or why teenage pregnancies are at an all time high. Why divorces continue to mount and families shatter. Why feeling good is better than doing good. And why morality is considered out of date. None of it just happened. Earlier this century the world took a wrong turn. And since then, something has been eating at the foundations of our culture. This something has infiltrated every aspect of our lives-our schools, our courts, our homes- without most of us even knowing it. It has been staring us in the face and we haven't seen it
UNTIL NOW.....
Psychiatry: the ULTIMATE BETRAYAL, tracks this destructive force from its historical beginnings, lays bare its web of influence and reveals the actions we must take to survive as a society.
I'm guessing the solution involves bowing down to Xenu and accepting Tom Cruise as our benevolent overlord.
Monday, November 17, 2008
man bites dog
band interviews critics.
I don't like Squarepusher's music, but thought this was an interesting experiment in table-turning.
I don't like Squarepusher's music, but thought this was an interesting experiment in table-turning.
strangenesses
Chatting with Devra the other night about personality types and horoscopes and whatnot, reminded me of some odd synchronicities in my family group.
I'm an INFJ, so is Uncle Timmy.
The wife in an INFP, like the Burl.
Contemplating the Chinese Zodiac, we find a herd of horses.
Your humble narrator, the wife, the burl, the Fiend.
The two exceptions?
Uncle Timmy and the Fuss, both RATS.
One wonders if the Fuss and the Fiend will someday maintain the cosmic balance by sharing a personality 'type'.
And here's an online test thingie, Devra!
I'm an INFJ, so is Uncle Timmy.
The wife in an INFP, like the Burl.
Contemplating the Chinese Zodiac, we find a herd of horses.
Your humble narrator, the wife, the burl, the Fiend.
The two exceptions?
Uncle Timmy and the Fuss, both RATS.
One wonders if the Fuss and the Fiend will someday maintain the cosmic balance by sharing a personality 'type'.
And here's an online test thingie, Devra!
this takes the cake
I've read a lot of idiotic political spew over the last 8 years, but even this hardened observer gapes in awe at the monolithic intellectual dishonesty of Phil Gramm:
Let's say someone came in with a couple of bags of REALLY terrible books, and I bought them.
In the Phil Gramm-verse, the fault would lie not with this long suffering book buyer, with my years of experience in the industry and intimate knowledge of the marketplace, but rather with the PREDATORY SELLER who had the temerity to haul in a bunch of Harlequin romances and decade old textbooks, demanding I pay cash for them!
Just astonishing.
In a world of free market wonders unleashed by the economic collapse, this star shines brightest of all.
Speaking at a bankers’ conference that month, Mr. Gramm said the problem of predatory loans was not of the banks’ making. Instead, he faulted “predatory borrowers.” The American Banker, a trade publication, later reported that he was greeted “like a conquering hero.”
Let's say someone came in with a couple of bags of REALLY terrible books, and I bought them.
In the Phil Gramm-verse, the fault would lie not with this long suffering book buyer, with my years of experience in the industry and intimate knowledge of the marketplace, but rather with the PREDATORY SELLER who had the temerity to haul in a bunch of Harlequin romances and decade old textbooks, demanding I pay cash for them!
Just astonishing.
In a world of free market wonders unleashed by the economic collapse, this star shines brightest of all.
contemporary tunes
Kelly Hogan sings harmony on all Neko Case's albums, and has one of the purest, loveliest voices on earth. I haven't found much to inspire me in her solo outings, but this song is brilliant.
She was part of the Pine Valley Cosmonauts back in the day, they cut some excellent covers.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
old friends
Having the same phone number as when I was a kid is a mixed bag.
Not having to memorize a new phone number is a big deal, given my innumeracy.
It took a handful of years before our last number finally sank in.
And it has good archetypal juju going, engaging the past and whatnot.
The down side is the occasional caller looking for mom.
Thanks to control issues and a bi-polar mother in law who phones multiple times a day in direct relation to the phase of her mania, I never pick up until the machine has vetted the caller.
The wife, marred by fewer neuroses and with a rosier view of humanity occasionally answers live, with mixed results.
Last night she picked up and began her half of the conversation with
"I'm sorry, Linda's dead."
She had to stop saying 'deceased' because nobody understood what she meant.
The caller was a guy I remembered, a hippy jeweler who's signature pieces were spiders and scorpions dipped in gold. He hung the morbid trinkets from chains and sold them as necklaces. Sometimes he used the scorpions for belt buckles.
They were sequestered in a big divided aquarium in his living room and I would bang on the glass to make them jump around.
I think he made my parents wedding rings. I think we lived with him for a while after my parents divorced. We'd visit him or he'd visit us every couple of years after we washed up in Los Osos. I found a stack of letters and postcards in her effects, so I knew they'd kept in touch.
Like a lot of hippies he never really grew up.
He was always living somewhere new, doing some temporary job, always single.
He lived in Alaska off and on, working a fishing boat. One summer he led a youth group camping trip in the Sierras, and we went along.
He's living in Missouri now.
She told him about the baby/funeral confluence and he said how it was nice that she tied things up at the end of her life.
Standard emotional boilerplate when someone dies.
There's truth in cliches, or they wouldn't persist.
And they buy you time.
It's hard to think about terminal events before they happen, even if you have the inclination.
How do you envision a world without a mother in it?
With my long head start, it was still unknowable.
Or, to mine another cliche, 'where there's life there's hope'.
Through all the years when we had no relationship at all her existence still meant potential, like a seed in a dry lakebed.
Presumably all it needed to flower anew was a soothing rain.
In a Utopian world, one with Frank Capra seated on the Throne of Heaven dictating third act re-writes to a phalanx of typewriter-wielding angels, that's what we'd have had those last few months.
But in this one, you have to say "dead" instead of "deceased".
Not having to memorize a new phone number is a big deal, given my innumeracy.
It took a handful of years before our last number finally sank in.
And it has good archetypal juju going, engaging the past and whatnot.
The down side is the occasional caller looking for mom.
Thanks to control issues and a bi-polar mother in law who phones multiple times a day in direct relation to the phase of her mania, I never pick up until the machine has vetted the caller.
The wife, marred by fewer neuroses and with a rosier view of humanity occasionally answers live, with mixed results.
Last night she picked up and began her half of the conversation with
"I'm sorry, Linda's dead."
She had to stop saying 'deceased' because nobody understood what she meant.
The caller was a guy I remembered, a hippy jeweler who's signature pieces were spiders and scorpions dipped in gold. He hung the morbid trinkets from chains and sold them as necklaces. Sometimes he used the scorpions for belt buckles.
They were sequestered in a big divided aquarium in his living room and I would bang on the glass to make them jump around.
I think he made my parents wedding rings. I think we lived with him for a while after my parents divorced. We'd visit him or he'd visit us every couple of years after we washed up in Los Osos. I found a stack of letters and postcards in her effects, so I knew they'd kept in touch.
Like a lot of hippies he never really grew up.
He was always living somewhere new, doing some temporary job, always single.
He lived in Alaska off and on, working a fishing boat. One summer he led a youth group camping trip in the Sierras, and we went along.
He's living in Missouri now.
She told him about the baby/funeral confluence and he said how it was nice that she tied things up at the end of her life.
Standard emotional boilerplate when someone dies.
There's truth in cliches, or they wouldn't persist.
And they buy you time.
It's hard to think about terminal events before they happen, even if you have the inclination.
How do you envision a world without a mother in it?
With my long head start, it was still unknowable.
Or, to mine another cliche, 'where there's life there's hope'.
Through all the years when we had no relationship at all her existence still meant potential, like a seed in a dry lakebed.
Presumably all it needed to flower anew was a soothing rain.
In a Utopian world, one with Frank Capra seated on the Throne of Heaven dictating third act re-writes to a phalanx of typewriter-wielding angels, that's what we'd have had those last few months.
But in this one, you have to say "dead" instead of "deceased".
Saturday, November 15, 2008
heartening sign
There's a big crowd of students marching through downtown chanting
STRAIGHT GAY BLACK WHITE, MARRIAGE IS A CIVIL RIGHT.
Given that they don't usually rise up in great numbers unless liquor is involved, this is an unexpected but welcome development.
STRAIGHT GAY BLACK WHITE, MARRIAGE IS A CIVIL RIGHT.
