Antidisingenuousmentarianism

This the best Nigerian scam spam email I've gotten. It's really one of the best emails I've ever gotten period.

MY NAME IS ROBIN PETER, I AND MY WIFE AND 3 KIDS ARE ON A CHRISTIAN MISSION TO AFRICA AND I CAME ALONG WITH MY 2 TEACUP YORKSHIRE TERRIER BABIES.

AFTER A WHILE I NOTICE THAT THE AFRICAN WEATHER IS NOT GOOD FOR THE PUPPY AND I HAVE NOT BEEN ABLE TO TAKE GOOD CARE OF THEM THE WAY I ALWAYS DO BECAUSE OF MY JOB. THEY ARE AKC REGISTERD. - TEACUP. HOME RAISED,VACINES & HEALTH GUARANTEE.

I NEED SOMEONE TO ADOPT BOTH AND TAKE CARE OF THEM THE WAY I ALWAYS DO. IF YOU CAN TAKE GOOD CARE OF THEM DO SEND A REPLY AND WILL EMAIL YOU WITH MORE INFO.

P/S: PROVIDE A CONTACT PHONE NUMBER FOR FURTHER COMMUNICATION.

I HOPE TO READ FROM YOU.

REGARDS,
REV. ROBIN PETER
MOTTO: IN GOD WE TRUST
TEL: 0092348060002250

Labels: spam

I went on Tuesday to see the new exhibitions at the High--the Louvre things and the Impressionism show--and it was a good time. I did get to take some pictures inside, having signed up for a photography permit, but, which I didn't know prior to requesting it, I'm not allowed to post any of those on the webbernets. Really. It says "Flickr" in the book you have to sign and also "no." So, I'm a little worried they might track me down.

The Louvre stuff is not a big show, and this time there are only a few paintings (although there are some wall-sized watercolors, which I almost still don't buy, but they're pretty amazing to look at), but there are a lot of tiny and carefully crafted antiquities. You can see some of them on the High's website, here and here. I know that sculpture of the Tiber has been everywhere in their press, and you probably think you've practically seen it by now, but the scale experienced in person is still pretty awe-inspiring. The feet alone are each at least the size of your forearm, and yet they're so perfect, with creases incised in the bottom. If you had to just go see one of the shows, the ancient world one is the one to pick. Seeing stuff like the cylindrical seal of fighting griffins or even all the amphorae (I know, you've seen one amphora, you've seen them all, but you haven't! You have to keep looking at them and the simplicity with which each character is delineated) is, you know, impressive.

The Impressionism show is surprisingly good, too. But more because it's a creative approach to showing the stuff that everyone always wants to see. I mean, if you slap a Chardin on the wall next to a Renoir, the Chardin is going to blow old Pierre Auguste out of the water, but at least you get to see it. The thesis is not all that convincing, but it allows them to show some lovely paintings, including one Dutch one of ice skating that is amazingly sharp and wonderful.

Labels: cultural pursuits

All Xmas parade photos are uploading to Flickr. Victory Chapel was sadly missed this year. Chris told me the rumor is that they were asked not to participate. So some kids are wandering around not scared straight by a bloody rotating Jesus that comes out of a gaily wrapped package. It's unfortunate. Other than that dramatic oversight, it was the usual cavalcade of awesomeness, from fudgie the blood-donation whale to the masons to loads and loads of majorettes, and the weather this year meant almost no one resorted to tracksuits instead of sparkly outfits.

Here's some video.

Labels: Athens, parade, photos

Oh, you mean imaginary pictures...

[words NSFW, but that's all; you could just mouse over the link]

Labels: questing

Oh, it's totally a victory, right? Barrow County might as well post a large sign that says, "Grumble Grumble. Stupid Constitution."

Paul Broun equates monarchy with socialism. Or maybe those are the only other two forms of "government" he knows besides democracy. Or, you know, a republic...

ABH supports the "Parent Protection Act." With a name like that, the chances it'll pass have to be pretty good. I suppose baby steps are better than no steps, but it doesn't do much to help those in a shitty situation with their employer. It merely brings them a fraction closer to those of us who are treated more decently.

Labels: ABH, opining

Y'all, I must have ridiculously sharp elbows. Or a tic I'm unaware of. I've just worn through the right elbow of about the fourth sweater I've done this to. It's all sweaters I'm very fond of, too. Which I'm sure figures into it. I tend to wear a sweater I like into the ground. Especially if it's a cardigan, which means I can use it to modulate my body temperature at the office. So, basically, I think I finally get elbow patches. It must come from sitting in a chair, reading very hard and not paying attention to what one's elbows are doing, many hours a day. But that doesn't mean elbow patches are acceptable habiliments. What do I do? Buy some of those heel cushions for your shoes and glue them to the insides of my sweaters? Cut the arms off my chair? Fatten up my elbows? Arr.

Labels: frustration

Labels: dear god no

Arrest: On Nov. 14, deputy Laura Teet was dispatched to a home on Pine Ridge Court where she met with a young woman who said she had been in a fight with her mother. The daughter said the fight started over ordering a birthday cake for her sister and resulted in the mother hitting the daughter's face and choking her. Teet noted scratches and red marks on the young woman's neck. She said she packed her things and attempted to leave the house, but her mother blocked her from leaving the bedroom. She eventually climbed out of the window and went to a neighbor's house, where she called the sheriff's office. The mother, who had left their home, was arrested later that day.

"Chocolate!" "Vanilla!" "Chocolate!" "Vanilla!"

Burglary: On Nov. 17, deputy Jeff Strickland was dispatched to Merry Lane, Danielsville where a man said someone had burglarized his home and stole some Old Spice deodorant, Power Stick body spray, a motorcycle seat, CDs and about 30 blood pressure pills. The man gave Strickland the name of a possible suspect, who lived on Moriah Church Road. Strickland drove to the suspect's house and the mother came to the door explaining her son, George David Sorrow, was sleeping on the couch. When the deputy entered the home, he saw Sorrow asleep on the couch with a container of Old Spice deodorant next to him. He woke Sorrow, who seemed confused. But he and his mother consented to a search of the house. Strickland located the stolen items and Sorrow said his mother had bought the items, but she denied this. Sorrow, 26, was taken to jail on a charge of burglary.

Ahoy?

Oconee. Madison.

Labels: police blotter

Tales from the Crypt: Wait, movies? I thought I was only watching TV for a while there, partially due to purchase of the Angel box set, which necessitates re-watching the entire series. Don't call me obsessive. I already know. Anyway, this 1972 adaptation from the comics of Bill Gaines etc. is more awesome than the later TV show, although smaller in scope. What it has going for it is an extremely 1970s sensibility, to the point that one gasps in delight at the decor in nearly every scene: raised fireplace! donkey wallpaper! shag rugs! Also, it has Joan Collins, in the first segment, which is probably my favorite just due to her running and jiggling and posing for the camera. Also, it's a 1970s Christmas, which adds some serious ambience. No puns from the cryptkeeper, but there is a lot of poster-paint-hued blood. If you like anthology horror (and who doesn't?), you should most certainly watch it, unless you're too terrified by pantsuits.

