Tuesday, November 15, 2005

Keeping Time: My Adored and My Enemy

Image site, see item #1.

Since time is my enemy today, this post will be about it, or rather, timepieces. I know there is at least one reader who will enjoy this as much as I- talk about niche marketing.

1) I've always been a fan of fine watches, if less from an engineering standpoint than an aesthetic one. On of my favorite styles is the tonneu. Here's a history of the famous Longines' tonneaus, including the sensational one worn by Bogart from 1941 on. However, I did not know, and I am also her fan, that Audrey Hepburn has a long association with Longines.

In an update to their advertising, in 2003, they looked for a modern Bogart to advertise the line. Well, good luck. Today, even Bogart wouldn't be Bogart. Twenty and thirty something marketing reps would have rejected his high waist and occasionally hunched stature which always needed the aid of good tailoring as an elegant man's form may. They'd toss out his eye-bags and chimney-smoking. Most likely, they tried to get a pillow-lipped twenty-two year old to smolder in two dimensions, and that's why I don't remember anyone. The current line of pretty coeds never project the self-possesion, strength, and manliness of a more tarnished and tested man. When was the last time you saw a saggy or craggy film star projected as something other than comic relief? But I'd sure like a couple of them just to liven up the joint with some style and sophistication.

2) Stanford University gets back an important Patek Phillippe which was once sold off by the founder's wife to raise operating funds for the struggling library.

3) The most expensive pocket watch sold at auction, is- no surprise- also a Patek Phillippe. The Grand Complication, which has 12 different functions, will be going to a Swiss Museum that bid almost 2 million U.S. for the privilege.

4) Here are the results from National Jeweler of the fifth annual Grand Prix d'Horlogerie de Genéve.

5) This has nothing to do with watches for those anti-chrono types, but it's so weird and depressing, my master plan is that it will turn you to the beauty of timepieces as an antidote. A poor woman in India has died in the hospital after having her eye eaten by ants.

Got to RUN!

Monday, November 14, 2005

Celebrity Weddings For The Birds

Are you surprised at the wide selection of penguin cake toppers?

1) This strikes me as a sad thing to specialize in, sweeping away the wreckage of cancelled weddings. I would be interested to know how big a trend this is, and whether people who know think it has anything to do with the expansion of the wedding into such an enormously complicated and costly event, even for normal folk.

2) Gawker's delighted with Nicole Richie's new book and couldn't put it down. Prepared to tag it as ghostwritten, I perused this excerpt. My revised conclusion is that it's so awful I can easily believe she herself pushed out this mangle of abused language, puerile characterization, and stuff we already know about the well-funded and vapid.

Chloe Parker would be a terrible role model if she were famous. Trouble is that she was about to be. It started innocently enough, or as innocent as you can get on the dance floor of one of the hottest clubs in L.A.

If a junior high-schooler wrote what I read, I would be pleased with her efforts at expression if distressed by her precocious worldliness. That this comes from the "educated" mind of a not underprivileged adult ought to be humiliating to the author and her publisher. That it isn't, and that it will likely make money just proves why I shouldn't run the world. It would be so much unfunner.

3) This is a very worthwhile and link-rich article about the avian flu panic from my favorite health reporter and debunker, Michael Fumento. Before hyperventilating at terrifying cover stories and news crawls, read these avian flu facts that address the panics which many in the media are carelessy and ghoulishly inflaming. The bullets points:

  • Nothing about this particular influenza is new, the frenzy of reporting is new.
  • It well may not mutate or migrate per the worst case scenario. It hasn't yet after decades of living with us.
  • There are things we can do to control the spread.
  • Despite the scare-lede 50% mortality reports, we can't know what these statistics really are, because those who never displayed symptoms or got very sick haven't been diagnosed for counting. As Fumento points out, we know the numerator of deaths, but have no way of knowing how big the denominator of exposed people is.
  • Medicine today is not the same as 1918.
If you aren't familiar with the role secondary infections play in upping a flu's death toll, read especially about the pneumococcal polysaccharide vaccine which works against 23 kinds of pnemonia-causing bacteria which can never become resistant to it. This vaccine protects for life, and is one we need to invest in as heavily as Tamiflu et al which viral flu strains can become resistant to.

Now is the time for even greater education that viral treatments are not preventative, and should absolutely not be used except in the presence of a confirmed infection that needs them. Overuse will render these agents powerless, because the virus will have mutated past their abilities to inhibit it. Don't stockpile, don't premedicate, don't poison birds, or worry about catching H5N1 from your Thanksgiving turkey should you indulge.

(UPDATE: Michael Fumento is a discredited creep. Your humble author still agrees with the conclusions he made, as these data have been cited by other, reputable sources. However, I must alert you that this man was, quite unfortunately, a paid mouthpiece.)

Sunday, November 13, 2005

Numberless Broke Coeds Make Lemurs Into Pillows

These are the Stooges. Quizilla says I am this '77 punk band. How about you?

Yesterday was lost. Almost as soon as I finished the blog post, a foul mood descended. The kind full of self-hatred and existential terror where the sky seems the gray of despair viewed from the recesses of one's own navel. Fortunately, I know for myself at least, such melancholies pass. Live through them, and I come out on the other side downright chipper. So, here's some junk for you to mull over should you choose. The weekend isn't over for my novel.

1) John Cleese has a lemur species named after him. Here's a helpful page of strange taxonomic constructions including species named for celebrities, myths, naughty parts and practices, and fictional characters. There are lots of rocker names, huge amounts of Zappa, and the ubergeeky naming from Tolkien and scifi. It's chock-full of amusing gems for those willing to scroll and read.

2) The Straight Dope addresses numerology By the time they've surveyed a pile of competing systems, you'll find something you like. If that one doesn't consistently satisfy, you can always roll the dice and pick again.

3) As Chris Rock jokes, are people gettin' real proud of not knowin'? Being infected since birth with incurable curiosity, I can't empathize with people who don't want to know anything, and are proud of -worse, satisfied with- being ignorant and useless. But since longevity studies tie intellectual engagement to longer, heathier lives, I suppose the dumbest lemmings will fall off the cliff soon enough. But see now where my vocational school idea makes sense? I would say curiosity and willingness to embrace new information are key components of adaptability and innovation. These collegiate lumps of unambitious sediment actively repel education as it's classically defined. Certain types of high achievement require a larger, internal framework of knowledge than simply how to plagiarize a paper by Googling a Wikipedia entry. For these, we require the kind of big thinkers who grow their capacities through challenging studies. If you won't study a broad sweep of sciences, philosophy, history, or the arts in their most complex and rarified manifestations, you don't need a university. You need trade school. And journalism is a trade, too. So sue me.

4) As college grads complain and journalists concur that it's harder today to reach the milestones of life, they remain willfully clueless about what were common financial sacrifices people used to make for homes and families. Weddings didn't cost tens of thousands, restaurant dining was a treat, and the common amount of money spent today on personal grooming and adornment would, I bet (even in adjusted dollars) strike speechless the prototypical middle-class household of the 1950s and 1960s who supposedly had it easy. I'm not saying everything's wrong today, just that when one's modern priorities are very different, it's invalid to judge from that position what someone else accomplished who sacrificed what you won't.