Given that they don't usually rise up in great numbers unless liquor is involved, this is an unexpected but welcome development.
fires
The fire in Montecito is menacing the ancestral home of Devra's beau Tim, and also the Frank Lloyd Wright estate of our friend (and Bobo's co-worker) Mr. Boyle, purchased decades past with the film proceeds from The Road to Wellville.
Everybody implore the cosmic force of your choosing for a happy outcome.
Everybody implore the cosmic force of your choosing for a happy outcome.
fiend
She's learning to read and write (!!!) and has been making booklets for school.
Her latest had a page headlined, in her deliriously adorable hand,
above a page full of crayola-drawn figures.
"That's you, and that's Eenie, and that's the Fusser!" she exclaimed, picking us out of the crowd with her dainty index finger.
That's a great title, it sounds like something Raymond Carver or Alice Munro would write.
Her latest had a page headlined, in her deliriously adorable hand,
I love all the people that I love
above a page full of crayola-drawn figures.
"That's you, and that's Eenie, and that's the Fusser!" she exclaimed, picking us out of the crowd with her dainty index finger.
That's a great title, it sounds like something Raymond Carver or Alice Munro would write.
Friday, November 14, 2008
mixed signals
So the recent evolution of the blog has me thinking.
The 'serious' posts don't harmonize with the overall tenor of lighthearted cynicism. It's like finding bits of tinfoil in the cotton candy.
I don't know what I'd do about it, since that's what life's been like the past half year.
But does it bother anyone else, or is it just me?
The 'serious' posts don't harmonize with the overall tenor of lighthearted cynicism. It's like finding bits of tinfoil in the cotton candy.
I don't know what I'd do about it, since that's what life's been like the past half year.
But does it bother anyone else, or is it just me?
retail
Took a header last month.
Well, except the used book biz- we were up a bit.
The secondary market thrives when times is hard.
But locally Mervyn's is going down, Linens n' Things (which opened about a year ago) is going down, and there are a lot of places running light on inventory during what is traditionally the ramp-up to Christmas.
I think there's going to be blood in the streets this January.
Big chains don't shut down before the largest yearly buying spree unless things are dire. I expect several more to crash and burn if/when Christmas sales are in the toilet.
Well, except the used book biz- we were up a bit.
The secondary market thrives when times is hard.
But locally Mervyn's is going down, Linens n' Things (which opened about a year ago) is going down, and there are a lot of places running light on inventory during what is traditionally the ramp-up to Christmas.
I think there's going to be blood in the streets this January.
Big chains don't shut down before the largest yearly buying spree unless things are dire. I expect several more to crash and burn if/when Christmas sales are in the toilet.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
call for links
In my redecorative zeal I annihilated my links- those I missed adding to the roll of honor, drop a link in the comments or via email for reinstatement.
I am enjoying the part where it rats out shiftless non-updaters (like BOBO).
I am enjoying the part where it rats out shiftless non-updaters (like BOBO).
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Wednesday Brunch
If anyone's in the neighborhood, drop by.
I'll be making buttermilk waffles, breakfast sausage and coffee around 11-ish.
I'll be making buttermilk waffles, breakfast sausage and coffee around 11-ish.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
proof God reads the Baxblog
Toward closing last night one of the semi-transparent old timers who haunt the neighborhood from their subsidized apartments in the hotel across the street bought a book for the first time.
He usually kills a few hours reading quietly in an out of the way corner before shuffling back across the street, but last night mysterious forces compelled him to pick up a biography of James Jones. He sounds exactly like one of the characters in Vernon, Florida ("and that's just the TOP of it!"). He never trims his nails and they curl yellow and jagged over his fingertips, like an inscrutable mandarin from a 1930's Yellow Peril serial.
A few years ago he was looking scabbier and acting more disoriented than usual and I figured he was due for a last ride in one of the ambulances that circle the block like taxis around a bus terminal.
But after a short disappearance he returned, minus his belt and with a couple of plastic hospital bracelets on his arm. It took him several months to lose the bracelets and find his belt, but otherwise he seemed good as new.
Unaccustomed as he was to buying things, assembling payment became a haphazard business involving several pockets and the sifting of copious handfuls of scrap paper and gum wrappers. The requisite folding money was gathered after some touch and go moments.
Then came the change.
"Oh, wait..I can't give you this one!" he fluted in his high pitched Vernon, Florida voice.
"That's NORTH DAKOTA, I need that one!"
"Guh," I moaned.
"Yeah! Did you know, they started making these STATE quarters?"
"Ahhhhhhhhuk," I sighed.
"At the mint! PEOPLE COLLECT THEM!"
"Hurrrrrg," I gurgled.
Eventually he found a useable quarter and departed to his lair, taking James Jones and a not inconsiderable piece of my sanity with him.
He usually kills a few hours reading quietly in an out of the way corner before shuffling back across the street, but last night mysterious forces compelled him to pick up a biography of James Jones. He sounds exactly like one of the characters in Vernon, Florida ("and that's just the TOP of it!"). He never trims his nails and they curl yellow and jagged over his fingertips, like an inscrutable mandarin from a 1930's Yellow Peril serial.
A few years ago he was looking scabbier and acting more disoriented than usual and I figured he was due for a last ride in one of the ambulances that circle the block like taxis around a bus terminal.
But after a short disappearance he returned, minus his belt and with a couple of plastic hospital bracelets on his arm. It took him several months to lose the bracelets and find his belt, but otherwise he seemed good as new.
Unaccustomed as he was to buying things, assembling payment became a haphazard business involving several pockets and the sifting of copious handfuls of scrap paper and gum wrappers. The requisite folding money was gathered after some touch and go moments.
Then came the change.
"Oh, wait..I can't give you this one!" he fluted in his high pitched Vernon, Florida voice.
"That's NORTH DAKOTA, I need that one!"
"Guh," I moaned.
"Yeah! Did you know, they started making these STATE quarters?"
"Ahhhhhhhhuk," I sighed.
"At the mint! PEOPLE COLLECT THEM!"
"Hurrrrrg," I gurgled.
Eventually he found a useable quarter and departed to his lair, taking James Jones and a not inconsiderable piece of my sanity with him.
Monday, November 10, 2008
attn VIDEOGAME NERDS
click for election funny.
my favorite comment from the source thread:
There is no tougher crowd than a virtual room full of committed geeks.
my favorite comment from the source thread:
I fuckin love it but man I wish they'd gotten the font right
There is no tougher crowd than a virtual room full of committed geeks.
adventures in retail
Today's curmudgeonly complaint is quarters with states on the back.
Note to customers:
Don't worry about whether you're giving me Georgia or Nebraska, or waste our time tediously excavating your purse looking for a Hawaii to unload, because you know it's down there at the bottom somewhere, recumbent on a cushion of decomposing receipts and tangles of hair.
None of them are ever going to be worth anything.
Remember those bicentennial quarters?
Or how about the legendary two dollar bill?
So, yeah- a quarter is a quarter.
Don't obsess.
Note to customers:
Don't worry about whether you're giving me Georgia or Nebraska, or waste our time tediously excavating your purse looking for a Hawaii to unload, because you know it's down there at the bottom somewhere, recumbent on a cushion of decomposing receipts and tangles of hair.
None of them are ever going to be worth anything.
Remember those bicentennial quarters?
Or how about the legendary two dollar bill?
So, yeah- a quarter is a quarter.
Don't obsess.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
this week's search engine keywords
A fine vintage:
and last but certainly not least!
batman sound effects
HOUSE OF 1000 CORPSES ANIMATED GIF
Mike Funk Angus Young
and last but certainly not least!
elongated clitorises
tis (nearly) the season
Ever forward looking and eager to curry favor with my loyal and attractive readership, the Baxblog is now taking names for a special holiday surprise to be delivered by Clydesdale-drawn sledge, or alternately, the US Postal Service.
Interested parties send old timey mailing addresses to
dasbax at gmail dot com
attn: HOLIDAY ELVES
I'm figuring two months of lead time is sufficient to overcome the chronal depredations of the Fuss and my natural procrastination.
Hint- the surprise will be auditory in nature.
Beat the rush, sign up now!
Interested parties send old timey mailing addresses to
dasbax at gmail dot com
attn: HOLIDAY ELVES
I'm figuring two months of lead time is sufficient to overcome the chronal depredations of the Fuss and my natural procrastination.
Hint- the surprise will be auditory in nature.
Beat the rush, sign up now!