Labels: movies

Grub Notes hits up Mirko Pasta and Willy's Mexicana Grill, and finds both unexpectedly tasty.

Labels: music, writing

Can't one point out that this is perhaps one problem with private hospitals?

My oral surgeon, everyone... Let me assure you that he doesn't believe in praying for anesthetic, thankfully.

Finally, this article from yesterday about Sonny's task force to figure out how to fund the schools can't go without mention. Have they come up with anything? Well, they've come up with false choice. Or real choice that doesn't do anything. God forbid we give a carrot without whacking someone with a stick. Sometimes a carrot is necessary. What the task force does is put the onus on the schools, which are not the problem here. The problem here is the state government (yes, partially because of the federal government) failing to meet its obligations as spelled out by law. And waving around a handful of choices shouldn't distract anyone from that crucial point. Although chances are it will... We'll end up debating which plan is best for which school as opposed to agitating for the damn money.

Labels: ABH, opining

Sometimes I wonder if the New Yorker continues to do lengthy profiles on high-powered business dudes because they read the magazine, or because, um, they're trying to foment a revolution. Not that one doesn't need to be fomented, as Connie Bruck's profile of Sam Zell makes clear. The fact that he's wacky (rides a motorcycle, travels "extreme," used to wear a red jumpsuit to meetings, sets up elaborate and annoying parties for his friends) doesn't really do much toward his case, either.

For example:

Zell’s party for business associates and friends, which he holds every few years in September—around the time of his birthday—is similarly iconoclastic. The first one, in 1967, was a treasure hunt for twelve couples. As a child, Zell attended a Hebrew-speaking camp, which featured treasure hunts based on clues from the Old Testament. For his parties, Zell replaced the Bible with Chicago landmarks. By 1993, there were two hundred and forty players in sixty limousines. “I did all the clues,” he said. “For example, the clue was ‘no poke folk’ and the answer was the Immaculate Conception Church. And the most incredible part was the matrix, because you had sixty cars moving around, and you didn’t want them to follow each other. The people had phones in their cars, and they’d get lost and call me, and I’d scream at them, tell them how fucking dumb they were, and how everyone else was already back. It drove them nuts!”

This seems quite a tremendous amount of money to waste to amuse yourself and irritate your friends, no?

ANd then, to quote extensively, there's this:

Burton Kanter, a prominent Chicago tax attorney and an expert on offshore investments, represented the Pritzker family for decades. In 1976, Zell, Kanter, Zell’s brother-in-law Roger Baskes, who was Kanter’s partner, and another lawyer, Alan Hammerman, were indicted in federal court for conspiring to avoid taxes on hundreds of thousands of dollars in proceeds from the sale of real-estate properties in Reno, Nevada, by rigging transactions through a Bahamas bank. The real-estate deal was Zell’s; the three other men had provided legal services. Zell and Hammerman agreed to testify, with the understanding that charges against them would be dropped. Kanter was acquitted, but Baskes was convicted and sentenced to two years in prison. Zell called him there frequently, and both men say they remain close. Baskes is now an investor.

The trial was a major topic of conversation in Chicago’s close-knit business community. Bank officers debated whether to do business with Zell. He had been a taciturn witness for the prosecution, and a fulsome one for the defense. Still, he had escaped charges by testifying, and his brother-in-law had gone to jail. “I was very lucky that institutions and individuals whom I had interfaced with continued to do business with me,” Zell said. “If this had happened seven years earlier, when I was a guy without any record, I probably would have been abandoned by everybody. But instead I was abandoned by nobody, so we were able to continue to function.”

Regarding the deal, Zell said, “In the context of hindsight, if you looked at the structure, you’d say, ‘Geez, it’s funky.’ But up until that point, if you structured something and it turned out not to be kosher—unless there was an egregious thing—you’d have to pay the tax or the fine.” The lesson of the case, he concluded, was that “the government has unlimited resources with which to chase you, and anybody who thinks he can take on the government is kidding himself.” Zell has since avoided investments involving the government, such as state-sponsored real-estate projects. “Government scares the hell out of me,” he said.

Zell is easily provoked. He has frequently castigated analysts who have been critical of one of his companies. At a recent dinner party, the mention of Hillary Clinton’s name prompted him to use a four-letter obscenity to describe her. A couple of years ago, Zell’s close friend Will Weinstein, a money manager who was teaching at the University of Hawaii, asked Zell to address a class on business ethics. Several of Enron’s leading executives were on trial at the time, for fraud and other crimes. Weinstein had opened the session to the public, and someone in the audience asked Zell whether, in the current environment, “where some seem to be doing almost anything to be profitable, does not the concept of ‘business ethics’ seem to be an oxymoron? And do you accept that there is a concept of greed? And how would you define it?”

“Jesus Christ!” Zell replied. “I mean, would you like a pulpit as well? I mean, when does the indictment come out? I mean, are people in the business community different from you, or you, or you?” He pointed angrily at the questioner and others nearby. “C’mon! We’re talking about weaknesses and we’re talking about strengths! Are human ethics an oxymoron? I don’t think so. Neither do I think business ethics are an oxymoron. It’s real fun to take a shot at the business community. After all, those motherfuckers are getting all the money, right? But let me tell you something: I’ll put my work schedule against anybody you know, including you, and I work my ass off every day! The idea that somehow or other the business community is full of all these greedy characters—you should see the greed in teachers’ unions! You should see the greed in any political organization! Business is made up of a whole group of individuals, and within that group there are straight people, there are not-straight people, and then there’s a whole bunch of us in the middle, who some days are straight and some days we’re not.”

What this guy has a problem with is perspective, and, unfortunately, he has too much money ever to learn to see things appropriately. Teachers? Not paid enough. Business jackasses? Paid rather too much. I don't mind discussing the gray middle of ethics, but, yes, I do think the people in the business community, at least some of them, are different from me. I don't think the government's out to get me, and I'm not interested in defending greed. That doesn't mean I can't ever be greedy, but I'm not going to stand up for a deadly sin on principle.

Labels: New Yorker, when the revolution comes

Spider-man Loves Mary Jane: If you skip down to the list of digests, I've read everything but Vol. 4, and only because we don't have it yet. Thanks, Matthew. I bought the hardback for Mr. Brown for his birthday, but I probably like it better than he does even. As far as talky superheroes and everyday life as opposed to large-scale occurrences go, it probably beats Bendis. Yes, it's teen drama, but it's very well-done teen drama, and the dialogue is just sparkly with funny speech turns that come straight from the way teenagers (and I) talk. Lots of "stuff" and "like" and so on, but in a fashion that makes one believe the author has, in fact, encountered real teenagers, not just those from television. Plus, I think I am a Takeshi Miyazawa fan. I don't often like stuff that looks like anime, but his lines are clean and clear, and the body language is great.