In this article, one person blames circumstances for her unwillingness to follow a professional career that she (I believe ingenuously) claims is her "passion". Others keep throwing more money and school time into career fields oversupplied with candidates. College is an investment, and I think it's more important to make it wisely than just to show up. Today, you can almost name your price as a pharmacist after a 4-year degree. In fact, many below-MD level health care fields are sparse in employees and the wages, benefits, and competition for staff have gotten higher, likely not to subside in the next decade certainly. So what's up with the almost useless thousands of Media, Communications, and undergrad Psychology degrees from undistinguished institutional incubators of venereal disease? If people graduate these progams knowing its from it's, you're from your, and their from there, I'm knocked down. Only this generation's upper-middle class have grown up with enough thoughtless comforts to expect that unspecialized knowledge and/or skills, conspicuous status-driven consumption, and broad swaths of costly leisure which rival the lifestyles of those born wealthy in less developed countries are the natural analogs to fiscal security.

The way normal families used to live would be considered lowly, embarrassing, and poverty-scented today. People also tend to undervalue how ever-cheaper technology has diffused society at every public and private level. Today's very average life looks cushy (and longer) by comparison to a very average life decades ago. For example, 30 years ago, a friend of mine was one in the pile of kids jammed into the station wagon, without DVDs or Gameboys, but next to a tin of sandwiches made to last for crossing the country, and thereby avoiding roadside expeditures. This, not a Disney cruise or Camp Kidtainment, used to be a normal family vacation. Now, it's fodder for comedy. I still enjoy an old-fashioned road trip, but I'm defective.

5) Will a chirping pillow help you sleep in stressful times? Soldiers in Kosovo say yes. But I couldn't post the picture of this freaky Warm Whiskers pillow on a woman's face- not public domain- so link here and see if you think an, eyeball-nesting zombiepuppy looks desirable.

Saturday, November 12, 2005

On a Three Day Weekend, a Holiday for Lobsters

Image from Genetic Gallery, Visualization Lab at SUNY Stony Brook.

I always plan to cut short the linky-linky and do a quickie post, but I start blathering, and those intentions evaporate. I do plan to get caught up on NaNoWriMo. Perhaps. My handy Excel spreadsheet says a mere 2500+ words per diem until month's end, and I'll make it to the 50k. I'm going to try to produce fiction like a maniac- thank heavens quality isn't a requirement- and do enough today and tomorrow to get my daily quota down to something more reasonable. After all, I'll lose some days to Thanksgiving, and next week is the Pajamas Media (whatever its name will finally be) launch event. I'm so excited about wasting Wednesday listening to and meeting people whose online presences I admire.

1) PJ Media had originally planned to incorporate so-called "tail" blogs. By size, that's what this is, however unflatteringly named. In later developments however, PJM decided to split into different missions and launch instead with 70 main blogs in their portal. They have some big-biggies signed up (if I'm right, 4 of the top 10 as ranked here). So, despite my voluntary enrollment, I wasn't invited on board. I can cry into my Cheerios, but I can't be suprised.

I want first to testify how pleased I am that persistent, candid willingness to accept one's humble place has its perqs. Though not in their blog portal (and I can't blame them- if it weren't a question of numbers, it might be one of taste), I was invited to the launch event at Rockefeller Center. Free eats, even. Tell me that ain't class. Last I read, Judith Miller was slated as lunch's keynote speaker. I will be interested to see if that's still happening since she's cleaned out her desk at the NYT. Also, many, many bloggers I enjoy and who are pushing the medium forward as a commercial and informational and communicational (?) tool will be attending. I eagerly await what they have to say in panels and at the hotel bar. I keep thinking there ought to be a way to work my kind of fiction and maybe artwork into a real online format, but I've yet to see it done in a way that I adore, and my own brain hasn't stormed.

I do still believe in PJM's notion of an organized portal. I'd love a categorical way to search blogs, not only by those covering a certain topic on a given day, but by style and general themes since so many (like this one, cough, cough) are varied in nature, making strange bedfellows of readers who may each appreciate it for very different reasons. As one example, if I read Vodkapundit's substantive foreign policy pieces or technology updates, would I also know to look for the occasional recipe? Well, you say, I would were I a diligent reader. But as my Favorites list expands geometrically and the eclecticism that blogging allows blossoms, shouldn't there be a way to find out if my fave bloggers are hitting my fave topics? (It would allow you to more easily dodge my frequent DDT posts...come on, that's worth something isn't it?)

I know lots of people use tags, but I don't have them here in my prepackaged Blogger set-up, and I'm not sure they're the be-all, end-all. Yet. What I really want is more like a one-page RSS digest of all new posts or on selected topics, not a real-time push or scroll. I'm playing with Jeeves' Bloglines, but I'm not so convinced, because I'm not finding it intuitive to arrange the stuff I want. The feature to allow mobile surfing of differing blog formats on my Palm is a fabulous idea, but I don't know if it works yet, and I'm reserving opinion. My bottom line, and perhaps yours, is to optimize the substance and enjoyment I get from the time I'm spending online, not to lengthen the already significant hours, put a streaming feed on my cornea, or feel like I'm in a chase. Probably, people have figured out an elegant solution already, and I'm just hopelessly behind. It's my fate to be the Tail.

I'm still disappointed that they're not keeping the original Pajamas Media name. That monikker came from the Big-Time-Media Rathergate attack on bloggers as inherently ignorant, unethical cranks sitting around in their nightwear. Now that wonderful name isn't serious or professional enough. Phooey. As others have asked, what sounds so serious about Yahoo or Google? When the people and the venture are professional, neither the logo nor the name need to be. Now, I suppose they'll use only Copperplate so all the words look solemn and true. Anyhoo, enough grousing about it. Despite developing recognition with the old name and profiling their participating bloggers under it, they will unveil their new identity on Nov. 16th. I will be there forming snap judgements to report.

2) If you could care less about me and the backstages of blogging, here's a heartwarming story of respect for age, despite the sweet, sweet allure of a bath in butter. 87- year old Fat Joe's going to the lobster stud farm.

Friday, November 11, 2005

Just for the Veterans- With Thanks!


Because I live like a bog creature, it took me until now to realize it's Veterans' Day. Sorry. It does explain why so few of you are checking in, you're out. And I did 2 posts today! Read first below.

HEARTFELT THANKS to all those in uniform who are sacrificing and have sacrificed at great cost to protect us and our nation's ideals.

Because I'm a mutt fan and can't be too solemn for long, here's a pic reported by Power Line to be the unofficial mascot at the Marines' Camp Pendleton.

The Day is Fair with a Westerly Cross Post


I'd hoped an image of a wind chime might help carry my theme. Is it working? Are you soothed by its tinkle?

Today, the kind folks at Crazy Rants of Samantha Burns have posted an article of mine as guest blogger du jour! I so appreciate the loan of the center column, and hope their many readers don't revolt. I think the idea is that I post the same article here, too, thus the name "cross post", but go read it over there. It's my TRUE SCOOP about what the French rioters want.

Now, in case you read that and demand more, more, more about France, here are two light but sharp-pointed rapier attacks from Mark Steyn about the effect of demography and Denis Boyles about Chirac's historic dodge-and-duck during domestic crisis.