Saturday, November 8, 2008
floors and ceilings
The wife's Cousin Don is arriving next week to install a new floor downstairs, necessitating removal of the scattered, tattered relics of the sewage flood.
Past the rarefied realm of friends who'll help you move, beyond the borders of friends who'll help you paint, there was an uncharted frontier.
Uncharted, that is, before the dauntless expedition Devra mounted yesterday.
An expedition that made her the founding member of Friends Who Will Help Rip The Floor Out of the Downstairs, a pantheon of one.
Thanks, Devra!
With the wretched carpet, the space belowdecks inspired a low level existential dread, like a doomed ship's boiler room as shot by David Lynch.
Now, stripped to bare plywood and absent its dismal shawl of ridiculously patterned polyester curtains, it's sort of nice. The afternoon light pours into the main room and aside from the unmitigated disaster of the kitchen/laundry room/furnace/entry hall, which reeks of zero-budget improvisation, it's a nice space for one person.
The multipurpose hallway is what it is, barring extensive (and expensive) reconstructive surgery, but the other three rooms are rife with potential. It'll be fun to see what our pal does with it.
Past the rarefied realm of friends who'll help you move, beyond the borders of friends who'll help you paint, there was an uncharted frontier.
Uncharted, that is, before the dauntless expedition Devra mounted yesterday.
An expedition that made her the founding member of Friends Who Will Help Rip The Floor Out of the Downstairs, a pantheon of one.
Thanks, Devra!
With the wretched carpet, the space belowdecks inspired a low level existential dread, like a doomed ship's boiler room as shot by David Lynch.
Now, stripped to bare plywood and absent its dismal shawl of ridiculously patterned polyester curtains, it's sort of nice. The afternoon light pours into the main room and aside from the unmitigated disaster of the kitchen/laundry room/furnace/entry hall, which reeks of zero-budget improvisation, it's a nice space for one person.
The multipurpose hallway is what it is, barring extensive (and expensive) reconstructive surgery, but the other three rooms are rife with potential. It'll be fun to see what our pal does with it.
Friday, November 7, 2008
COMMENT APOCALYPSE
My Haloscan sub is about to run out and I'm not gonna renew it.
It loads like an anaconda swallowing a boar, devours comments like a survivor of the Irish Potato Famine and in general comports itself in a manner unbecoming a steward of my reader's priceless musings.
I'll be dumping it and reinstating the annoying-but-reliable Blogger comments sometime in the next couple of days.
Your deathless Halo-prose may vanish along with the software, but will live forever in the blackened lump of my heart.
And isn't that what all this is really about?
Hmm?
It loads like an anaconda swallowing a boar, devours comments like a survivor of the Irish Potato Famine and in general comports itself in a manner unbecoming a steward of my reader's priceless musings.
I'll be dumping it and reinstating the annoying-but-reliable Blogger comments sometime in the next couple of days.
Your deathless Halo-prose may vanish along with the software, but will live forever in the blackened lump of my heart.
And isn't that what all this is really about?
Hmm?
musique nonstop: TV on the Radio
I mentioned their new one a while back, but after a stint in heavy rotation I demand y'all pick it up.
Nothing weak, a handful of solidly A-list tracks and a couple of instant classics make for one hell of a record.
It's exciting to find something so good and fresh and intentional.
This one reminds me of picking up 1999 in my youth, when Prince was hitting his stride and you could tell he was ready to tear off a run of amazing music.
fan video of my favorite track-
Nothing weak, a handful of solidly A-list tracks and a couple of instant classics make for one hell of a record.
It's exciting to find something so good and fresh and intentional.
This one reminds me of picking up 1999 in my youth, when Prince was hitting his stride and you could tell he was ready to tear off a run of amazing music.
fan video of my favorite track-
Thursday, November 6, 2008
stream of unconscious
Devra paid a visit tonight.
There was Son of Frankenstein with its German Expressionist sets and scenery chewing hunchback, and cookie bars in a pyrex dish, and the baby crying for a while, passed around fluidly like a garden snake though sets of hands above the ground.
Basil Rathbone was the finest swordsman in Hollywood but had to lose every fight on the silver screen.
We read her a letter from our German friends, and gave her a copy of the Arion Moby Dick as a belated birthday gift.
Where to hang Rineke Dijkstra?
The green wall was serviceable, the yellow was better.
Devra ran across an exhibition of her works while carrying the volleyball across Europe last summer.
The sewage downstairs is gone, but the wreckage remains.
The insurance check is in mom's name, and I know she'd like to spend it on everything except fixing the floor.
Things were always too expensive to fix.
All problems called for the makeshift solution.
She once took me to a therapist for my intractability.
I tracked dark circles across the pages of several booklets and stared at hieroglyphics.
He blamed my behavior on my grandfather's death and instructed her to lock me out of the house and search my room for drugs.
I forget how long I didn't talk to her.
Living here with all their relics, I can call her up like room service.
It's sad to have better conversations with her dead than alive.
Ghostyhead, Rickie Lee Jones
There was Son of Frankenstein with its German Expressionist sets and scenery chewing hunchback, and cookie bars in a pyrex dish, and the baby crying for a while, passed around fluidly like a garden snake though sets of hands above the ground.
Basil Rathbone was the finest swordsman in Hollywood but had to lose every fight on the silver screen.
We read her a letter from our German friends, and gave her a copy of the Arion Moby Dick as a belated birthday gift.
Where to hang Rineke Dijkstra?
The green wall was serviceable, the yellow was better.
Devra ran across an exhibition of her works while carrying the volleyball across Europe last summer.
The sewage downstairs is gone, but the wreckage remains.
The insurance check is in mom's name, and I know she'd like to spend it on everything except fixing the floor.
Things were always too expensive to fix.
All problems called for the makeshift solution.
She once took me to a therapist for my intractability.
I tracked dark circles across the pages of several booklets and stared at hieroglyphics.
He blamed my behavior on my grandfather's death and instructed her to lock me out of the house and search my room for drugs.
I forget how long I didn't talk to her.
Living here with all their relics, I can call her up like room service.
It's sad to have better conversations with her dead than alive.
Ghostyhead, ghostyhead, standing in the door
You think if you don't answer
I can't hear you anymore
Chains you hung from ear to ear
Finally drug your head
But I can see through anything
I know what you bled
Ghostyhead, Rickie Lee Jones
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Title of the Week
Gyn/Ecology: The Metaethics of Radical Feminism by Mary Daly.
Taking it to the next level is the battle axe graphic on the cover.
Taking it to the next level is the battle axe graphic on the cover.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Halloween Report
The party was epic, as always.
I wasn't tremendously excited by my costume but had very little energy to spare, and it turned out okay.
I'm already stockpiling ideas for next year and vow to come back strong.
Costume of the night goes to Mike Funk's Angus Young.
As the evening progressed weaker partygoers laid down their props, but Mike rocked his Gibson the whole evening.
The founders of the feast, Neal and Patty, aka Popeye and Olive Oil.
Your humble narrator, chatting with Cindy and Shawn as the Devil Twins:
Angus wasn't the only rock god in attendance- here, he chats with Nigel Tufnel:
Teri, rocking her Dio de los Muertos look:
Pictures don't do it justice- she looked like a Posada engraving come to life.
Heroic trio in the dungeon:
The decorations this year were the best yet. Patty picked up a couple of rolls of vinyl stone wall paper and the results were spooktacular.
The Fusser dictated an earlier than usual exit which saved everyone from a repeat of last year's 3am dance floor striptease, when I threw my tee shirt into the crowd and handed out the potatoes stuffing my shorts to any lucky lady within the scope of my blurred vision.
This year there was more dancing, earlier in the evening.
The ball got rolling when a TV on the Radio tune lured Mike, Lisa and yours truly onto the dance floor.
A few tunes later there were 10 of us rocking out.
Been Caught Stealing by Jane's Addiction hit, and suddenly the whole place was jumping.
Very very fun.
The world needs more drunken Caucasian gyrating.
I think next year I'll bring a strobe light.
I wasn't tremendously excited by my costume but had very little energy to spare, and it turned out okay.
I'm already stockpiling ideas for next year and vow to come back strong.
Costume of the night goes to Mike Funk's Angus Young.
As the evening progressed weaker partygoers laid down their props, but Mike rocked his Gibson the whole evening.
The founders of the feast, Neal and Patty, aka Popeye and Olive Oil.