Labels: comics

Carnivale, season 1: I'm still not sure I would go so far as to say I actually really like this show, but I do want to find out what happens, which is more than I could say for it when we started watching it. If you like David Lynch, but you think he's too fast and original for you, you might want to watch this. Sadly, Clancy Brown does not play a freak. In fact, there aren't enough freaks in general, which is part of the problem. Whenever the show moves more toward the daily carnival drama, it gets more interesting, and whenever it strays into extended dream sequences involving the more supernatural plot, it gets less so. There is only so much quickly edited horror and terror and obscurity I can take. Yes, that dude with the tree on his chest is kind of scary. But he gets less so every time you see him without things progressing. Anyway, season 1 ends without answering whether some people are dead or alive, so I suppose we'll go on to season 2. It is a very attractively composed show, but that's not enough.

Labels: TV

A list.

--Applied for passport. Post office was somewhat drama, but there are some very nice ladies who work there. Their floor is coming up, though.

--Went to Book Nook. Did not become enraged at their policy (you can only use your credit toward half the cost of used books and have to pay the other half), but Jared did.

--Scrabble. This was the only picture taken during the days of vacation, of Jared's letters.



--Indian food at Saravanaa Bhavan, which replaced Madras Saravana Bhavan and is better. Lots of starch and awesome spices. Amazing paneer. Hilarity of menu stealing.

--Turkey and all that.

--Chickpea soup with turkey gizzard and chorizo meatballs from the moms. Yum.

--Ooh, Trader Joe's is neat. Bought wine, bread, shelf-stable cooked brown rice.

--Raged at the cable being out, which leaves us with no way to contact anyone, due to its also being the phone.

--Lost another fantasy football game. Hey, McFadden, heads up.

Labels: life

Oh, right. Chris Brown has a new album, which I got to review. It's competent.

Labels: music, writing

I was not lying about scanning all print photos and posting to Flickr. I got four done this morning. It's going to take a while.

Labels: photos

Jared tagged me. I'm pretty sure I've done this before, but there are always more facts to learn.

Here are the rules:
1. Link to your tagger and post these rules on your blog.
2. Share 5 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird.
3. Tag 5 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as wellas links to their blogs.
4. Let them know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

Okay then.

1. I have really high insteps, to the point that I can't wear a lot of awesome boots. I inherited these from my mom, along with a pair of Frye boots that hurt like the devil. She was willing to suffer for fashion. I was not.

2. I'm kind of obsessed with points and rewards programs. I really like getting stuff for free, so I'm apt to sign up for whatever, even though I know they're collecting demographic information on me in a creepy way. Eh, sometimes it gets me books or whatever.

3. I'm a total girl when it comes to dealing with bugs, although I did just kill a spider that was crawling up the wall. I get flustered when I have to deal with things that move quickly. Therefore, this is one of Jared's husbandly duties, as he has catlike reflexes.

4. I have an incredible ability to spot type that's been formatted wrong, whether justified as opposed to left aligned or a stray italicized comma. I can even see periods that have italics on them when they shouldn't. This is about the only impressive thing I can do with my eyes.

5. I didn't take my maiden name for my middle name. Apparently, my family still hasn't caught on. It's not that weird. And it was more euphonious.

I'll tag Nicki, Paul, Patrick, Mary Jessica, and Jeff.

Labels: meme

There will be a list of records up here for Athenians (and select Atlantans) to paw through virtually as soon as I finish typing them. Note: Don't assume they're in awesome condition.

UPDATE:

One measly dollar each.

Renata Tebaldi in La Boheme
The Magic Flute
Flashdance soundtrack
Michael Jackson, Off the Wall
An Evening with Tom Lehrer
Duran Duran's self-titled
Tracie, Far from the Hurting Kind
Magroor soundtrack
Genesis, Invisible Touch AND self-titled
Randy Newman, Little Criminals
Queen, The Game
A-Ha, Hunting High and Low
The Teardrop Explodes, Kilimanjaro
Suzanne Vega, Solitude Standing
Oklahoma
Elton John, Greatest Hits
Harry Nilsson, Nilsson Schmilsson AND Son of Schmilsson
Cyndi Lauper, She's So Unusual AND True Colors
Patsy Cline's Greatest Hits
Peter, Paul & Mary, Ten Years Together
The Name of This Band Is Talking Heads AND Remain in Light
Huey Lewis and the News, Sports
Paul Simon, self-titled AND Still Crazy After All These Years
Air Supply, Greatest Hits
Wham, Make It Big
The Wiz (broadway version)
Jim Croce, Time in a Bottle: Jim Croce's Greatest Love Songs and I Got a Name
Ghostbusters soundtrack
Jules Shear, The Eternal Return
Jonathan Richman and the Modern Lovers, It's Time for AND Rock and Roll with
The Wizard of Oz
Billy Joel, The Nylon Curtain
Kiss Alive II
Moe Tucker, MoeJadKateBarry
Singin' in the Rain/Easter Parade
The Smothers Brothers, Mom Always Liked You Best
The Best of Red Sovine
Sparks, Kimono My House
Rod Stewart, Greatest Hits AND A Night on the Town
Pretenders, self-titled
1776
Herman's Hermits, There's a Kind of Hush All Over the World AND Their Greatest Hits
Matching Songs of the British Isles and America
George Michael, Faith
The Birds, the Bees, and the Monkees
The Eagles, Their Greatest Hits
South Pacific
The Sound of Music
Oliver!
West Side Story
Grease
Fred Schneider and the Shake Society
Higglety Pigglety Pop
The Mikado
The King and I
My Fair Lady
Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, Deja Vu
Nena, "99 Luftballons" (12-inch single)
Box with all 9 Beethoven symphonies
Tom Glazer's Second Concert for and with Children
Vaudeville: Songs of the Great Ladies of the Musical Stage
The Original Rock and Roll Hits of the 60s, vol. 11
Gladys Knight and the Pips, Imagination
The Brandenburg concertos
The World of Joan Sutherland
Joe Cocker, With a Little Help from My Friends AND Joe Cocker!
Devo, self-titled
Al Hirt, Swingin' Dixie AND Our Man in New Orleans AND The Greatest Horn in the World
Happy Flowers, I Crush Bozo
Eydie Gorme, Don't Talk to Strangers
Pete Townshend, All the Best Cowboys Have Chinese Eyes
Pere Ubu, Cloudland
Wings, Band on the Run
Paul McCartney, self-titled AND Ram
Patti Smith Group, Wave
The Best of Edith Piaf
Les Djinns Signers, 60 French Girls Can't Be Wrong
Jack Teagarden, The Swingin' Gate
The Mamas and the Papas, Deliver AND If You Can Beileve Your Ears
Purple Rain
Barry White, Can't Get Enough
Yoko Ono, Season of Glass
Carly Simon, self-titled
Camper Van Beethoven, Our Beloved Revolutionary Sweetheart
Greatest Hits of Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons
American Graffiti
Jackson Browne, Running on Empty AND The Pretender
Culture Club, Colour by Numbers
Percy Faith, Malaguena
The Records, self-titled
Gary Portnoy, self-titled
Gene Pitney Sings World Wide Winners
The Very Best of Roy Orbison
The Best of Aretha Franklin
Jimmie Davis, Barnyard Stomp
Loudon Wainwright III, self-titled
Dr. Demento's Delights
Silly Wizard, A Glint of Silver
Mary Buffett, My Boyfriend's Back
Steppenwolf, The Second AND The ABC Collection AND For Ladies Only
Guitar de Mexico