Okay, you say, I appreciate the piles of links, but I don't give a rodent's rump about the topic. Well, then. How about:

1) Lotion Addiction thanks to Bookslut

2) The surprising power and reach of telenovelas thanks to Arts & Letters Daily

3) The woman who discovered, after waiting for transplants for 4 years, that the hospital had been offered and turned away 38 livers and 57 kidneys.

Enough! If I don't get to scribbling, I'll never have 10,000 words by bedtime.

Thursday, November 10, 2005

Smutty Single Seniors Don't Use Real Names

Image site here.

I am always so happy when I finsh something, you'd think I'd do it more often. I just finished a submission for a potentially remunerative gig. I don't care that the pay will likely be paltry. I'd like to be semi-regularly published. Besides here, I mean, where I delight daily in the liberty of using the word crap a lot.

1) I'm also happy to be freed up for Nanoing. Yay- you sigh- another item on that. So tedious until the 30th. But now that the Grumpy Old Bookman's on board, can coolness be far behind?

2) My take on porn curricula is that one shouldn't have to pay $350 a credit hour to make one's own porn. Amateur's supposed to be free, isn't it? Besides, I remember some of the wacky professorial individuals at my schools. If I'm paying to perform, and the prof ends up with stacks of XXX student smut, who's the clear winner? Is it me with my shiny A and newfound vulnerability, or my professor with a large inventory of highly saleable and/or blackmailable material? Is the T.A. trustworthy? Are the locks secure? You'll only need an egg timer to measure the time before those tapes hit a subscription site, leak around the campus, or are used in another context that won't exactly enhance your transcript.

Granted, if you're afraid to tackle any learning above a high school level of competence, I can see why you'd stay away from real knowledge and select a topic that any autodidact with Cinemax can study in mind-numbing iteration and that many learn quite well "on-the-job" so to speak. This is again why I'm for the restitution of broad vocational schooling. Parents, wouldn't you be prouder and wouldn't your children have a brighter future if they were learning to repair dialysis machines or ATMs and not wasting their time and your cash in a university?

3) We're talking about aliases. The names authors take to help sell books when their own name has become associated with less-than-blockbuster performance or the gender and sound is "wrong" for marketing. I know it must be disheartening to build a career where your own name proudly identifies your work and then have to switch to a name you must explain. Like Sarah Weinman, I was reminded of Donald Westlake's book The Hook which gives a great rundown of the vicious cycle that can force an author into fakery. Westlake, of course, has his own alternate identity as Richard Stark. Unlike a couple of Sarah's commenters, I'm not offended as a reader. Not only can I conceive of plenty of good reasons for AKAs, I'll bet Henway Twingo isn't even on my birth certificate!

4) Senior bloggers are rockin' it old school, and proving to be actual individuals, not just airbrushed fiber ads. If my 77 year-old friend is reading this (and you know you are, you wired-up web-surfing vixen) you ought to give these bourgeois oldsters a run for the Celebrex. Metaphorically speaking.

5) Intellidating. This is where you attempt to meet a lover based on more than you can discover by screaming across a sticky bar. I thought attending events of personal interest and talking with other attendees was always a decent method of foraging for friendships and more. For someone brighter than a brick, the events might include words or art, talent or skill. But no one wants old, crustified dating advice. Rename it, and it's marketing gold!

CRAP, CRAP, CRAP. I feel so breezy and free.

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Not So Much Late As Ripe.

Sadly, while this festively hand-decorated seat is no longer available at the site, a super-awesome history of the toilet is.

I am typically a later-day poster, but it's even worse when I have other tap-tappings due first.

1) In an update to yesterday's maize, here's a column on how farm subsidies are creating ski hills of unused kernels.

2) If you read about the guy suing Home Depot claiming some prankster glued his behind to the crapper, there's an update. Is this man a serial victim, or was his previous claim a dry run?

3) Because the WSJ links are free this week, here's a nice 'un about DDT.

4) As I was catching up on my neglected blog reading yesterday, I found this post about summits at The Crazy Rants of Samantha Burns.

While trafficwise she can crush me like a bug, I want you to know that, despite her heinous position on the subject, I stand up for your right to all the toilets, tree stands, moon calendars, motorsports, rotary snowplows, craptiques, sunglasses, cervical cancer, gang violence, cigarette lighter adapters, and foreign trade with Akron, Ohio that you, as a free individual, choose to pursue! There will be no anti-summitism here.

5) Here, I also found the Blog Business Summit (blog) -do I write it again now?- which reports that blogging is more effective than Search Engine Optimization (SEO). Is it so?

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Bogus DJ Votes for Hypnotically Chewy Corn

Candy Corn, Popcorn, Corn Cakes, Corndogs, Carmel Corn, Corn Pone, Corn Syrup- you name it, I'm fer it. And these human-sized concrete ears standing tall outside Dublin, Ohio salute Sam Frantz, The Germinator of so many tasty mutants.

I'm just back from voting. Fortunately, the polling place is in the lobby of a high-rise at the end of my block, so it was almost effortless to get myself there. Of course, once I arrived, there was the usual confusion of many persons at card tables with indistinguishable stacks of papers and the convoluted microtask delegation of a church bazaar. (No, you give her the money, then I tear the raffle ticket, and Stanley puts it in the box) I was one of two prospects in the lobby at the time, yet I was referred and redirected through three people before getting to a woman who had to write my last name on a scratch pad before feeling prepared to look it up in the registration roll. This woman was the only one I required, and she could've started flipping through pages once I began spelling out my name per her request. The doodle sheet of various voters at her right hand was a little offputting, though I shouldn't complain, since on the last election day, the woman assisting me had a painfully less-than-solid grasp of the alphabet.

And what's all the fuss about showing photo ID? New York doesn't have same-day voter registration, so you have to be pre-listed in the rolls which they verify by matching your signature already. If photo voter cards are available at no cost for poor voters, what's the big deal? I don't think you should need to be a citizen to make purchases or travel freely, but shouldn't your status as an authentic American matter in voting? Anyhoo, in Chicago we had the punchcard machines, the kind from which hanging chads are born, though the city used a chad-check device before accepting the ballot. Here, when I step behind the vinyl curtain, there's a scarred metal box on wheels with a big red lever that gets pulled to reset the selections to blanks. You're facing a metal wall of black-stickered names and propositions with square cutouts next to them, tweaking black plastic flippers to display an X next to your choice. Flip back and forth all day, it's fun, and the contraption looks like a Playskool cockpit. When you've got everything as you wish, then pull the big red lever back and make it all the Xs disappear into the vote hole.

I'm not one who believes you must vote to have a legit opinion, but people's declared passions seem less serious when they can't bother to show up once every couple of years. It's like claiming strong opinions about a TV show you never watch. However, I was disappointed not to receive a "Kiss Me, I Voted" sticker or some such like when you donate blood. I figure voting paraphernalia is a mistletoe-like aphrodesiac for the civically minded. But no public props for me, merely the personal satisfaction of stating my definite convictions along with spreading around weird party energy to my low priority selections. It's my way of sending official notice that I'm not satisfied, oh no. I'm fancy-free, unpromised, and ready to vote for whoever's willing to court my ideals. Although I'm a free marketeer, Rent Is Too Damn High Party, I like the cut of your outspoken jib.

Now, the daily tidbits:

1) With a few exceptions, I find radio DJs as creepy as some people find clowns. This one has been arrested for allegedly poisoning his wife with antifreeze for her life insurance. Ah love... And he blogs. Okay, so clowns, then DJs, then bloggers in the pantheon of the creepy.