Your humble narrator, chatting with Cindy and Shawn as the Devil Twins:
Angus wasn't the only rock god in attendance- here, he chats with Nigel Tufnel:
Teri, rocking her Dio de los Muertos look:
Pictures don't do it justice- she looked like a Posada engraving come to life.
Heroic trio in the dungeon:
The decorations this year were the best yet. Patty picked up a couple of rolls of vinyl stone wall paper and the results were spooktacular.
The Fusser dictated an earlier than usual exit which saved everyone from a repeat of last year's 3am dance floor striptease, when I threw my tee shirt into the crowd and handed out the potatoes stuffing my shorts to any lucky lady within the scope of my blurred vision.
This year there was more dancing, earlier in the evening.
The ball got rolling when a TV on the Radio tune lured Mike, Lisa and yours truly onto the dance floor.
A few tunes later there were 10 of us rocking out.
Been Caught Stealing by Jane's Addiction hit, and suddenly the whole place was jumping.
Very very fun.
The world needs more drunken Caucasian gyrating.
I think next year I'll bring a strobe light.
remix
our pal Mike Funk did a Radiohead remix you should vote for.
Oh, and you can listen to it if you like.
Help him win bragging rights over his music nerd buddies, won't you?
Oh, and you can listen to it if you like.
Help him win bragging rights over his music nerd buddies, won't you?
Sunday, November 2, 2008
AT&T- your source for the worst broadband available
You might think my DSL trials would be over after a month of the run-around.
You'd be wrong!
I just got a call from some customer drone who told me I'm too far from the CO to get the 6mb pipe they pre-qualified me for and that my account was being downgraded to their 3mb pipe.
At this rate it may not be long before I downgrade them to Charter cable.
Charter was way too expensive, but their service did what they said it would and it came without the heaping side order of BULLSHIT AT&T has delivered.
You'd be wrong!
I just got a call from some customer drone who told me I'm too far from the CO to get the 6mb pipe they pre-qualified me for and that my account was being downgraded to their 3mb pipe.
At this rate it may not be long before I downgrade them to Charter cable.
Charter was way too expensive, but their service did what they said it would and it came without the heaping side order of BULLSHIT AT&T has delivered.
election news
Naive Progressives and Why They Piss Me Off, Prop 8 Edition:
So the big final ad push for the No on 8 crew is a happy appeal to the better nature of voters, showcasing smiling families being together, the implication being 'who would vote against THIS?'
Which I don't think will impress anyone except those who've already set up their tents in the NO on 8 campground.
What would've worked better is pointing out the army of Mormons and other out of state Fundie groups who've poured millions of dollars and thousands of volunteers into the Yes on 8 campaign.
Take a page from the tribes running casinos- when Vegas poured millions into a campaign for indian gaming regulation, they made sure the voters knew about it.
Fairness and equality are a hard sell here.
It's much easier to get people riled up about outsiders sticking their big noses in California's business.
Maybe I should become a big money political consultant...
So the big final ad push for the No on 8 crew is a happy appeal to the better nature of voters, showcasing smiling families being together, the implication being 'who would vote against THIS?'
Which I don't think will impress anyone except those who've already set up their tents in the NO on 8 campground.
What would've worked better is pointing out the army of Mormons and other out of state Fundie groups who've poured millions of dollars and thousands of volunteers into the Yes on 8 campaign.
Take a page from the tribes running casinos- when Vegas poured millions into a campaign for indian gaming regulation, they made sure the voters knew about it.
Fairness and equality are a hard sell here.
It's much easier to get people riled up about outsiders sticking their big noses in California's business.
Maybe I should become a big money political consultant...
Saturday, November 1, 2008
online!
Checked the modem tonight and got the (literal) green light.
Finally, only took them a month.
Normal updating has returned, hallelujah!
Finally, only took them a month.
Normal updating has returned, hallelujah!
PELF staged reading
attn Los Angeles readers!
Published works, notable theater groups commissioning plays...I'd say Pelf has 'made it'.
Not on the Tony Kushner/David Mamet scale, but how many people in the world ever make a penny writing plays?
GRATZ Pelf!
Published works, notable theater groups commissioning plays...I'd say Pelf has 'made it'.
Not on the Tony Kushner/David Mamet scale, but how many people in the world ever make a penny writing plays?
GRATZ Pelf!
Uncle Timmy Paints a Bust
Snazzy!
Click the thumbnail for a more substantial image.
Our friend Mike is a world-class sculptor who Timmy spotted in a bookstore and struck up a conversation with. Now he paints his stuff for box art.
Way back in the mists of prehistory the Wife, then known as The Little Red Headed Girl from the Coffee Merchant, confided to her brother that she thought I might be....a geek.
Uncle Timmy became incensed.
"He is NOT a geek!"
Moral of the story-
When a guy who works next door strikes up a conversation about the merits of different Japanese metallic paints, it pays to indulge him.
Click the thumbnail for a more substantial image.
Our friend Mike is a world-class sculptor who Timmy spotted in a bookstore and struck up a conversation with. Now he paints his stuff for box art.
Way back in the mists of prehistory the Wife, then known as The Little Red Headed Girl from the Coffee Merchant, confided to her brother that she thought I might be....a geek.
Uncle Timmy became incensed.
"He is NOT a geek!"
Moral of the story-
When a guy who works next door strikes up a conversation about the merits of different Japanese metallic paints, it pays to indulge him.
catching up
Still no internet.
Daily calls to various brain damaged AT&T service drones has hopefully made me such an pain in the ass they'll hook me up just to spare themselves the static.
The highlight thus far- the service guy (the replacement for the one that never showed up) finally arrived and spent 40 minutes poking around and calling various numbers, which were not obviously more potent than the ones I've been using. You think they'd give their own people the Bat Phone, but no.
He wound his way through a labyrinth of wire, physical and bureaucratic, eventually discovering the secret at the heart of the maze- AT&T had never actually turned on my service.
You think it would be obvious to any of the 5000 people I've complained to over the past few weeks, but no! Sherlock Tech must be dispatched from the home office to discover these enigmatic, buried truths.
They claim that NOW they've turned it on, but I still have to wait a few days until they "wire it", whatever that means.
In the meantime, Halloween!
There are some pics of the Fuss in his holiday regalia I'll be posting shortly.
The Fiend went as the Sugar Plum Fairy and was an otherworldly vision, down to the purple pumpkin that matched her outfit to a T.
Keith and Terri's daughter Vera broke gender ranks by going as a hockey player, complete with personalized jersey and tiny hockey stick.
Our party is tonight, and there have been drastic revisions in my look.
Out with the unqualified teen mother, in with Edwardian big game hunter!
Which would make my ubiquitous gin and tonic a prop, not a drink!
The wife is working with a disgruntled cafeteria worker in Soviet Russia concept.
Two late inspirations that we've filed for future consideration are Giant Ghandi, where I shave my head, get a spray tan and wrap my loins in linen, and a Diane Arbus family theme (the fuss could be the dwarf gigolo, I like the True Patriot, or maybe the Jewish giant, the wife as one of her eerie portraits of retarded people.)
Babies take a lot of energy, moving and settling in takes a lot of energy, probating estates takes a lot of energy, battling AT&T takes a lot of energy...all of this has undermined my usual enthusiasm for the only holiday that matters.
On the house front, the bedroom is done. The kitchen is done. The office is done, except for the ongoing debacle with AT&T's posse of drooling clowns. Up next is the bathroom, which needs painting and shelves.
The wife's cousin is heading down next weekend to repair the anarchy of the Turd Tsunami, installing a new floor and patching up the holes in the walls. We have a tenant lined up.
Everything is coming together, if more slowly and disjointedly than I'd like.
Daily calls to various brain damaged AT&T service drones has hopefully made me such an pain in the ass they'll hook me up just to spare themselves the static.
The highlight thus far- the service guy (the replacement for the one that never showed up) finally arrived and spent 40 minutes poking around and calling various numbers, which were not obviously more potent than the ones I've been using. You think they'd give their own people the Bat Phone, but no.
He wound his way through a labyrinth of wire, physical and bureaucratic, eventually discovering the secret at the heart of the maze- AT&T had never actually turned on my service.
You think it would be obvious to any of the 5000 people I've complained to over the past few weeks, but no! Sherlock Tech must be dispatched from the home office to discover these enigmatic, buried truths.
They claim that NOW they've turned it on, but I still have to wait a few days until they "wire it", whatever that means.