Labels: cleaning

Raffi Khatchadourian's New Yorker article "Neptune's Navy," on Sea Shepherd founder Paul Watson, is marvelously unnerving. It's the sort of article that makes you very glad you're not an investigative reporter for the magazine or, indeed, for any magazine. The photograph that heads it up should tell you a lot of what you need to know about the portrait of Watson that's drawn therein: committed, self-aggrandizing and -mythologizing, a little insecure (the placement of the hands). Even if you're sympathetic to the aims of the more radical strains of the environmental movement, which I suppose I am on occasion (if you're going to say banning the manufacture of some spectacularly inefficient and dangerous vehicles fits in there, which I think it does), Watson's disregard for the rule of law, not only in practice, but also in theory, is scary. As per this, for example:

In June, Watson was interviewed on a CBC radio talk show. The host, Susan Bell, asked him about his aggressive tactics, and he explained, “We intervene against illegal activities, and we are simply upholding international conservation law, and the United Nations World Charter for Nature allows for us to do that. It says that any nongovernmental organization, or individual, is empowered to uphold international conservation law. That’s why I’ve sunk ten whaling ships and destroyed tens of millions of dollars’ worth of illegal fishing gear, and I’m not in jail.” Watson spoke in a calm, authoritative voice, and Bell changed the subject. It was a brilliant evasion. But, the more I heard him invoke the charter, the more I began to suspect that he actually believed that it authorized him to police the sea; some of the people who know him best admitted that they, too, could never be certain when he was tactically stretching the truth and when he was deceiving himself. In “Earthforce!,” Watson advises readers to make up facts and figures when they need to, and to deliver them to reporters confidently, “as Ronald Reagan did.” Watson possesses Reagan’s intuitive grasp of the media, and, like Reagan, at times he seems astray in the labyrinth of his own illusions.

That's not only ignoring the rule of law. It's ignoring a larger moral code. And, I suppose, if you think humanity is a plague, then you think you're justified in ignoring its precepts, but if you argue for the innocence etc. of animals, which is a concept somewhat based on man's ability to deceive, then it's a bit odd to make use of exactly those devices you despise in the human species.

Labels: New Yorker

Look, I'm in the English Department and I can figure this math out. Your reservoir is 8 feet deep and 325 acres, whereas mine is 65 feet deep and 505 acres. Perhaps yours is brimming because it only has eight feet in which to be brimming? I'm not saying Commerce hasn't been more efficient, possibly, especially when it comes to the design of their reservoir, but it's not 100-percent clear that they have been overwhelmingly from this story, is it?

Labels: ABH, opining

Yay! Lolligags turned in a great sophomore performance, although even briefer than the first one. Black Kids rocked it in small confines. And it never got even irritatingly crowded, just the exact right amount of it.

Here be video of the headliners. Two videos.

Labels: music, photos, video

Oh snap! I will change my unbelieving ways due to this letter. Jeebus, may I have a pony, please?

Also, those 50-cent words ("misguided and profligate") sound wonderful, but they might be overstating the case a little. It's possible that the M&C's ideas for the deck are a bit out of reach, but I still don't see the need for parking downtown as so great to necessitate such a large structure being built. Because, after all, that's paid parking. Who here likes paid parking? Or do you circle and circle and eventually end up at First Baptist due to not wanting to line Prestige Parking's pockets further? Basically, as far as parking for fee is concerned, we have plenty at night. During the day, yes, it's more of a problem if you need to run a quick errand, but do we really really need 400 spaces at that time? Perhaps some of them being taken up by residents and workers is not really such a huge freaking deal.

Labels: ABH, opining

So, Artist Direct was nice enough to let me review the new Led Zeppelin 2-disc best-of, and I was very happy about that. First, let me say that Mothership is a totally badass name for it, if you are in the middle of a big "Zeppelin rules" stage, which I am. Jared has been making fun of me and saying I got into them about fifteen years after everyone else did, but I never heard Zeppelin in high school or at home or from any of my friends. I was too enmeshed in Elvis Costello and Leonard Cohen in high school to work on my rawk. A couple of weeks ago, before I got the album to review, I was doing my regular daily thing at work, and I could not get "Stairway to Heaven" out of my head, specifically the "If there's a bustle in your hedgerow" line, which played over and over again, on a loop. It was sort of driving me insane, but in a hilarious way, a way that I could not possibly tell my coworkers about or even giggle out loud about, because having that line stuck in your head for hours is probably a symptom of some mental disorder or other. Then it came on the radio, on the River. Then it did so again, on another night. You could say this is more emblematic of the River's limited playlist than of anything else, but it sure did feel like the universe was trying to tell me something. Apparently, it was telling me "Zeppelin rules." I did know they ruled before getting the message--get me straight now--and I've gone through little waves of excitement before, but now I am full-on committed to getting all those albums, not just IV (which we have, and which may yet prove to be the most awesome, as it is indeed the most full of faeryland). Anyway, I couldn't put any of this in the review, except subliminally, through my happiness with the record, but I wanted you dudes to know.

Labels: coincidences, music, writing

It seems very likely that Team Brown will be having a yard sale on Saturday, unless family events come to pass that preclude such. It will start around 9 am and go until whenever. There will be: books, lots and lots of LPs (we're pretty much clearing out our vinyl, and there's all kinds of interesting stuff in there, like bossa nova records and musical soundtracks), CDs, DVDs (yes, we own lots of media), and various household items, including a couple of sweater dresses, some CD racks, champagne flutes, and so on. You should come.