2) Do nice people just play along with hypnotists so as not to hurt their feelings?

3) Turns out chewing each bite 32 times is a load of hokum, too.

4) Nowhere in this article do they address how long biodegradable socks made from corn will last on the hottest and sweatiest of Japanese footsies. Some elegant corn-for-the-corns riposte begs to be crafted, but I'm above it.

5) If you're going to steal a dead baby's identity, don't skimp, go all the way. Make yourself an Earl and get the coat of arms on your letterhead.

Monday, November 07, 2005

Can You Hear That? It's Copernicus' Skull !!!!!!

Google told me it came from somewhere here. Why does it exist? I cannot say.

I pray I have not lost your affections by my absence. Come back, koochykins! I've returned to our digital love nest after an incredibly busy week of preparing for last weekend's incredibly busy hospitality and bonhomie. Having three times the usual number of people living in my home and ten times that number visiting could have turned out just awfully. It could have fueled awkwardness at holiday dinners and inebriated outbursts of enmity for years to come. But it won't. 'Cause it was actually fun.

Still, I am exhausted and so far behind on the NaNoWriMo word count (650 of 50,000) and a couple of other writing obligations that I'll be hunkerin' down for the next couple of weeks to dig out. That's my long form excuse for the following post which is so very scrivenocentric and full of emphatically overused punctuation, too.

1) John Epstein opines about why literary prizes shouldn't be overrated. At an MWA panel I recently attended, Steve Hamilton, who won the Private Eye Writers of America award (the Shamus) for best First Private Eye novel in 1997, reported he got all his marketing juice from the nomination. The eventual winner is rarely remembered while people have months to buzz about and read the nominees.

2) The crusty and ungregarious John Fowles has died. While he may be best known to you for writing The French Lieutenant's Woman, he impacted me the most with The Collector, which I was assigned to read in school. At that time, I was mature enough to internalize the horrific content and twisting of the characters but young enough to be deeply shocked and saddened by the death of someone I had childishly assumed would be saved. Fowles wrote fine books. That's as wonderful an epitaph as I could dream someday to deserve.

3) Earlier this year, I read the first three books of George R.R. Martin's cycle of the Songs of Fire and Ice. Over a decade ago, I read him first in a book I still consider too little read, Fevre Dream, which made Anne Rice's creations seem derivative when I first encountered them. I'm not sure how I missed the Fire and Ice saga, but I did. When I found it, I consumed it. Up late every night, half-wanting to stop but unable, I plowed through the thousands of pages and vast numbers of POV characters, always wondering how he would get it all tied together by the end of book 3 at his rich and textural but glacial pace of plot development. Well - as I'd have known had I researched online before cracking the first cover- he didn't get it done. And the 4th book was delayed for years, finally to be published this month.

Now, in this article to promote the new release, I discover that this won't be the end either! He'll need three more books and through 2011 to finish. This may be the finest contemporary fantasy saga, but knowing the coming thousand pages won't bring resolution but are just the halfway bump makes me want to tear out my eyebrows. Enough details of the lamprey pie and banner decorations- who are The Others, will the Dragon heir bond with the Starks to save the world, where do direwolves come from, what's up with all the zombies??????!!!!!!!?????? Martin had better get on the stick with some answers, or I swear on my aurochs that I'm not going to care anymore!

4) Escaped Death Row inmate captured because of an irresistible urge for drunk dialing.

5) Okay, I guess it's cool we can differentiate Copernicus' skull from the other underachievers in the crypt, but why do we want to again?

6) So you'll have something pretty to look at and listen to, April of The Bummer Girls forwarded me this link to an unusual Hallmark card laying out the cruel truth of the J-O-B when you're slaving for the scribbleMan.

Friday, November 04, 2005

When's It's My Time To Go

Image from Armageddon site here.

Time's up. Family...guest...arrival.....inevitable...

More on Alien Abductions (What about invasions like mine?)

This'll take up the time that my normal foolishness would: Free Handwriting Analysis.
(ht: Mrs. Happy Housewife) Let's all do it and see if we're loopy!

No...time...left. Will try...to be brave...
AAAAArrrgggghh...h....h......uh. uh.

Thursday, November 03, 2005

The Importance of Being Nosey


Images from this lovely blog and this marketing site.


It's a quick hit kinda day. Here goes:

1) What would it mean to have a seriously impaired sense of smell? Food doesn't taste much, you're not offended by B.O. or halitosis, but you'd miss the telltale odor of a gas leak or a fire.

2) I'm putting my nose in this judge's beeswax, but should a law-breaking polygamist remain on the bench in Utah? The argument is that his personal conduct doesn't hurt anyone or affect his rulings even if it is an ongoing offense against the law. Mmmmm, not so sure. If Utah in majority felt that the multi-wife life had such negligible repercussions, why did they outlaw it in the first place? How are we supposed to believe he dispassionately rules consistently for others based on the laws that he himself picks and chooses among?

3) China's ruling party has its nose out of joint about another pro-democracy blogger. Wang Yi's Microphone is not on.

4) Does anyone else smell the press' elation in creating as terrifying a lede as possible? AP Style now stands for Apocalyptic Style. Yesterday, when the administration released its plans to deal with a large-scale avian flu outbreak, when and if it should occur mind you, it included provisions to reduce the transmission by travel. This is all future tense, not today, conditional upon circumstances which have not occurred, but the press services, papers- and even a radio annoucer I heard- reported the frighteningly imminent-sounding and incomplete headline
U.S. May Restrict Travel
Just that. Nuff said, kay?

Seeing this in big font everywhere, you might be prompted to purchase one of those declining-circulation dailies in your panic that the THE STATE had finally implemented its national lockdown to detain you from going where you want, as if bag checks and toll booths weren't enough. When I went back to one of yesterday's AP links where I found the headline (I should've cached the page as proof) the scaretag had been revised to U.S. May Restrict Travel to Prevent Bird Flu, slightly more complete but still implying the pandemic and restrictions are fait accompli. This German site still has the spookier version along with a bullet-pointed estimations of the million+ dead. What won't the media to freak out the peeps? I fear the effects of the coverage as much as the facts.

5) With my nose for crime, or perhaps tacky crime dramedy, or even just things Hasselhoff, I found this story about NBC's new venture, the 24-hour Sleuth network. It probably won't have enough funding or audience for original programming, but it will be your one stop shop for select movie reruns and The A-Team, Miami Vice, Simon & Simon, The Equalizer, and Knight Rider. I'm going to need a bigger drive on the TiVo.

6) Re: Keeping my nose to the grindstone, here's an article from the Boston Globe on NaNoWriMo. You know I'm doing it, and I'll keep on mentioning it until you care. Or end of November. Whatever.

7) This South African woman had her nose bitten off by a seal she thought needed help. According to one bystander, however, the woman behaved foolishly, putting herself and her one-year old infant daughter entirely too close to a large, sharp-toothed, wild carnivore that regularly basked in the area and needed no assistance finding the ocean. The woman is now suing various govermental agencies for negligence because the seal, condemning the fiasco as just another circus, refuses to jump through the hoops of a trial.

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

If wrongly accused, call Jimmy Carter's toupee

Image source here. I can't choose. Christian smolders with sex, but Andre smells like success, and Pierre is funloving and ready for anything!