In the meantime, Halloween!
There are some pics of the Fuss in his holiday regalia I'll be posting shortly.
The Fiend went as the Sugar Plum Fairy and was an otherworldly vision, down to the purple pumpkin that matched her outfit to a T.
Keith and Terri's daughter Vera broke gender ranks by going as a hockey player, complete with personalized jersey and tiny hockey stick.
Our party is tonight, and there have been drastic revisions in my look.
Out with the unqualified teen mother, in with Edwardian big game hunter!
Which would make my ubiquitous gin and tonic a prop, not a drink!
The wife is working with a disgruntled cafeteria worker in Soviet Russia concept.
Two late inspirations that we've filed for future consideration are Giant Ghandi, where I shave my head, get a spray tan and wrap my loins in linen, and a Diane Arbus family theme (the fuss could be the dwarf gigolo, I like the True Patriot, or maybe the Jewish giant, the wife as one of her eerie portraits of retarded people.)
Babies take a lot of energy, moving and settling in takes a lot of energy, probating estates takes a lot of energy, battling AT&T takes a lot of energy...all of this has undermined my usual enthusiasm for the only holiday that matters.
On the house front, the bedroom is done. The kitchen is done. The office is done, except for the ongoing debacle with AT&T's posse of drooling clowns. Up next is the bathroom, which needs painting and shelves.
The wife's cousin is heading down next weekend to repair the anarchy of the Turd Tsunami, installing a new floor and patching up the holes in the walls. We have a tenant lined up.
Everything is coming together, if more slowly and disjointedly than I'd like.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Subtitle of the Month
from Smoldering Women by Burton St John, all caps preserved for added breathlessness:
THE BIZARRE PLOT OF A DEPRAVED WOMAN WHO PAID A MAN TO VIOLATE HER OWN DAUGHTERS
special bonus award!
Most Transparent Pseudonym of All Time:
Yvonne, or The Adventures and Intrigues of a French Governess with her Pupils
by
Mary Suckit
THE BIZARRE PLOT OF A DEPRAVED WOMAN WHO PAID A MAN TO VIOLATE HER OWN DAUGHTERS
special bonus award!
Most Transparent Pseudonym of All Time:
Yvonne, or The Adventures and Intrigues of a French Governess with her Pupils
by
Mary Suckit
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
sign of the times
The Christian Science Monitor is going internet only.
Welcome to the future!
also, how does such a nutty religion publish such a good newspaper?
Welcome to the future!
also, how does such a nutty religion publish such a good newspaper?
Monday, October 27, 2008
WOW
I picked up a couple of Stephenie Meyer hardcovers at the library sale, not expecting much.
She's part of the current post-Rice vampire renaissance and sells like hotcakes so I grabbed them for the store.
This book graphically demonstrates why you should look up everything you buy, however obvious it seems.
That makes it the most expensive fiction book I've ever had for sale.
For comparison, we sold a pretty nice 1st edition of the seminal Heinlein novel Stranger in a Strange Land a couple of years ago for $600. And that's a cornerstone title for anyone interested in SF.
A complete shock.
I'm betting it'll move fast at $500, making it the single most valuable book I've sold online.
She's part of the current post-Rice vampire renaissance and sells like hotcakes so I grabbed them for the store.
This book graphically demonstrates why you should look up everything you buy, however obvious it seems.
That makes it the most expensive fiction book I've ever had for sale.
For comparison, we sold a pretty nice 1st edition of the seminal Heinlein novel Stranger in a Strange Land a couple of years ago for $600. And that's a cornerstone title for anyone interested in SF.
A complete shock.
I'm betting it'll move fast at $500, making it the single most valuable book I've sold online.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
homebody
I'm almost done painting.
Sage Sweater in the entryway is more pastel than I wanted, but looks OK.
It's a nice match for the Goldfinch in the living room, the entryway is a weird shape with a pain the ass super high ceiling over the stairway and the wife absolutely loves it, so it stays.
The kitchen is nailed down. The living room is still more loading dock than anything, but it's serviceable. I've got the office nook set up, but minus broadband it's a girlfriend in a coma. The bedroom is still a disaster. The new bed is great, but the old one is leaned up against the wall waiting for the new floor downstairs and most of our clothes are still bagged up against one wall.
Maybe tonight I'll take a stab at it.
The garage is still stuffed full.
All of the unpacking we've done so far hasn't done much but pry a couple of bricks from the wall.
Sage Sweater in the entryway is more pastel than I wanted, but looks OK.
It's a nice match for the Goldfinch in the living room, the entryway is a weird shape with a pain the ass super high ceiling over the stairway and the wife absolutely loves it, so it stays.
The kitchen is nailed down. The living room is still more loading dock than anything, but it's serviceable. I've got the office nook set up, but minus broadband it's a girlfriend in a coma. The bedroom is still a disaster. The new bed is great, but the old one is leaned up against the wall waiting for the new floor downstairs and most of our clothes are still bagged up against one wall.
Maybe tonight I'll take a stab at it.
The garage is still stuffed full.
All of the unpacking we've done so far hasn't done much but pry a couple of bricks from the wall.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
finds
We took Eamonn to his first library sale this morning.
He seemed to enjoy it, riding front pack with mama in his Winnie the Pooh hoodie, complete with ears.
We picked up four boxes of stock and a couple of grocery bags of pocket books for the store for 80 bucks.
One book of historic photos from the Imperial Valley priced out at 90, so that took care of that.
The most interesting part was taking a spin through the hardcover fiction.
I don't usually have time, since most sales start at 9am on work days. But today I gave it a once over, and found some really interesting books paddling furiously in the scrum, trying not to drown in the the Dan Browns, Nora Roberts and Danielle Steels.
A pretty nice 1st edition of The Tombs of Atuan by Ursula K. Le Guin, a book I've never seen in hardcover. Should move briskly at 100. An amazingly fucking clean 1st edition of Black Robe by Brian Moore (a book I believe Bobo teaches). Not super valuable, but it's rare to see a book you can honestly describe as Fine/Fine in the wild, unless it came out last week.
And one for the personal library, an abnormally nice copy of The Ice Schooner by Michael Moorcock.
Old-ish SF and Fantasy is scarce in hardcover period, clean copies are a rare treat.
These are the little sparks that keep dealers pawing through mountains of dreck for years on end.
/edit
Curiosity inspires me to look up Black Robe.
There are 78 1st edition hardcovers in dust jackets, let's see how far up the price ladder I have to climb to find one that's Fine/Fine....
Winner:
#33, at an eminently reasonable $15.00.
I wouldn't personally buy this copy because of a line in the description:
We offer a LIFETIME GUARANTEE.
Never trust book dealers who traffic in the language of the department store.
He seemed to enjoy it, riding front pack with mama in his Winnie the Pooh hoodie, complete with ears.
We picked up four boxes of stock and a couple of grocery bags of pocket books for the store for 80 bucks.
One book of historic photos from the Imperial Valley priced out at 90, so that took care of that.
The most interesting part was taking a spin through the hardcover fiction.
I don't usually have time, since most sales start at 9am on work days. But today I gave it a once over, and found some really interesting books paddling furiously in the scrum, trying not to drown in the the Dan Browns, Nora Roberts and Danielle Steels.
A pretty nice 1st edition of The Tombs of Atuan by Ursula K. Le Guin, a book I've never seen in hardcover. Should move briskly at 100. An amazingly fucking clean 1st edition of Black Robe by Brian Moore (a book I believe Bobo teaches). Not super valuable, but it's rare to see a book you can honestly describe as Fine/Fine in the wild, unless it came out last week.
And one for the personal library, an abnormally nice copy of The Ice Schooner by Michael Moorcock.
Old-ish SF and Fantasy is scarce in hardcover period, clean copies are a rare treat.
These are the little sparks that keep dealers pawing through mountains of dreck for years on end.
/edit
Curiosity inspires me to look up Black Robe.
There are 78 1st edition hardcovers in dust jackets, let's see how far up the price ladder I have to climb to find one that's Fine/Fine....
Winner:
#33, at an eminently reasonable $15.00.
I wouldn't personally buy this copy because of a line in the description:
We offer a LIFETIME GUARANTEE.
Never trust book dealers who traffic in the language of the department store.
AT&T sucks a fat one
Called the clown farm Wednesday, having not heard back from them r/e my problematic lines.