Labels: announcements

As it's described in the sidebar advertisement of the New Yorker, "diamond mouse on a sheaf of wheat, $3250." Well, who wouldn't want to express her love for nibbly little rodents to the extent of thirty-two-hundred smackers? I'm confused by brooches in general, except for medals and those designed, say, to hold two things together, but I can at least see the concept behind some pretty, shiny something. Apparently, they make a jacket interesting. Or thematic. They say, "I like cats, and I don't know what else to do with my money." But the mouse is quite strange. The header on the ad does say "Amusing Animal Brooches," but how amusing is it apart from the fact that it exists at all? I think the mouse should be waving. Then it would say, "Hi!" as well as "Please take my excess of money through redistributive taxes."

Labels: New Yorker, wondering

Like you didn't know from the headline which one. Anyway, in case you forgot that Bob Smith is a douche...

I don't necessarily mind the idea of a mixed-use parking deck downtown. That is, if there's going to be a big deck anyway, it might as well provide something besides more parking. But I do find it weird that Heidi's evidence that people will buy spaces is Tailgate Station, which is, need I point out, not a deck. Or is the ACC government planning on marketing its deck spaces to tailgaters, somehow? Selling spaces is also what several lots do for downtown residents and workers, no?

Also, Mr. Winders wants me to record one of those 5-minute podcast things. I was thinking about doing it on all this pledge of allegiance nonsense in the ABH blog comments, and I may yet, but ideas are welcome.

Labels: ABH, opining

But you have no idea. I uploaded the last of our digital photos to Flickr last night, meaning there are now 3247 photographs up there, which is kind of crazy and obsessive, but, well, you know us. Anyway, next up: scanning everything we have that's not digital. It'll take longer, but it's also not 3,000 photographs. It will give us a fairly comprehensive archive, though, and that will be nice. We like things that are comprehensive, or as close as possible.

Labels: housework, photos

Theft: On Nov. 4, a resident of Christian Court reported the theft of a University of Tennessee football flag from the front porch.

Well, yes.

Fraud: On Oct. 29, deputy Joshua Fowler met with a 43-year-old Danielsville man who said he was doing business with a company over the Internet. He said the company sent him three checks to deposit and told him he could keep 10 percent of the money and they provided a place for him to send the rest. He said three checks for $650 each were mailed to him, so he deposited the checks in his account and planned to keep $650. The bank contacted him later and said the checks were no good.

Also charged with severe lack of math skills.

Burglary: On Nov. 4, a resident of Holman Autry Road returned home about 4 p.m. to find someone had entered the house. The person had cut off all the blooms on some roses she had received as a gift and left only the stems in the vase. A further search revealed a pair of her panties on the bedroom floor. The panties also contained evidence that could identify the suspect.

Like his driver's license?

Oconee. Madison.

Labels: police blotter

Grub Notes is underwhelmed by both Dos Palmas and Kui Aura.

A bit on Black Kids.

And a review of The Humble, by Captain #1.

Labels: food, music, writing

Downside: oh noes. Grow house bust.

Upside: perfect opportunity for new lolcats image.

(Credit where credit is due, to Mr. Brown, who noticed this kittie asking where its marijuana is going. I missed it entirely.)

Labels: kitty

Go read Gordon Lamb's post about Ted Hafer, please. I didn't know the guy at all. I have the cookbook, and I've heard maybe one Porn Orchard song. That's it. But Mr. Lamb puts it beautifully even for those of us who never met him and, in the process, declares his love for Athens beautifully, like so:

I cannot count the number of times I've heard people say things like, "If I'm ever going to do anything with my life I've got to get out of Athens!" I've never understood this. For me, no place has ever felt as much like home as Athens and no place I've ever been fills me with thoughts of endless possibility the way Athens does. So, unless you have the desire to work in some industry that doesn't have a presence in Athens then the only thing I can conclude from such a statement is that we're on completely different wavelengths.

My life is in Athens and, therefore, if I plan to do anything with it, it'll pretty much have to be here. When I got talked into applying for a job at the Getty, in L.A., last year, the idea of working for one of the best museums when it comes to publications was appealing, certainly, but the plan was to go out there and make a pile of cash, then come back to Athens with it. I wouldn't move if I won the lottery. I'd just buy one of those snazzy houses on Cobb Street.

Labels: Athens, love

Green Lantern hat for Jared for his birthday. Another pattern (the charted part) that I did myself. Actually, I did it with the help of the Internet, which both found me the image I wanted and converted it, fairly well, into a chart to knit from. I made this in my office, on my lunch breaks, to be sneaky. It's not as mutated as it looks from this photo. It stretches out fairly well when on the head of Mr. Brown. But he is still asleep right now, so I wasn't going to pop the hat on his head and take a picture because I am a fairly nice wife.

Labels: knitting

That's the category "Squirrel Pilgrim" is listed in on craigslist. Duchamp must not be dead after all.

Labels: webbernets

Oh, you fuckers. I'm sure that Bill Buford articles are one thing that will cause people to pull out their wallets, and so "Extreme Chocolate" is only blurbed online. So, fine. I will give you some of the more intense highlights, while reporting the impression that Buford was on some sort of cacao high while writing. The words roll off the page in the way they must have rolled onto it: quickly but steadily, in a happy haze.

Badaró introduced me to hundreds of fruits, aisle after aisle of them. I bit into a bulbous caja-umbu, with so much juice it squirted me from head to foot, a long, curving, herbaceously fragrant yellow arc. I delicately ate my way around a caju, red like a tomato, pulpy like a mango, and with a pod on the outside that was fatally poisonous. A yellow berry, a caza, was so sweet and complex that it excited an entrepreneurial fantasy: should I try to export it? . . .

I asked about a thick rope, rolled up like a sticky black snake on the ground. It was wild tobacco, a wholly different species from the domesticated Virginia leaf. "The most effective natural insecticide in the world," Badaró said. "I dust my plants with it." I bought a three-inch chunk, scrutinized it--wet like motor oil--and popped it into my mouth. I sucked, recognized the flavor of aniseed, and chewed. The chewing released a heat not unlike a chili's. . . .

I'd kept chewing, and an interaction of some sort had occurred between the juices in my mouth and what had been released by the wild tobacco. My tongue had gone numb and the roof and inner cheeks were very hot. Sweat cascaded from my eyebrows, suddenly, a though a valvelike gland had been opened, and my pulse increased.

And this doesn't include the part where he strips to his boxers and hops into a vat of fermenting cacao beans, up to his neck, like a hot tub. Chocolate will make you do strange things, but the article is even more about the quest. Chocolate is the MacGuffin for the desire to pop weird things into one's mouth, which really just boils down to a deep need to consume the world--out of love, not out of Galactus-ness. Sure, you can see things, but ingesting them is the truest way to make them part of you.

Labels: food, New Yorker

Perhaps you had to clean out your gutters on Sunday? Family obligations? Camera batteries on the fritz? I am trying to provide you with a good excuse why footage of Gary Danielson and Verne Lundquist dancing (yes, dancing) in the booth during the Georgia-Auburn game is not available on the webbernets already. Perhaps it's that today is Veterans' Day and you don't work on government holidays, just like the post office. Okay. 24 more hours. That's it, and then you're on notice, internet.