Well, I'm pleased to report that beside the many things that ought to have happened and didn't, my nook is painted. If you could see it, you might well think it the handsomest nook at which you'd ever looked.

1) If you remember those horrific mass child-molestation cases during the 1980s against day-care owners and workers, you'll recall that lives were ruined with the accusations (and convictions) for behaviors of almost unimaginable freakiness. In fact, it was absolutely imaginable, and as we found out, largely imagined. Here's an L.A. Times "apology" article from the adult perspective of one of the children who accused the proprietors of the McMartin Pre-school. Kyle Zirpolo explains how his family history and relationships encouraged his fantastic stories, which to this day, his mother does not accept that he manufactured. But the part which is much more chilling and infuriating than tragic involves his interviews with Children's Institute International. At the bottom of the article, read the transcript excerpt and see how Kyle's victimhood is assumed, how his identity is swapped for a make-believe one (to make telling lies easier or less blameworthy?), how they lead him toward the acceptable answer and encourage his cooperative narrative.

Oh yes, we say now, it's because in the 80s we didn't know as much about children as today. Really? Thousands of years raising the millions of children that all of us were at one time, and no one figured out that they'll try to please you if you show them how. Isn't that how many forms of abuse begin? In the frenzy to stop abuse when there's no physical or documentary evidence, we've had to boost children's testimony to a higher place than it deserves, not because they don't merit our protection, but because they're inherently unreliable due to their incomplete development.

2) It's common to hear people quoting the pith of children when it suits their agendas and then attributing the perspective to some unspoilt, natural wisdom, like when Jimmy Carter attributed the direction of his nuclear policy to the clearthinking of his young daughter, Amy. Moronic. My brother liked to put his diapers on his head, and I didn't try to sell it as fashion. Children certainly deserve better from adults than that kind of pressure. Amy, just so you know, I don't blame you for the hostage crisis in Iran, no matter what you advised. Here's a scathing review in the WSJ of Carter's new book. I admit, he tops my personal list of worst presidents, so I don't spare the vitriol for this undoubtedly nice man and pathetically awful world leader.

3) Let's say you don't care about any of that stuff, you're just tired of being hassled by snobs about all the Dan Brown books you're toting. If you haven't learned to employ book covers from your school days, start here. A whimsical newsprint or wrapping paper cover is easy to construct and hides the fact that you're reading Toupee: The Unspoken Passion, or The U.S. Market for Femine Hygiene Products (Don't be fooled by the price of $2700, it'd still be blushmaking for most of us to be caught poring over on the subway, Path, Metra, El, or Tube.) Here's yet another solution: trade in your stale Da Vinci code for a free, freshly steaming pile of wordies, like in this offer from the London by London insiders' guide.

So, I have very little legitimate tie-in to toupees. Let this be your warning. When cornered, I reach for the Bazookas of humor, in this case, the man rug. How low will I go? Certainly not as low as this, I pray nightly.

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

When You Feel Bad About Pompeii, Think Kittens

See last item for image source.

The first day of Nanowrimo has arrived, and I've got the gorgeous gut-clenching panic that says I'm out over my skis- again. Before I can begin the crappy writing through, I have to paint a nook, read a book, and write an 800-word review worth keeping. I have tons of family coming to visit during the NYC Marathon this weekend, and things are likely to go hairy-legged.

However, I can feel better (or at least petty) on this All Saints' Day by reflecting on worse November Firsts:

79- Pompeii immolated and buried by Mt. Vesuvius
1755- The Lisbon earthquake killed 60,000 people
1765- The Stamp Act took effect, roiling American colonists toward war
1918- The Hapsburg monarchy fell
1950- There was an attempted assassination of President Truman (better than a completion for Harry, but still a trying day)

and perhaps the most horrifying-

1993- Great Britain, France, Germany, the Irish Republic, Spain, Portugal, Italy, Greece, Denmark, Luxembourg, Belgium, and the Netherlands became the European Union under the Maastricht Treaty. AAAAAHHHHHHhhhhhhhh!

My worries seem so teeny in comparison.

Please, I insist, read this Uncyclopedia post linked from The Poor Man Institute (via apostropher, sorry for the late attribution, link loss) about kitten huffing, and I'll stifle myself.

Monday, October 31, 2005

Lame Halloween Cliches with Pix of Workplace Horrors


This three-story, half-flayed pregnant lady haunting an office bldg near 51st and Park (or thereabouts) is some check-writer's idea of good. (Tx, Bonnie) If you work here, when you arrive daily to toil, on smoke breaks, looking out your window, at lunchtimes, when ready to go home and leave workaday horrors behind, you must realize that inescapably confronted by dubious decoration, Every day is Halloween!

I'm your basic afternoon poster, my synapses fire once the sun gets warm (and stop again if it gets uncomfortably hot). Still, I have things to attend to immediately so I may clear my schedule (in my mind, I'm pronouncing it shedyool) to watch the scary and not-so-scary movies that will make my All Hallows' Eve fun, at least before the dead ancestors come knocking to bug me later. You, dear readers, had me at "Trick...", so here are the linky treats, mostly multimedia with sound (my pardons to the dialers-up). Ya'll at work, grab the headphones.

1) Halloween Cat bowling. Heck yeah. With sound. (Tx, Bonnie for this, too) I stink.

2) If you loved Numa Numa boy, strap in for a joyous ride. This isn't so boo-scary, except I co-opted it from the Secret Dead, and you can see one of these Chinese students has listened to enough of this crap that it actually thinned his bones enough to snap his arm. Why won't they heed the warnings? How often must I warn the kids (#3) to protect their precious marrow. There's a reason we call pop music lame.

3) For the text bound, this represents another modern workplace horror: BenYagoda's modern interview with Mr. Arbuthnot, the cliche expert.

4) The Straight Dope takes on the narrow subject of Appalachian inbreeding and its relationship to legends of blue people.

5) This is another one you'll need some bandwidth and display capacity to get, but it's cool, perhaps worth adding to your daily looksees. Buzzmachine pointed me to this feature of the Flickr photosharing site called "interestingness". They use a variety of factors in the photo and response to it in order to calculate a rating of interest, and will serve you up an assembly of recent photos united only by being rated "interesting." And they are. As you hit the top right Reload button, one fascinating collage after another.

If none of the sounds, sights, or stories above caused any titillation or enjoyment in your hollow breast, then you're a sludge-blooded, leather-skinned old hasbeen of a formerly sentient creature. Congrats, you passed the test! And welcome to my new zombie readership!

Sunday, October 30, 2005

White Woman Fantasizes Eating American Gothic

See here for more amusing AG-inspired images from the art students of Ark. Tech. U.

As usual, I just start getting my Halloween on when it's almost past. I feel downright spectral during November. Many of these links are sizable, but if you're having a leisurely enough day to browse what catches your fancy, maybe some of these will be nice accompaniments to a cup of something cozy.

1) I saw Woman in White last night, which is an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical just arrived in preview on Broadway from London. I'm a fan of Wilkie Collins' original novel and the macabre in general, so I went. I did enjoy the fine voices and melodramatic, Gothic humor of it. Hurrah for Count Fosco who relentlessly charms as he chews the scenery. There were a few lovely, catchy numbers if ALW has slightly ripped himself off with certain portions keenly reminding me of other music he's already written.