I took matters up with a fellow who seemingly had no knowledge of this previous arrangement and walked me through all the troubleshooting steps that had already failed. Eventually he arrived at the positively Hitchcockian conclusion that my lines needed inspecting.
Taking it a step farther than the previous tech drone, he actually scheduled a visit.
So at least I'll know if they're blowing me off without having to call and confirm.
I've dealt with a lot of these folk in the past few weeks and they are all so desperate to be pleasant and amenable it's downright eerie.
Which makes business sense.
The service is shit, but fixing that would be really expensive.
Fine-tuning the script your customer service drones run to placate your irate, sun-maddened subscribers is cheap, so it looks good in a report.
It probably works.
Most Americans don't seem to mind piss raining down from an upper floor provided whoever's emptying their bladder accompanies the shower with a flattering, upbeat monologue.
I took matters up with a fellow who seemingly had no knowledge of this previous arrangement and walked me through all the troubleshooting steps that had already failed. Eventually he arrived at the positively Hitchcockian conclusion that my lines needed inspecting.
Taking it a step farther than the previous tech drone, he actually scheduled a visit.
So at least I'll know if they're blowing me off without having to call and confirm.
I've dealt with a lot of these folk in the past few weeks and they are all so desperate to be pleasant and amenable it's downright eerie.
Which makes business sense.
The service is shit, but fixing that would be really expensive.
Fine-tuning the script your customer service drones run to placate your irate, sun-maddened subscribers is cheap, so it looks good in a report.
It probably works.
Most Americans don't seem to mind piss raining down from an upper floor provided whoever's emptying their bladder accompanies the shower with a flattering, upbeat monologue.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
offline
going offline again until AT&T un-fucks their lines or my next shift, whichever comes first.
And to prove I'm going all out for you, my readers, I stuck one of those wireless thingies on my comp yesterday and sniffed around for unsecured networks in my neighborhood- not a one!
Curse my new rural life in McPalin's REAL AMERICA(tm)!
In the decadent big city I could appropriate some bandwidth neighboring networks in my hour of need. That's one thing the ocean of students was good for. That, and projectile vomiting contests.
I'll try and take some pichurs for a make-up post when I return.
And to prove I'm going all out for you, my readers, I stuck one of those wireless thingies on my comp yesterday and sniffed around for unsecured networks in my neighborhood- not a one!
Curse my new rural life in McPalin's REAL AMERICA(tm)!
In the decadent big city I could appropriate some bandwidth neighboring networks in my hour of need. That's one thing the ocean of students was good for. That, and projectile vomiting contests.
I'll try and take some pichurs for a make-up post when I return.
punching the clock
One mid-sized boulder in the avalanche of change that's buried my old life is the daily commute.
I didn't think it would be that big a deal.
I've traveled between town and the coast my whole life. When I was a kid, the coast wasn't much more than a cluster of houses with one gas station & attendant mini mart, a tiny pier overlooking the mud flats, a bakery and a grocery store the size of an average supermarket produce aisle. If you wanted anything or wanted to do anything you drove to town.
The last few years we've been driving out to the coast several times a week, visiting the sizable expatriate community driven off by the financial tyranny of a university town with perfect weather.
But there's a difference between a voluntary, free form schedule and needing to open the store by 10am. It's not a long drive and I enjoy my job, and so lacks the hair splitting blade of existential despair I imagine hovering over many of my fellow travelers.
Still, it puts me in a strange space, one I'm not sure how to utilize.
It occurred, watching the telephone poles go by this morning. that driving to work is the only time most people are alone with their thoughts.
Maybe this explains the attraction cell phones have for drivers.
The unexamined life may not be worth living, but that doesn't divert the national stampede toward ever more cunningly packaged diversions.
I didn't think it would be that big a deal.
I've traveled between town and the coast my whole life. When I was a kid, the coast wasn't much more than a cluster of houses with one gas station & attendant mini mart, a tiny pier overlooking the mud flats, a bakery and a grocery store the size of an average supermarket produce aisle. If you wanted anything or wanted to do anything you drove to town.
The last few years we've been driving out to the coast several times a week, visiting the sizable expatriate community driven off by the financial tyranny of a university town with perfect weather.
But there's a difference between a voluntary, free form schedule and needing to open the store by 10am. It's not a long drive and I enjoy my job, and so lacks the hair splitting blade of existential despair I imagine hovering over many of my fellow travelers.
Still, it puts me in a strange space, one I'm not sure how to utilize.
It occurred, watching the telephone poles go by this morning. that driving to work is the only time most people are alone with their thoughts.
Maybe this explains the attraction cell phones have for drivers.
The unexamined life may not be worth living, but that doesn't divert the national stampede toward ever more cunningly packaged diversions.
Monday, October 20, 2008
screaming fit
Babies are like the mafia...just when you think you're out of some awful, mind-jarring stage of development they SUCK YOU BACK IN.
The Fusser has been happily amenable to reason the last few weeks.
He'll cry, but stops when you pick him up, or change his diaper, or feed him, or satisfy the opaque desire he is so inelegantly expressing.
Then last night, apropos of nothing, mayhem.
The living room turned expressionistically lurid, a suitably Wagnerian backdrop for the aria of destruction pouring from the scarlet cave of his throat.
We tried this, we tried that, expecting nothing, killing time in the trench waiting for the bombardment to end.
It's the only aspect of childrearing I can't take, that sort of hopelessly inconsolable shrieking. One more thing for the 'back in therapy' laundry list....
The Fusser has been happily amenable to reason the last few weeks.
He'll cry, but stops when you pick him up, or change his diaper, or feed him, or satisfy the opaque desire he is so inelegantly expressing.
Then last night, apropos of nothing, mayhem.
The living room turned expressionistically lurid, a suitably Wagnerian backdrop for the aria of destruction pouring from the scarlet cave of his throat.
We tried this, we tried that, expecting nothing, killing time in the trench waiting for the bombardment to end.
It's the only aspect of childrearing I can't take, that sort of hopelessly inconsolable shrieking. One more thing for the 'back in therapy' laundry list....
Birthday Alert: Little Timmy
He's throwing a little thing we like to call PARTY at Chez Farrell this Friday, October 24th.
He promises war crimes and various shades of assing about.
We should start a Withnail & I pool, whoever gets closest to the actual start time is the winner. Tiebreaker is how soon after starting the movie he passes out on the couch.
I say he throws it on at 1:23 am, and passes out right as they leave Uncle Monty's apartment.
He promises war crimes and various shades of assing about.
We should start a Withnail & I pool, whoever gets closest to the actual start time is the winner. Tiebreaker is how soon after starting the movie he passes out on the couch.
I say he throws it on at 1:23 am, and passes out right as they leave Uncle Monty's apartment.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Inagural homowning disaster
Call from The Wife a few hours back.
The tenant came to pick up the last of his junk and discovered that the septic tank had spent the days since his last visit disgorging into the downstairs unit, turning it into a makeshift house diaper, if you will.
Not cottoning to the idea of squeegeeing raw sewage around with an infant on her hip she cast about for aid and was referred to Central Coast Casualty Restoration.
(company motto: When Disaster S T R I K E S!)
They're hard at work as I type, having been given permission to deploy ANTIMICROBIAL MATERIALS,which sounds impressively industrial and sort of futuristic, conjuring images of a buzzing squadron of dragonfly-sized robots deploying sterile white foam over a North Sea studded with bobbing turds.
The septic tank guys are en route.
I'm happy this wasn't discovered on a sunday.
The tenant came to pick up the last of his junk and discovered that the septic tank had spent the days since his last visit disgorging into the downstairs unit, turning it into a makeshift house diaper, if you will.
Not cottoning to the idea of squeegeeing raw sewage around with an infant on her hip she cast about for aid and was referred to Central Coast Casualty Restoration.
(company motto: When Disaster S T R I K E S!)
They're hard at work as I type, having been given permission to deploy ANTIMICROBIAL MATERIALS,which sounds impressively industrial and sort of futuristic, conjuring images of a buzzing squadron of dragonfly-sized robots deploying sterile white foam over a North Sea studded with bobbing turds.
The septic tank guys are en route.
I'm happy this wasn't discovered on a sunday.
big fat flickr update
click click.
No internet at home.
It's like a phantom limb, I can still feel it even though it isn't there.
I have several updates worth of stuff trapped on the deaf-mute computer in the living room.
In the meantime this'll have to do.