Labels: football, webbernets

The Oct. 29 issue of the New Yorker has a Talk of the Town piece titled "We Are All Larry David,", about some research that's used Curb Your Enthusiasm to teach social skills to the schizophrenic because, apparently, the Larry David character behaves in very similar ways to schizophrenics, unable to curb impulses, prone to break rules of social interaction, etc. Handily, I've just read Poe's "story" (quotation marks because it's more of an essay than a narrative, although there is a little story embedded to give it an excuse for existing) "The Imp of the Perverse," which seems to me even more accurate an explanation for "Larry David's" (these quotation marks to distinguish character from person) behavior. Yes, some of it is due to inaccurate evaluation of nonverbal cues and poor interpretation of words, but, often, it's less faulty than it is perverse, e.g.,

There lives no man who at some period, has not been tormented, for example, by an earnest desire to tantalize a listener by circumlocution. The speaker is aware that he displeases; he has every intention to please; he is usually curt, precise, and clear; the most laconic and luminous language is struggling for utterance upon his tongue; it is only with difficulty that he restrains himself from giving it flow; he dreads and deprecates the anger of him whom he addresses; yet, the thought strikes him, that by certain involutions and parentheses, this anger may be engendered. That single thought is enough. The impulse increases to a wish, the wish to a desire, the desire to an uncontrollable longing, and the longing (to the deep regret and mortification of the speaker, and in defiance of all consequences,) is indulged.

It's one thing to screw up in your analysis. It's another thing to act on that screw up. We all do the former, but some of us, conscious that we do the former and terrified of our perverse selves, don't do the latter.

Labels: New Yorker, Poe

Is this any clearer on gray water?

Most communities, including Athens, follow the Georgia State Minimum Standard Plumbing Code, which bans discharging waste water anywhere except into the sewer system or a septic tank. That's because chemicals and bacteria in gray water could pollute the soil or spread disease, Athens-Clarke Mayor Heidi Davison said.

But...

Athens-Clarke County has some of the strictest outdoor watering rules in the state. State officials are advising residents who are not under a total outdoor ban like the one in Athens to go ahead and pour gray water onto their garden plants.

"Small amounts of bath water are OK," said Kevin Chambers, a spokesman for the state Environmental Protection Division. "We're telling people they can use small amounts of gray water for conservation."

So, it's a law, but it ain't really a law law? Presumably, if communities don't follow the minimum standard, they follow a stricter one, no? Isn't that how minimum standards work? Look, I haven't made up my mind about whether you should be pouring your dish water on your flower bed or not. I kind of think your flower bed should suffer the consequences of the drought. But this dithering about what's allowed and what ain't isn't helping.

Labels: ABH, opining

When the Levees Broke: A Requiem in Four Acts: I haven't watched (or received) the third disc yet, but I figure I've watched the movie proper and commentary is allowed. So. I do find it hard to imagine someone having done a better job with this, and yet, it's not perfect. In ways, it could be longer. There are areas about which one wants more detail. And that's probably where the follow-up stuff comes in. And then there are areas where one could do with less. The jazz funeral metaphor is established in the first two minutes of the first act. I don't mind returning to it, but I do mind (a little) doing so ad infinitum. It's nice to see Lee put the pieces together methodically, though. Not that he's not pissed off, but he's channeling it usefully. Jared pointed out that it's interesting the way he chooses shots, depending on how much he likes the person talking. Mitch Landrieu, for example, gets filmed on the steps of his still very nice house, as opposed to the two women (which two? well, any two) standing in front of devastation. Mostly, it's also smart for him to pick the neutral, photography studio backdrop for most of his interviews. It's hard for me to think of what wasn't covered. It was probably all touched on. It didn't make me cry, but then, I might be done with that. We'll see, the next time the New Yorker has one of its articles on the "rebuilding" process. The montage of dead people is maybe a little much, but then, that's the point, and that's good. One of the things that's easy to forget about the whole disaster is that people didn't just suffer; they died and floated in the streets; and, while that was an exception, it wasn't as much of one as we would like to think. Am I more angry about all of it? I'm not sure that's possible. Although Ray Nagin gleefully talking about the shower facilities on Air Force One and basking in the glow of presidential power is pretty vomitous. It's not quite The Sorrow and the Pity, but it's a big deal.

Labels: movies

I don't think it'll make you like Scott Boras any more, but "The Extortionist," by Ben McGrath, may give you a grudging respect for him. It didn't really me, though. Because I kept coming across bits like this:

Boras, who is fifty-four, seems to have become impatient with mere balance-provision. This spring, he mailed a letter to Commissioner Selig, in which he outlined a proposal to alter the format of the game’s most sacred ritual, the World Series. Why not make it nine games, instead of seven, he argued, and hold those extra two games—the first two games—at a neutral site? Cities all over the nation, or even the world, could compete for the honor of playing host, as with the Olympics. “It’s a fact that our game needs a forum that’s akin to the Super Bowl,” Boras explained to me not long after he’d sent the letter. “People don’t go to the Super Bowl for the game. Most Super Bowl games are not competitive, or good games. They go there for the event. They go there for the three-day weekend.” He described a vision of “corporate hospitality,” including a “gala, like the Oscars,” during which the M.V.P. and Cy Young awards, among others, would be announced, with all the finalists present and on view, and presumably walking the red carpet in sponsored menswear. Who could argue against such a change? It would mean more money for the owners, more “marketable content” for the media to broadcast, more attention for the stars—more everything.

McGrath is just giving him rope, hand over hand, here. From a certain point of view, yes, it's logical, the point he's raising. But from another point of view, it's pretty obvious that it's not about baseball. I don't exactly have a problem with Boras negotiating ridiculous salaries for his players. I'm a fan of the players' union more than I am the owners. And anyone who agrees to pay such a salary is doing so of his/her own free will. Still, that doesn't mean the guy's not an ass. Take this work environment, for example:

The basement, which is sometimes called the foxhole or the dungeon, has showers and a laundry room, for those working late, plus an oxygen-sealed computer room that houses the firm’s proprietary database—once a major selling point and now more of a stage prop, given the free availability of historical data on the Internet. Caterers bring in breakfast, lunch, and, when work demands, dinner, while a woman named Lilian Flores occasionally bakes sugar cookies in the kitchen for an afternoon snack. Staffers snack at their own risk, however, because Steve Odgers, a onetime strength coach with the Chicago White Sox, has prescribed diet plans and fitness regimens. Odgers runs the Sports Training Institute, which is housed off-site, on the campus of Soka University of America, about twenty minutes away. “It’s part of our culture,” Boras says. “Everybody works out.” During arbitration hearings, which are usually held in Florida or Arizona, Boras and a handful of his top deputies have been known to assemble in the hotel gym wearing T-shirts that read “Team Boras.”