One interesting aspect is the stage design, no more embellished than a tall, white semicicular wall. It's concave when placed upstage and rotates around front to make a convex half circle bowing toward the audience near the stage's apron. Within this big white crescent is often set a smaller, shorter one that similarly rotates to display its inner or outer face. The shorter fingernail is set onto a circular turntable of stage that- you guessed- rotates. This set-up allows huge, multi-layered computer-generated images of various drawing rooms and libraries, front entries, and graveyards to be projected upon the contours as the scenes demand. In the first few minutes, the projections struck me as clumsy and I was having problems immersing myself. Then background images began swapping and out at great speed, swiveling the wall screens while flying us across computer countryside and through elaborate passages. Even the actors' movements are in arcs, and soon the panoramic action is granted the visual comfort of a cinematic panning shot. And we're there. Obviously, the computer images allow an almost limitless number of set changes and this production spares few opportunities. Why not spend the three seconds swooshing a wall around to project an iron gate behind a thirty-second scene? It's an unusual, but ultimately positive device. If it saps some of the dusty stillness and emotional gravity that pervades Victoriana, it unquestionably adds dynamism to the tale, and the rolling revelations of scenery create the delight in discovery one might enjoy in a great curiosity shop.

2) Speaking of Gothic, now it's hip. You know 'cause the NYT says so. I'm bored with the crowds of transients.

3) I've written, okay ranted, about these trends in culture and education, but Christine Rosen covers it all in The Overpraised American which examines the accuracy of Christopher Lasch's foresight in 1979's The Culture of Narcissism. It's a longey, but a goodie. Savor it.

4) Here are MSNBC's ideas of 7 truly terrifying entrees. I think they took a shortcut here to make sure all the frights weren't from abroad, but no kind of luncheon loaf (even headcheese) can compare to shark meat leached of urine by leaving it to rot. Even the maker says the taste of the putrefied meat is bad, decent only in aftertaste and with tons of booze to drown it, and that it's the kind of thing you'd never eat regularly.

5) As NaNoWriMo looms in only 2 days, if you're preparing to participate with a fantastic offering, here's a list of questions that will help you determine whether your fantasy concept is deriative tripe.

Saturday, October 29, 2005

Reptile Digestion Insulting Death Sentence for Mosquito

See item 7 for image link.

1) I won't give identifying details, but I do adore it when postings for editorial positions at enormous publishing houses contain sentences like this one: A college-level understanding and use of the English language, attention to detail, self-motivated, well organized and team oriented. Wha...? Yuck.

No, I wasn't planning on applying. Candidly, I'm too obsessive, indolent, unfriendly, and impatient for that kind of gig, though I consider myself a rare variety of overachiever in search of the right market niche. I'm a divine curmudgeon.

2) The deadly Nile Monitor, cousin to the insatiable Komodo Dragon, has been seen swimming toward the nature sanctuary of Florida's Sanibel Island. If we sent Godzilla to roast all the invading hostiles, I think you can see we'd just compound the problem with a bigger rapacious reptile. Therefore, I'm calling for lizard-attacking (and marinating and roasting to crispy succulence) robot armies fueled only by our gratitude and used diapers. Get on it, capitalists and enginerds! I already did the idea part.

3) In deep space, who can protect the junk in your trunk? Mmmm, marrow...

4) Aubrey de Grey has a short list of big goals that will "murder death." He seems brilliant and slightly mad, although all visionaries smack of insanity. But really, is this what we want? Don't weep, but I'm sick of most of the jamokes I know already. If you're planning on lingering another century or two to vex me, I'm gonna start a skydiving school with swiss cheese parachutes. Free passes, ya'll.

5) I love the KMMN (Kill Malarial Mosquitos Now) Coalition. There are other voices saying it, and I've bored you with it about a million times, but I STILL HEART DDT!

6) Have you forgotten to call someone a Walloon today?

7) Yeah, so I knitted you a digestive system. So what about it?

Friday, October 28, 2005

Bouncing Art Stinks but Good say Martian Vampires

Image from here.

1) That Yellow Bastard referred me to this Sony Bravia ad, filmed without special computer effects, but by letting 250,000 superballs bounce down the streets of San Francisco. The broadband feed is smooth- has sound of the sparse acoustic type- and is beautiful. If you're rockin' a fast connection, I think you'll enjoy the simple pleasure.

2) As Bookslut points out, it's an irresistable headline: Lesbian Stalker Loses Vampire Love Battle. I can imagine the lurid movie poster now.

3) If you're of astronomical leanings, it's cool news that Mars and Venus will be glowing brightly on Halloween.

4) The Anchoress points out this story about my current hometown. It's a sad comment, but I'd have wondered, too, if I'd noticed the general atmosphere of Manhattan smelled too good.

5) As we approach the holiday season, here's the recent state-organized Jerusalem Day in Tehran. Don't confuse it with St. Paddy's or Casimir Pulaski's or Christopher Columbus' or Puerto Rican Day which are celebrations of the existence of people from other lands. No, no. JDay is the holiday where since 1979, Iraqis have demonstrated their abiding hatred for Jews and Israel and confirmed their committment to Semitic eradication. By the way, Death to America, too.

6) I am not just a linky traffic cop in the blogopshere, despite my adherence to crediting where I find things. Daily, I slave to select the choicest morsels from the buffet for you, frame them, give them context, incorporate them into my lame titles and find stupid pictures to attach. Don't say it's nothing. I wade through loads of the yawny-yawny so you don't have to. With that defensive preface, I note that Michelle Malkin pointed me to the photo series titled Propaganda at Riding Sun who found it from apostropher, but about this I have original commentary, so back off!

As I've said, I'm not much for "message art." Usually the message is unsubtle and overwhelms the aesthetics which end up taking a rung so much lower in the artist's attentions as to require a spelunking helmet to detect them. Nope, Chuck, that's just another mold deposit, not visual intention. However, I do find these photographs by Eolo Perfido well executed, no pun intended. (His own site has the nicest versions. Flop open an extra window and let's go through them together.)

UPDATE: I fixed the broken Eolo link, dagnabbit. You could've reached the photos through the other blogs' links above, but I didn't intend you should work so hard. And tx, apostropher, for the add'l kind words.

Onto the art. I like the palette, the dramatic lighting, the crispness and the care with which they're done. I find the bandaged heads reminiscent of "See No Evil" (or perhaps the Mummy Returns), and the protruding teeth of a flayed skull. I find myself also a little generally reminded of the shivering heads from the move Jacob's Ladder. Coming from Europe, this is hardly groundbreaking conceptualism, and if I don't find it all genius, it's still good looking. But, and you knew there'd be one coming, I do have issues with the set dressing.

Popcorn Man. His flag is tied to a branch, much more trouble and more expensive than the ubiquitous plastic flap-on-dowel at every megamart and drug store. Perfido should understand it's like the pre-wrapped Japanese instagifts available everywhere in Tokyo to satisfy the social customs. Since it's mandatory for U.S. citizens (and pretenders) to bear flags at all times in public locations and in private ones where more than three non-family members are gathered, we don't spend a lot of money or time on them. Like commuter umbrellas. The popcorn in a bowl instead of chips out of a bag? No paneling on the bunker walls or a foam fan finger? And this guy's underwear don't look right either. Look closely. The strappy tee part is no ribbed wifebeater and what about the shorts with buttons? This is obviously a furrin notion of proper undergarmentry. Might I suggest this inspiration to greater accuracy?