No internet at home.
It's like a phantom limb, I can still feel it even though it isn't there.
I have several updates worth of stuff trapped on the deaf-mute computer in the living room.
In the meantime this'll have to do.
Country Life
Ah, the idle existence of the rural squire!
Having successfully trundled our worldly possessions to the new country estate via donkey cart and native porter, we reversed polarity and began extracting the juice from the mass of boxes in the garage.
Gather your life up and compress it into the smallest possible volume, then shoot forward, expanding outward at the next leg of the journey like an octopus darting between reefs.
That's moving.
The new bed arrived this morning, annoyingly.
We moved our old bed and wrestled it upstairs despite looming obsolescence.
I'd have happily slept on the floor for a few days, but babies impose their perspective on events.
We've been welcomed to the neighborhood by a new cast of bird friends.
An owl landed outside the bedroom window on our first full night, and the trees framing the back yard showcase several competing flocks. The idea of seeding the expanse of the backyard with bird and bee friendly foliage is remarkably pleasant.
We've adopted the habit of a daily walk to the bay around sunset.
The little nature preserve at the end of the block clones the milieu of my youth, before houses conquered all.
It's an eerie feeling, persistent deja vu.
When I was seven or eight I ran through an identical landscape on a much grander scale with my dog.
Mom worked full time and the single channel on the teevee was no match for the sprawl of nature (although I always found time for Match Game & Joker's Wild).
I started finding pointed stakes with cool colored ribbons tied to them stuck in the ground, spoor left by surveyors parceling out the fields.
They were great spears for rabbit hunting.
I made a game of collecting as many as I could carry, dragging bundles to my hideout in a sprawling stand of dwarf oaks surrounded by a moat of poison oak.
By the end of the day they were stacked head-high in the main 'room' of my little cathedral.
I'm sure that drove someone crazy.
In the movie of my life we can frame this scene like the natives first glimpse of British ships through the trees in The New World, innocent in the face of absolute transformation.
Having successfully trundled our worldly possessions to the new country estate via donkey cart and native porter, we reversed polarity and began extracting the juice from the mass of boxes in the garage.
Gather your life up and compress it into the smallest possible volume, then shoot forward, expanding outward at the next leg of the journey like an octopus darting between reefs.
That's moving.
The new bed arrived this morning, annoyingly.
We moved our old bed and wrestled it upstairs despite looming obsolescence.
I'd have happily slept on the floor for a few days, but babies impose their perspective on events.
We've been welcomed to the neighborhood by a new cast of bird friends.
An owl landed outside the bedroom window on our first full night, and the trees framing the back yard showcase several competing flocks. The idea of seeding the expanse of the backyard with bird and bee friendly foliage is remarkably pleasant.
We've adopted the habit of a daily walk to the bay around sunset.
The little nature preserve at the end of the block clones the milieu of my youth, before houses conquered all.
It's an eerie feeling, persistent deja vu.
When I was seven or eight I ran through an identical landscape on a much grander scale with my dog.
Mom worked full time and the single channel on the teevee was no match for the sprawl of nature (although I always found time for Match Game & Joker's Wild).
I started finding pointed stakes with cool colored ribbons tied to them stuck in the ground, spoor left by surveyors parceling out the fields.
They were great spears for rabbit hunting.
I made a game of collecting as many as I could carry, dragging bundles to my hideout in a sprawling stand of dwarf oaks surrounded by a moat of poison oak.
By the end of the day they were stacked head-high in the main 'room' of my little cathedral.
I'm sure that drove someone crazy.
In the movie of my life we can frame this scene like the natives first glimpse of British ships through the trees in The New World, innocent in the face of absolute transformation.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Author Name of the Month
I give you the learned scholar behind New Theaters for Old,
Mordecai Gorelik
Mordecai Gorelik
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
How to avoid hipster baby names
Click Here.
I strongly agree with rule 5:
NO NAMES YOU MIGHT USE FOR A DOG.
Spare your child the stigma of being told to FETCH on the playground!
I strongly agree with rule 5:
NO NAMES YOU MIGHT USE FOR A DOG.
Spare your child the stigma of being told to FETCH on the playground!
Monday, October 13, 2008
Treasure Hunt
As of tonight, after I clean the last stray dust bunnies out of the old place, we'll be officially moved.
It was a big mess, surprise surprise.
None of the trucks we arranged for panned out and the wife had to round up a mammoth U-Haul at the last minute. Helpers descended from on high on wings of fire and we stuffed it like a Foie Gras goose.
Note to prospective movers:
Familiarize yourself with any new vehicle before dark, to avoid inadvertent slapstick comedy during the exodus. We couldn't figure out the dome light and my first stab at disengaging the parking brake caused the hood to fly open.
Unloading went much faster than loading.
Absent strict military discipline these things develop their own momentum, and in the cascade of furniture and goods certain essentials went AWOL, blending in anonymously with the massed cardboard cubes of life stacked to the rafters in the garage.
This morning I rooted through lawn and leaf bags piled like civil war cannonballs on the bedroom floor for the day's wardrobe.
The discovery of a pair of boxer shorts exited me all out of proportion, like grasping a small, longed for treasure in your stocking on Christmas day.
The box with bathroom essentials was wilier quarry and we ended up sharing a towel and postponed brushing our furry teeth.
I dropped off the truck at U Haul before work.
Some alchemical combination the unaccustomed vehicle size, its litany of strange road noises and the unusual view afforded of familiar landscapes cast me into a reverie.
I felt like I had always been driving the truck and was going to keep driving the truck forever. As long as I kept the little Fuel Efficiency dial in the green I would never have to stop, I could drive the empty box across the country, slowing as I passed warehouses bursting with potential, teasing them before accelerating back onto the highway with a coquettish laugh.
Fortunately I was following the wife or I'd have ended up stranded in wilds of Arizona, gas tank empty and dreams scattered across the muted sands.
I parked the truck and picked up toothbrushes on the way to the store, then we shared a pleasant breakfast at the counter.
It was a big mess, surprise surprise.
None of the trucks we arranged for panned out and the wife had to round up a mammoth U-Haul at the last minute. Helpers descended from on high on wings of fire and we stuffed it like a Foie Gras goose.
Note to prospective movers:
Familiarize yourself with any new vehicle before dark, to avoid inadvertent slapstick comedy during the exodus. We couldn't figure out the dome light and my first stab at disengaging the parking brake caused the hood to fly open.
Unloading went much faster than loading.
Absent strict military discipline these things develop their own momentum, and in the cascade of furniture and goods certain essentials went AWOL, blending in anonymously with the massed cardboard cubes of life stacked to the rafters in the garage.
This morning I rooted through lawn and leaf bags piled like civil war cannonballs on the bedroom floor for the day's wardrobe.
The discovery of a pair of boxer shorts exited me all out of proportion, like grasping a small, longed for treasure in your stocking on Christmas day.
The box with bathroom essentials was wilier quarry and we ended up sharing a towel and postponed brushing our furry teeth.
I dropped off the truck at U Haul before work.
Some alchemical combination the unaccustomed vehicle size, its litany of strange road noises and the unusual view afforded of familiar landscapes cast me into a reverie.
I felt like I had always been driving the truck and was going to keep driving the truck forever. As long as I kept the little Fuel Efficiency dial in the green I would never have to stop, I could drive the empty box across the country, slowing as I passed warehouses bursting with potential, teasing them before accelerating back onto the highway with a coquettish laugh.
Fortunately I was following the wife or I'd have ended up stranded in wilds of Arizona, gas tank empty and dreams scattered across the muted sands.
I parked the truck and picked up toothbrushes on the way to the store, then we shared a pleasant breakfast at the counter.
'complaining about other people's lists' pt 426
This time Vanity Fair draws my ire.
There are a lot of really excellent films on that list- but you could pick names from a hat and get a bunch of great documentaries. Docs have more greatness per volume than other kinds of film.
Problem one:
WTF with no Errol Morris?
A 'best doc' list lacking Morris is like a H2 without the O- it's something, just not what they claim.
Problem two:
Two Michael Moore films, neither of them his best?
If he makes this list at all, it's for the very genuine Roger and Me. His other films can't hold a candle to it.
Problem three:
Leni Riefenstahl was a propagandist, which is the opposite of a documentarian.
She would make my list not as a filmmaker but as the subject of the excellent doc The Wonderful Horrible Life of Leni Riefenstahl.