Presence of sugar cookies aside, it sounds hellish, built on personality cult. What if you love negotiating but hate the treadmill? No Team Boras for you, I suppose.

Labels: baseball, New Yorker

Me and You and Everyone We Know: So, pretty much quirky in a good way, not a bad one, and, while reminiscent of Happiness, not based on the theory that people are shit, poop-obsessions aside. No, really, it's nice and cute and a great combination of both low-budget and good looks. It reminds me a lot of when I liked Hal Hartley, before he spiraled off into irritating, large-scale nonsense, in that it's mostly about the way people try and fail to communicate with each other as a method of overcoming loneliness. Sometimes it succeeds. Mostly, it doesn't. Which makes the movie, existing in such a world, quite successful in how it manages to communicate that without ever spelling it out. There are probably bits that could be better, but the whole thing is pleasantly goony and never gets too serious, despite horrible burns and fish death. I'm not sure that I think Christine Jesperson's video art is so awesome, but I think I like Miranda July's. That combination of desperation and sweetness reminds me of Punch Drunk Love, which I still think is the movie made best able to capture the desire almost to cut someone else open and crawl inside (yes, Empire-style) in order to make contact and escape oneself. I guess it's creepy womb stuff, and it's more prevalent when you are lonely, which I haven't been in a long time.

Labels: movies

Y'all need some wite-out?

Blake's focusing on the tether law rather than the drankin' changes, but it seems that the ability to apply for a waiver if your restaurant happens to be next to a church but you want to serve a little of the drinky-drinky has slipped through the commission.

Elizabeth Bishop Martin is the first person to propose a reasonable compromise for saving water at home games.

Also, some news on recyclables relating to drought. You can save water without increasing trash too much.

Labels: ABH, Flagpole, opining

Arrest: On Oct. 23, deputy David Kidd was patrolling near Jacobs Field in Hull about 3:30 a.m. when he saw a car parked at the end of Candlestick Drive. As he approached the car, he noticed the windows were fogged. When he looked inside, he saw a naked man on top of a woman having sex. When he knocked on the window, the man grabbed his pants and Kidd got him out of the car. Kidd asked him how old the girl was and the man, Areon Bernard Walker, 18, of Reed Drive, Colbert, said she told him she was 23. She didn't look that old, so Kidd asked her and she said 17. Sgt. Tommy Williams arrived and the girl admitted to him that she was 15. The girl's grandmother was contacted and she wanted the man arrested. The girl said she lied to Walker about her age, but Walker was arrested for misdemeanor statutory rape and taken to jail.

Officer, I thought I was being schooled by a mature woman.

Madison.

Labels: police blotter

What? Flagpole had a birthday? I ain't know about that. I just know about Young Jeezy.

Labels: music, writing

I finally got to Sasha Frere-Jones's "A Paler Shade of White: How Indie Rock Lost Its Soul" over the weekend. But I have to say I am confused by the conclusion, and I'm sure I'm not the only one. If rap is the dominant mode of culture and indie rock the underdog, then isn't the influence working as expected, with rap stealing from indie its guitars, its Daft Punk, its Oldham? Isn't this how it would work? Or is it just that old throw-your-hands-up excuse: the Internet. Yes, it's changed everything. But people are still stealing, no? I'm not sure the article provides a good explanation. Are we more scared of African Americans than previously?

Labels: music, New Yorker

Yes, I know you probably didn't go. You should go to the next show. Here is most of a song.



They are much cuter and more ferocious than imagined even. Yay!

Labels: music

1) Masters of Horror: "Family": These more recent episodes are interesting partially because they clearly have a bigger budget for the show, one that can accommodate larger sets, fancier shots, etc. Also stars like George Wendt. The premise of this one is perhaps too simple, but the end is nicely done, and it's kept light throughout, in typical Landis fashion. I missed the "See You Next Wednesday," but apparently it's in there, as is an obligatory Three Stooges reference in a hospital.

2) Masters of Horror: "Imprint": I don't want to come off like a wuss here, but Takashi Miike has problems, problems that I don't want to be a part of. "Imprint" is by far the loveliest episode of this series that has been (or probably will be) produced, but in the service of tossing dead babies down the creek and poking needles under people's fingernails, you know? I don't have a problem with torture in movies. I have a problem with torture that seems so pure. It's not funny. It doesn't mean anything. It's not fueled by revenge. It's not even scary, just excruciating. I can't remember the last time I closed my eyes at a movie/TV show before this, but I had to, briefly. I'll remember lots of images from it, but I'm not going to give him enough credit for that.

3) Wicked Little Things: Part of a series of eight films tied together in no other way than being horror and being released by the same company under the series title "Eight Films to Die For" or something of the sort. They could easily be terrible, but they don't seem to be, despite the presence of almost no promising contributors. Anyway, this one's about zombie children from a mining disaster, and, while there's a bit much running around in the woods in the dark, the woods in the dark are scary. Zombie children are a little bit scary. Oh, and Geoffrey Lewis is in it for a little while, before he gets murdered. I wouldn't tell you not to watch it.

4) Next: Here's how you know this movie might be good after all, despite a bloated trailer full of explosions: it's barely over 90 minutes long. In an era of Bruckheimer 2.5-hour nonsense, it's refreshing to show it can be done and done well in a much shorter time span. As always, don't think too hard about the premise, or it falls to pieces, but the point is to enjoy the fantasy of being able to anticipate everything and come up with the correct solution as a result. Nic Cage doesn't have to punch many people. Mostly, he just avoids their attacks, and there's something very pleasurable about watching the highly choreographed way he moves through scenes--step, step, pause, duck, step. He's mostly on autopilot here, but I even like autopilot, especially when he explains that his stage name, Frank Cadillac, is a combination of two of his favorite things, Frankenstein and Cadillacs.

5) Severance: Clever stuff, and nearly a 4 out of 5 instead of a 3, but there's an area toward the end where it's just chasing that bogs it down a bit. Mostly, howevs, it's quite smart and content to come at things from an angle. For example, there is an extended bit in which one character is goofing around on a diving board over a pool covered with leaves. Later, we see him enter, wet and leafy, but he's not even the focus of the scene. It's a good joke. There's a lot like that, and the corporate teamwork stuff is amusing, too, although less pronounced and more English than expected. Also, Laura Harris! Yay!

Labels: movies, TV

"These are the top 106 books most often marked as 'unread' by LibraryThing's users (as of today). As usual, bold what you have read, italicize those you started but couldn't finish, and strike through what you couldn't stand. Add an asterisk to those you've read more than once. Underline those on your to-read list."

Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell
Anna Karenina (but I will try again)
Crime and Punishment
Catch-22
One Hundred Years of Solitude
Wuthering Heights
The Silmarillion (a long time ago)
Life of Pi : a novel
The Name of the Rose
Don Quixote
Moby-Dick
Ulysses*
The Odyssey*
Pride and Prejudice*
Jane Eyre
A Tale of Two Cities
The Brothers Karamazov
Guns, Germs, and Steel: The Fates of Human Societies
War and Peace
Vanity Fair
The Time Traveler's Wife
The Iliad
Emma
The Blind Assassin
The Kite Runner
Mrs. Dalloway
Great Expectations
American Gods
Atlas Shrugged
Reading Lolita in Tehran: A Memoir in Books
Memoirs of a Geisha
Middlesex
Quicksilver
Wicked : The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West
The Canterbury Tales*
The Historian: A Novel
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man*
Love in the Time of Cholera
Brave New World
The Fountainhead
Foucault's Pendulum
Middlemarch
Frankenstein*
The Count of Monte Cristo
Dracula*
A Clockwork Orange*
Anansi Boys
The Once and Future King
The Grapes of Wrath
The Poisonwood Bible: A Novel
1984
Angels & Demons
The Inferno*
The Satanic Verses
Sense and Sensibility*
The Picture of Dorian Gray
Mansfield Park
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
To the Lighthouse
Tess of the D'Urbervilles
Oliver Twist
Gulliver's Travels
Les Misérables
The Corrections
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time
Dune
The Prince
The Sound and the Fury*
Angela's Ashes: A Memoir
The God of Small Things
A People's History of the United States: 1492-Present
Cryptonomicon
Neverwhere
A Confederacy of Dunces
A Short History of Nearly Everything
Dubliners
The Unbearable Lightness of Being
Beloved
Slaughterhouse-Five*
The Scarlet Letter*
Eats, Shoots & Leaves
The Mists of Avalon
Oryx and Crake: A Novel
Collapse: How Societies Choose to Fail or Succeed
Cloud Atlas
The Confusion
Lolita
Persuasion
Northanger Abbey
Catcher in the Rye*
On the Road
The Hunchback of Notre Dame
Freakonomics: a Rogue Economist Explores the Hidden Side of Everything
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: an Inquiry into Values
The Aeneid
Watership Down
Gravity's Rainbow
The Hobbit*
White Teeth
Treasure Island
David Copperfield
The Three Musketeers

Stolen from the lovely Ms. Dehumidifier. Most of them are on my to-read list, except for the crap. It's a big list. Just look in the appendices of Harold Bloom's The Western Canon if you want a peek at it.

Labels: books, meme

I don't know anything about Andrei Platonov (apparently he died back in 1951), and, despite being proved wrong time and again, I still sigh internally when I hit the fiction section of the New Yorker and see the name of a Russian. Still, I'm pointing you to his story "Among Animals and Plants" because it is odd and wonderful and oddly wonderful. Paragraphs like this one draw you in:

Fyodorov picked up his rifle. Something had stirred in the short grass nearby. He walked a little way in that direction and found a small hare—still a baby. He was sitting there almost humanly, rapidly chewing a blade of grass and using his tiny front paws to steady it. Then he wiped his face and began to take quick breaths of the clean, healthy air. Most likely, he was exhausted from having to find nourishment for himself; probably his parents were dead and he was living alone, an orphan. The hare did not notice the hunter, or did not understand his significance. He urinated, leaped up, and disappeared. Fyodorov didn’t kill him; the hare was too small, almost useless as food, and it would have been a shame, because the hare was only a child, yet already a true worker. Let him go on breathing.

Why? I think because there's a strangeness to them that is the strangeness of the sensory world. It's that feeling when you are suddenly made aware of the fact that you have a body and that it lives--not in a bad way, as can happen with a hangover or any illness, but in a way that you can smell the sourness of the earth after a rain and become conscious of the way scent works and think about why it exists at all and then dwell on the interesting combination of animal and larger brain that we are and how they interact. That's a heavy burden to place on a story, but I think it lives up to it.

Labels: literature, New Yorker

Popcorn: I have got to learn at some point that the late 1980s and early 1990s were not a good time for horror movies, not least because the hair and fashions are distracting from the plot and make me wish for the death of major characters rather than rooting for them. I'd been anticipating Popcorn for a long time, but a super-shitty transfer (pan-and-scan and squished) and an inauspicious, boring, montage-laden beginning didn't promise well. Luckily, it got better, especially in the parodies of old horror movies, which are done extremely well, especially Mosquito, which is totally Attack of the Giant Leeches, but in the air, not in a pond. And then the villain ends up being pretty cool, in that he wears masks of other people's faces, especially right before he's going to kill them (a la Darkman). This also leads to a confrontation at a urinal in which one dude pees all over another dude's leg. It remains the weirdest scene in a fairly weird movie. There's also some explanation of some of that weirdness in the "trivia" section on IMDB; e.g., the reason reggae is such a big deal in the movie is because it was shot in Jamaica. It's not great, but it's probably worth sticking with and persevering through the first 15 minutes if you like meta-film and horror films.

Labels: movies

Nope, sorry, David Denby's piece "Fallen Idols," from the Oct. 22 issue of the New Yorker, isn't online, just the abstract. Anyway, it's about the star system and how it may have been better than the current system, a drum he keeps beating (and who really disagrees, other than actors?) lately. It contains the following, though:

Female violence is some sort of step forward in the pop-culture image of women, I guess, but, for an actress, denying so many parts of her temperament in order to be tough all the time may not be much of a gain. The old softness is taboo, but the new hardness may be a trap--a form of exploitation that merely feeds the public's hunger for violent movies. (The male public, I would guess. It was men, not women, who were excited by Uma Thurman slicing up thirty stooges in "Kill Bill.")

I swear, Denby, we are going to have it out one of these days, in a slapfest.

1. I am female, Halloween costume implications to the contrary. And I was excited by it.

2. Thirty? Sir, you vastly underestimate the numbers.

3. I find it hard to think of a role for an actress over the past ten years that contains a comparable amount of depth to that of the Bride. Characterizing her only as a violent male fantasy is ignorant. She is an avenger, yes, but she is tainted by it. She's also a betrayed friend and daughter (of a sort), a woman who has undergone tremendous loss, a kidder, a victim, and, maybe most important, a mother. There is plenty of softness mixed with the hardness, which is what makes the films great--not the dismemberment.

Labels: movies, New Yorker

Labels: craigslist

Full set here. We saw a sexy police officer, a sexy firefighter, a sexy bee, at least one sexy candystriper, and a sexy Mike Vick. Sexy is always in for Halloween. But so is staying warm, the impetus behind my costume. Also, it's presumably the worst day of the year to work the door. I was told, at the bar, that my costume was "disturbingly realistic," a high compliment (?). It was dark.

Labels: Halloween, photos