Scrawny Woman and Child. As everyone knows, America's jingo poor are fat, and the quilted wrap robe might be iconic for the 50's but hardly current. Think knee-length sleeper-T , preferably with crackled cartoon character decal and worn-to-elastic-fatigue sweatpants. Greasy ponytail and/or bad bleach job for sure.

Whore Girl. That's a solid depiction. Nailed that one, Eolo. High five, whooo.

Dreadlock Man in Cart. Dare I mention the bone structure and skin of this guy look a little youthful and Euro model-stubbly to go with the hair unless he's a skater dude? The cart-riding crowd in NYC usually look older, even in their twenties, and less, uh, robust.

KKK Guy after nose job and eye lift. The stained flag isn't likely though. See how they elevate the symbolic. In these photos, you'll see all the flags and basements are sparkling clean. Americans know the Klan are great at three things: the mentality of supremacy, wall arrangements, and laundry.

Electric Chair. I guess it's possible a brawny old guard would attack a convict's cranium like a zombie looking for a Lunchable, but once the little guy's strapped in, isn't it easier just to flip the switch?

Cyberpriest. I suppose I'm just grateful Eolo didn't go for the more predictable kneeling boy here. Still, doesn't this priest resemble the young Fr. Karras from The Exorcist? Hey, did you know actor Jason Miller's son Jason Patric is Jackie Gleason's grandson? Sorry, distracted by imdb.

Camo Battery Guy. Not much to say except the age makes the guy look like the war ended a while ago but not for him, blah blah... Where are the hardbodies from our current conflict? Where are the conductive dog tags?

Corporate Mummy. I realize there may be difficulties getting an actual flag to tie-size, but this guy's neck knot is way bigger than any normal Yankee shill who isn't a double-Windsor devotee of the Brit stylings of Thomas Pink.

I guess what I'm saying is that Eolo Perfido's beefs may be legit, but I can't shake the feeling that this Frenchman living in Rome doesn't really get us. Failing in the specific, he may be a little simplistic in the broad. And isn't it's a little- okay I'll say it- small-minded and maladjusted to spend so much time shaking your fingers at the distant and unalterable when you don't have any skin in the game? I don't know of any American artist devoting his time to relentlessly bashing another country unless he's an expat. Even then, the art of criticism often shows tremendous affection for the lost land. See many Cuban-American artists as examples. Does Perfido's exacting work show any particular understanding of or compassion toward its subjects, or does it fail to move the spirit because it treats its substance as inhuman, safe to demonize once reduced to easy, if hackneyed, abstractions?

Thursday, October 27, 2005

You Blew This Putt, Noonan

See image here. Twisted Feather tremendously odd Imports here.

1) This is light, thematic, and frothy, unlike the frothing at the mouth I'll do next. Halloween Hangman is a good time. (Tx, Bonnie) However, I warn you, there's SOUND. If you're at work, turn down the volume before linking or you'll hear abusive ranting from the skeleton that implies he died of cirrosis and lung cancer combined. I can practically see the ghosts of betting slips in his bony fingers.

2) Sometimes, I think Peggy Noonan gets it right. Some days like today, she sounds like she's only writing for and aware of the other inmates in the Beltway asylum and nearby gated communities. That may not be true, and I don't mean to damn her hunch-gathering. I don't doubt some people feel the way she writes. But I think the gloom off-base, not particularly tied to facts but choices of perception, and largely the cri-de-coeur of people unaware they've morphed from key contributors to consumers. Most importantly, I reject her view of the elite and consider them actually the common, in the sense of being increasingly satisfied with being less than excellent. My rejection of her points was as visceral as logical, so we'll see whether I avoid the accusation that I'm merely patching the cracks in my "constitutional and classic American optimism." I'm not exactly providing a disputation of her observations as much as a different reponse to them.

I think that a lot of people are carrying around in their heads, unarticulated and even in some cases unnoticed, a sense that the wheels are coming off the trolley and the trolley [is] off the tracks. That in some deep and fundamental way things have broken down and can't be fixed, or won't be fixed any time soon. That our pollsters are preoccupied with "right track" and "wrong track" but missing the number of people who think the answer to "How are things going in America?" is "Off the tracks and hurtling forward, toward an unknown destination."

When have the actors of the day ever known the destination of history, which is built on the bones of those who'd never imagined things could go as they did? Pandemics have occurred, great civilizations have fallen, natural disasters have changed the planet, mass murder of millions have occurred through cruelty and war. If we were ever to discuss history (a contemporary failure which augments this morass of mood) we learn that all these horrors have happened many times over, and yet, people survive to be shocked about them. Because of the direction that time flows, humanity is always charging into darkness. Whether it feels like adventure or doom has largely to do with how robustly you adapt to uncertainty and how you credit your fellow humans as traveling companions.

I mean . . . the whole ball of wax. Everything. Cloning, nuts with nukes, epidemics; the growing knowledge that there's no such thing as homeland security; the fact that we're leaving our kids with a bill no one can pay. A sense of unreality in our courts so deep that they think they can seize grandma's house to build a strip mall; our media institutions imploding--the spectacle of a great American newspaper, the New York Times, hurtling off its own tracks, as did CBS. The fear of parents that their children will wind up disturbed, and their souls actually imperiled, by the popular culture in which we are raising them. Senators who seem owned by someone, actually owned, by an interest group or a financial entity. Great churches that have lost all sense of mission, and all authority. Do you have confidence in the CIA? The FBI? I didn't think so. But this recounting doesn't quite get me to what I mean. I mean I believe there's a general and amorphous sense that things are broken and tough history is coming...It's beyond, "The president is overwhelmed." The presidency (her emphasis) is overwhelmed. The whole government is. And people sense when an institution is overwhelmed. Citizens know. If we had a major terrorist event tomorrow half the country--more than half--would not trust the federal government to do what it has to do, would not trust it to tell the truth, would not trust it, period.

Is existence truly less stable than before, or are we just better informed about a complex web of risks outside our direct control? In technological societies, our lives hinge on developments and devices and people we don't understand and couldn't replace ourselves. Now that masses face undreamt health and longevity through advances in standards of living and medical care, if our pervasive worrying leaves the minutia, it drifts to terrorist cells, climatological change, mercury levels in salmon steaks, sick building syndrome, the sexual predator next door, and on and on. I'm not implying that any of these aren't worthy concerns, just that they aren't all likely, and one can't stay level-headed while internalizing dread about all of them, especially ones outside the purview of one's specific expertise or position. That is the recipe for hopelessness: worry about what you can't do while failing to do what you can.

You must decide to trust generally or not. Either big-G Government (substitute The Corporation where applicable) is a conspiracy of huge numbers of alien beings unlike you who intend you harm, or even the largest entities are made up of folks roughly similar to you in strengths and weaknesses, desires and priorities. To me, the primary danger of anything huge is the dilution and masking of accountability combined with possibilities for hazardous groupthink, but limits on power with support for transparency and individual freedoms help defuse that volatile kind of conformity. Another nuance of modern history- for good or ill- is that no governments have ever had to go through the real-time scrutiny and micromanagement by so many armchair senators and generals before. In the storied past, which we've elided into peanut-buttery smoothness, mistakes were made. People screwed up, failed to show up, just like today. Some blunders were important enough or become known widely enough to wring knuckles over, but humans aren't essentially worse than we ever were.