Problem four:
The Maysles brothers are represented, but no Salesman?
Pah, be serious.
And a quibble- the Robert Evans doc The Kid Stays in the Picture is interesting, but far too accommodating of its subject to be great. There is a great documentary in his life, but this one is more interested in buffing its subject's tan to a bronzed gleam than exploring those fresh mounds of dirt in his basement.
IMHO the must-see docs on their list are:
- Brother's Keeper
- Sorrow and the Pity
- Crumb
- Sherman's March
- When We Were Kings
- Hoop Dreams
There are a lot of really excellent films on that list- but you could pick names from a hat and get a bunch of great documentaries. Docs have more greatness per volume than other kinds of film.
Problem one:
WTF with no Errol Morris?
A 'best doc' list lacking Morris is like a H2 without the O- it's something, just not what they claim.
Problem two:
Two Michael Moore films, neither of them his best?
If he makes this list at all, it's for the very genuine Roger and Me. His other films can't hold a candle to it.
Problem three:
Leni Riefenstahl was a propagandist, which is the opposite of a documentarian.
She would make my list not as a filmmaker but as the subject of the excellent doc The Wonderful Horrible Life of Leni Riefenstahl.
Problem four:
The Maysles brothers are represented, but no Salesman?
Pah, be serious.
And a quibble- the Robert Evans doc The Kid Stays in the Picture is interesting, but far too accommodating of its subject to be great. There is a great documentary in his life, but this one is more interested in buffing its subject's tan to a bronzed gleam than exploring those fresh mounds of dirt in his basement.
IMHO the must-see docs on their list are:
- Brother's Keeper
- Sorrow and the Pity
- Crumb
- Sherman's March
- When We Were Kings
- Hoop Dreams
Sunday, October 12, 2008
attn SALLY
DFW interview.
with a Nabokov hook for my butterfly-loving regulars!
Full list of author interviews.
with a Nabokov hook for my butterfly-loving regulars!
LM: I’ve always felt that the best of the metafictionalists—Coover, for example, Nabokov, Borges, even Barth—were criticized too much for being only interested in narcissistic, self-reflexive games, whereas these devices had very real political and historical applications.
DFW: 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. You get some bona fide artists who come along and really divide by zero and weather some serious shit-storms of shock and ridicule in order to promulgate some really important ideas. Once they triumph, though, and their ideas become legitimate and accepted, the crank-turners and wannabes come running to the machine, and out pour the gray pellets and now the whole thing’s become a hollow form, just another institution of fashion. Take a look at some of the critical-theory Ph.D. dissertations being written now. They’re like de Man and Foucault in the mouth of a dull child. Academia and commercial culture have somehow become these gigantic mechanisms of commodification that drain the weight and color out of even the most radical new advances. It’s a surreal inversion of the death-by-neglect that used to kill off prescient art. Now prescient art suffers death-by acceptance. We love things to death, now. Then we retire to the Hamptons.
Full list of author interviews.
archeology of moving
I found a box of letters in my closet that go back 20-odd years.
The persistence of the printed word is an underrated asset in this golden age of binary wonders.
While the lazy slob in me deeply appreciates keeping tabs on people with Facebook, sharing pictures via Flickr, chatting with my friends on Ventrilo and dropping notes via gmail, I won't be stumbling across any of it in a shoebox when I'm an old man.
The wife has kept journals since she was little, ready for moving they take up two good sized boxes. They're a practical solution. With letters you need to intuit things based on replies, which matches nicely my somewhat oblique approach to self inspection.
I like that I once I knew all my friends addresses by heart.
Now, I just start typing and the machine reads my mind.
The persistence of the printed word is an underrated asset in this golden age of binary wonders.
While the lazy slob in me deeply appreciates keeping tabs on people with Facebook, sharing pictures via Flickr, chatting with my friends on Ventrilo and dropping notes via gmail, I won't be stumbling across any of it in a shoebox when I'm an old man.
The wife has kept journals since she was little, ready for moving they take up two good sized boxes. They're a practical solution. With letters you need to intuit things based on replies, which matches nicely my somewhat oblique approach to self inspection.
I like that I once I knew all my friends addresses by heart.
Now, I just start typing and the machine reads my mind.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
attack of the meme
via Burl and Devritsko.
TOP 5 THINGS UNDER $5 I CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT
1. coffee
2. tacos
3. toothpaste
4. canned whole tomatoes
5. Cook's Illustrated
TOP 5 FAVORITE MOVIES
1. The New World
2. Vernon, Florida
3. Dead Man
4. Bladerunner
5. Beau Travail
TOP 5 BABY NAMES I LOVE (Besides my own Children’s)
1. Beatrice
2. Violet
3. May
4. Dagmar
5. Marcel
TOP 5 SONGS I COULD LISTEN TO OVER AND OVER AGAIN
all I've been listening too the last few months is Elliot Smith, so this is his list:
1. New Monkey
2. Needle in the Hay
3. Clementine
4. Satellite
5. Talking to Mary
TOP 5 BOOKS I LOVE
1. Ghosts of Manila by Mark Kram
2. Room with a View by EM Forster
3. Neuromancer by William Gibson
4. Fingersmith by Sarah Waters
5. War is a Force That Gives Us Meaning by Chris Hedges
TOP 5 THINGS THAT ARE ALWAYS IN MY PURSE
That's no purse, it's a MAN BAG!
TOP 5 EXPERIENCES THAT CHANGED MY LIFE FOREVER
1. therapy
2. marriage
3. baby
4. being the fiend's uncle
5. washing up at the bookstore
TOP 5 CURRENT OBSESSIONS
1. baby
2. moving
3. baby
4. baby
5. painting the house
TOP 5 PLACES I’D LIKE TO GO
1. Italy
2. Ireland
3. England
4. south of France
5. a real Democracy
TOP 5 APPLIANCES/KITCHEN TOOLS I CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT
1. non-sick skillet
2. microwave
3. Kitchenaid stand mixer
4. food processor
5. microplane grater
TOP 5 FAVORITE TV SHOWS
1. Deadwood
2. The Wire
3. Project Runway
4. Whatever Anthony Bourdain is doing right now
5. Curb Your Enthusiasm
TOP 5 PEOPLE WHO’S TOP 5 LISTS I’D LOVE TO SEE
I'll answer these things but I won't promote 'em.
TOP 5 THINGS UNDER $5 I CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT
1. coffee
2. tacos
3. toothpaste
4. canned whole tomatoes
5. Cook's Illustrated
TOP 5 FAVORITE MOVIES
1. The New World
2. Vernon, Florida
3. Dead Man
4. Bladerunner
5. Beau Travail
TOP 5 BABY NAMES I LOVE (Besides my own Children’s)
1. Beatrice
2. Violet
3. May
4. Dagmar
5. Marcel
TOP 5 SONGS I COULD LISTEN TO OVER AND OVER AGAIN
all I've been listening too the last few months is Elliot Smith, so this is his list:
1. New Monkey
2. Needle in the Hay
3. Clementine
4. Satellite
5. Talking to Mary
TOP 5 BOOKS I LOVE
1. Ghosts of Manila by Mark Kram
2. Room with a View by EM Forster
3. Neuromancer by William Gibson
4. Fingersmith by Sarah Waters
5. War is a Force That Gives Us Meaning by Chris Hedges
TOP 5 THINGS THAT ARE ALWAYS IN MY PURSE
That's no purse, it's a MAN BAG!
TOP 5 EXPERIENCES THAT CHANGED MY LIFE FOREVER
1. therapy
2. marriage
3. baby
4. being the fiend's uncle
5. washing up at the bookstore
TOP 5 CURRENT OBSESSIONS
1. baby
2. moving
3. baby
4. baby
5. painting the house
TOP 5 PLACES I’D LIKE TO GO
1. Italy
2. Ireland
3. England
4. south of France
5. a real Democracy
TOP 5 APPLIANCES/KITCHEN TOOLS I CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT
1. non-sick skillet
2. microwave
3. Kitchenaid stand mixer
4. food processor
5. microplane grater
TOP 5 FAVORITE TV SHOWS
1. Deadwood
2. The Wire
3. Project Runway
4. Whatever Anthony Bourdain is doing right now
5. Curb Your Enthusiasm
TOP 5 PEOPLE WHO’S TOP 5 LISTS I’D LOVE TO SEE
I'll answer these things but I won't promote 'em.
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