When I was young we didn't wear earrings, but if we had, everyone would have had a pair or two. I know a 12-year-old with dozens of pairs. They're thrown all over her desk and bureau. She's not rich, and they're inexpensive, but her parents buy her more when she wants them. Someone said, "It's affluence," and someone else nodded, but I said, "Yeah, but it's also the fear parents have that we're at the end of something, and they want their kids to have good memories. They're buying them good memories, in this case the joy a kid feels right down to her stomach when the earrings are taken out of the case."

Holy birthday party for Anne Frank, Batman! Is that really it? Giving her a last bit of joy through cheap accessories since she's as doomed as doomed can be? If you ax me, the trend is hyperindulgenge in the superficial and transient. The terrible, insatiable current need to nurture fledgling esteem through acquisition rather than achievement has made parents into piggy banks and most children uninteresting.

When the American middle class exploded in the fifties, many invested in acquiring the trappings of what used to be thought high culture. Intellectuals were feted on TV, people bought albums and books of things they though were good for them. But few wanted to pay to feel bad about themselves, so what was provided more was the slightly lower rung of high culture which kept descending from there. Now you're "elite" if you've even heard of opera much less sat through one. And even those citizens who didn't have lofty aspirations had money to spend on common entertainment which became ever more lucrative to provide. Huge numbers of people's principal recreation began to come from paying others to exhibit the skills of musicianship, dance, elocution, art, or sports rather than practicing and creating these entertainments on their own. Why learn piano when you can buy an album and the virtuosity is guaranteed? Added to the migration from the creation/participation model of recreation to passive consumption in an era when leisure grew to a larger percentage of John Q. Public's life, many loving parents also started bouncing their offspring over obstacles they would've had to hurdle themselves. Welcome to the first generation of Yankee ennui, man.

And now, as people raise petted, easily troubled, trivial-minded American children in Candyland mythologies of childhood as ultimate destination, denying its purpose as a training ground for adulthood, they are taken aback that these weak-minded dependents (who haven't learned the Life Skills of householding that we teach the mentally disabled) won't leave home and are near-hysterical about selecting a life-ruining college course because they couldn't consult a parent on the umbilical-phone. One whole sentence- gasp, pant.

In my opinion, if our public school system were as good as it ought to be (and should be based on children's capacities), many kids wouldn't need beyond a high school education that conferred solid literacy, math and science, and critical thinking skills. Then we could move onto extended vocational education, especially where things like technology and health care are concerned. Let's not waste our time and cash on those millions of vanilla Communications majors that mean students learn nothing specifically or deeply except how to party with a safety net. Maybe the sad, fearful parents could put some of the adolescent earring money into language lessons, ballet, musical instrument rental, travel, museum passes, terrariums? Okay, anything that teaches knowledge/skills of lasting value/beauty. One thing common to pop CDs, games, celebrities, and fad fashion is that they're disposable and therefore always eventually disappoint. An actor may develop within his understanding of Shakespeare for a lifetime- there's enough substance to sustain. Set your children's intellectual and cultural table with plasticware and paper napkins and wonder why their tastes never develop, why they never advance in breadth or sophistication. You should want them to thrive in the world that's coming at them. You should want them to outdo you. You should. Shame on you if you don't, you insecure monster.

Of Noonan's jawdroppingly silly citation of the forboding of a cocktail-swilling Teddy Kennedy predicting we won't get by without their dynasty, I will not comment except to say that there's a good reason not to have monarchies. Old Joe, the founder of the feast, was a canny guy, a heck of a moneymaker and backroom broker. His sons gained the polish and pedigrees he lacked, but there's so often tremendous dropoff of talent once the first generation has strived, overcome, succeeded. Only rarely do the heirs excel in the same arena. If we could resurrect and ask him, would grandpa Hilton be bursting his buttons or dead twice from shame?

Our elites, our educated and successful professionals, are the ones who are supposed to dig us out and lead us. I refer specifically to the elites of journalism and politics, the elites of the Hill and at Foggy Bottom and the agencies, the elites of our state capitals, the rich and accomplished and successful of Washington, and elsewhere. I have a nagging sense, and think I have accurately observed, that many of these people have made a separate peace. That they're living their lives and taking their pleasures and pursuing their agendas; that they're going forward each day with the knowledge, which they hold more securely and with greater reason than nonelites, that the wheels are off the trolley and the trolley's off the tracks, and with a conviction, a certainty, that there is nothing they can do about it.

These may be the elites, I suppose, using a certain measure of rarity, but they're never who I've looked to for progress. I do agree many are becoming impotent, especially those whose idea of relevancy orbits the cosmos of 1968. I mean, the journalistic elite? Really. Let's have a trade school for that, too. People without inner hunger and hope don't drive the world forward, but there are revolutionaries shaping the future in this moment.

Here, where our electrons touch, there are people around the globe communicating their pains and aspirations. Here, not in the mediocre press of reactionism and opaque reasoning, are heard global whisperings and mutterings as they grow in volume. Here, we see proved the truth that humans thirst to be free to express themselves, and that unblinking consensus isn't a requirement of coexistence. That technologies are evolving, challenging our ethics and identity but offering amazing potential. That we can discover enough truth about foreign climes and circumstances to sympathize and help in concrete ways. None of us need buy any party's line or vision without verification.

I doubt I've made myself clear, but here I can gratefully edit, update, and repost. If you're not preparing yourself to contribute as well as consume, and if you're not excited about the potential past your own navel, and if you believe the majority of your fellow humans are inherently weaker or more evil than yourself, GET OUT OF THE WAY.

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Bits Bearish, Physic, and Above All Spooky


See item 6 for image info.

1) Spooky Particles, the name preferred by Einstein, are also known as entangled particles and do something weird and wonderful. I'll try not to mangle the explanation, but these photons affect each other without being physically connected. Even over great distances, simply observing one will create a corollary change in the other. This particle telepathy or sympathy is the idea behind quantum computers which won't simply transmit a pile of zeros or ones based on electrons like we do now, but will instead be able to transmit data reflecting any position on a sphere. In essence, these computers will be able to answer the series of questions which form programming instructions using a lot bigger vocabulary than merely yes or no. Bigger vocabulary, more sophisticated language, faster answers. Although we're approximately in 1950 in developing qubit computers as compared to the history of current computing, the possibilites are staggering.

2) How do we explain the persistence of stories and the sane normalcy of victims of Alien Abductions?

3) Man dies en route to his brother's funeral.

4) Eight year-old girl , Cool Hand Sierra, bags first trophy in Maryland's bear hunt.

5) Once again the last to know, I've just discovered Renault's supermini, the Twingo. Okay, I am a fool, but it proves I don't egosurf. Anyhoo, I do live in a city, possess only my feets, and would be happy to discuss a blogdorsement-in-trade kinda deal.

6) As Drawn! points out, Pumpkin Gutter raises the bar on pumpkin carving. Be sure to scroll down for link to page 2 of the gallery. No, they don't last. No, they're not special pumpkins. For the rest of the facts about Scott Cummins' annual creations, check out his snarky FAQ.