Birds
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We eat dinner at a restaurant decorated with dozens of ornate bird cages
hanging from the cathedral ceiling. The cages are empty and illuminated from
ins...
2 hours ago
February 28, 2009
Plan 9 From Outer Space
Many sources have influenced our opinion of this film. The internet, drawing largely on Mystery Science Theatre VHS tapes, tells you it is the Worst Film Ever Made. Tim Burton and the estate of Bela Lugosi would have you weeping at the director's passion and honesty one moment, and laughing at his tunnel vision and lack of QA/QC the next. Both ask us to hold this film at arm's length, to consider those whose lives were intimately involved with it as objects of fun - but what fun it is to mock the travesties of the past! The mocking of the films of Ed Wood, and of those who have followed in his footsteps, both literally and spiritually, have been cultural rites of passage since the advent of cable television. Few are those who have not seen its black-and-white shoddiness an snickered aloud.
But my friends, I come not to praise Plan 9 from Outer, but to bury it. For its link to an insidious evil is both deep and long.
There is for every meme a source. For every fad a wellspring. Every trend, a progenitor. And Plan 9, friends, is the font of irony. And irony will ever be my enemy.
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I heartily recommend a perusal, at your leisure, of my associate's writing on this poster here.
February 26, 2009
Muscle Boy
He was the strongest man the Greece had ever seen, and a hellion to boot. His mama said his daddy was the strongest man she'd ever laid eyes on, but he was ill-inclined to think well of his dadddy. He'd rolled into town one night and sweet-talked his mother out of her pants. By the time she'd discovered she was pregnant, he had remembered a wife in the next county and taken the high road back. Mama worked two jobs and wasn't around to watch him, and he grew up straight lawless.
As a boy he learned the joy of forbidden feats of strength, like jaywalking while holding a Volkswagen over his head, or tossing a keg of beer into a dry county just for the hell of it. He chortled every time he lifted his car barehanded into a handicapped parking space. His mama, had had enrolled him in guitar lessons to channel some of his anger, but during the first lesson he broke his guitar over his teacher's head and never went back. After he discovered alcohol he was cited for drinking the world's biggest can of beer in public.
As a boy he learned the joy of forbidden feats of strength, like jaywalking while holding a Volkswagen over his head, or tossing a keg of beer into a dry county just for the hell of it. He chortled every time he lifted his car barehanded into a handicapped parking space. His mama, had had enrolled him in guitar lessons to channel some of his anger, but during the first lesson he broke his guitar over his teacher's head and never went back. After he discovered alcohol he was cited for drinking the world's biggest can of beer in public.
He dropped out of high school a semester before graduation, and wasted that spring listening to American rap and smoking pot out of a tanker truck bong. He'd spent his nights graffitiing gas station walls with his fists. One night he got drunk and knocked up a local girl, and an uncharacteristic crisis of conscience saw him down on knee asking for her hand. When she accepted, he panicked and left town. In a roadhouse an hour out of town, he met his daddy and whupped his butt. He left the place in splinters, and decided it was time to step up his villainy.
That next year he developed quite a record, ranging all over Greece as a villain and a poacher: In Nemea, he killed a lion out of season, and the game warden in Lernea found him giggin’ hydra by moonlight. He stole a doe from a game reserve in Ceryneia, but had a crisis of conscience and let her go at the last minute. After that, he did two years for passing off wild boar meat as corned beef to a kosher deli in Erymanthos. He got a job cleaning stables after he got out of prison, but went back to his old ways and was fined for going over his bag limit bird-hunting at Lake Stymphalia.
In Crete he did some rodeo work, but was barred from performing after he stole the mayor’s bull. He did some horse-thieving in Thrace and was acquitted for attempted rape in Scythia, even though everyone knew he’d done it. He lifted apples from public gardens, and even stooped so low as to steal an old man’s three-headed guide dog.
And so the legend of Jerkules was born.
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Read Seth's interpretation of said image here.
February 25, 2009
Cooking is the Cadillac of Hobbies
- Fact: Always involves eating.
- Fact: Near-immediate gratification.
- Fact: Kitchens - warm places to spend time during the winter.
- Fact: Easy to do with a friend.
- Fact: Sharing is caring.
- Fact: Good for old & young alike, the uneducated & lifelong learners.
February 23, 2009
The Man From Planet X
I was an exchange student once. The exchange foundation (called, creatively, Exchange Foundation) held a series of seminars and informal talks each year which I attended. These centered on how to be a diplomat for one's country, and how to sensitively and equally interact with people from vastly different cultures, in contexts one was completely unfamiliar with, dealing with foods and situations that one may well have been brought up to find offensive of humorous.Unfortunately, that training went utterly to waste, as I ended up spending six months in New Zealand, a country as similar to the United States of America as New Jersey is to California (which is pretty similar).
However, I am sure of one thing. Oh man are alien movies insulting.
Weird is to hypercephalic alien explorers what oriental is to people from Saigon: insultingly specific, belittling, outdated. The dude comes from a completely different ecosystem, and you're fleeing in horror from him. Really, this poster is no better than a blood libel. Don't even get started with invasion films.
And the aliens from Close Encounters of the Third Kind fit the magical negro characterization so well that I'm surprised the original celluloid of that film isn't locked away in the Disney Vaults next to Song of the South.
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You should not miss Seth's piece on this film poster.
February 21, 2009
International Boundary Between United States and Canada from the Northwesternmost Point of Lake of the Woods to Lake Superior Sheet No. 2 (1928)
Perspective Map of West Superior, Wisconsin, 1887
Perspective Map of West Superior, Wisconsin, 1887, originally uploaded by Wisconsin Historical Society.
Washington Navy Yard District of Columbia. Lewis Payne the conspirator who attacked Secretary Seward standing in overcoat and hat Date: c. 1865
Santa Claus Conquers the Martians
She was a speechwriter and a poet, but she was totally unable to express her hatred for holiday films. Her command of language was admirable, but she was totally unable to express the depth, breadth, and span of her hatred for holiday films. Not a woman to harbor dislike in her heart, she found it difficult to express the the throbbing, jarring pain of movies which hinged upon the goodwill and tradition of Christmas. It was a tradition for her to attempt to express her dislike in a new poetic form each year. Iambic pentameter was meant to be the most natural of all poetic meters. She couldn't master the stresses and her virulence sounded less like Othello and more like Dilbert. One Christmas soon after her divorce, she found herself in a black drunk and unable to decide who she was more angry at: Hallmark or her ex-husband. In her old age she lost her mind, but not her ability to compose. After her death her sons found boxes of handwritten letters addressed to "the complete bastards responsible for Santa Claus Conquers the Martians". Neither of her children knew what she was railing against until one picked up saw a poster for the film in a store full of useless items. Then it all took shape. -
It behooves you to read my associate's posting on this card as well.
It behooves you to read my associate's posting on this card as well.
February 17, 2009
Sergent Boston Corbett, 16th N.Y. Cav. Who shot J. Wilkes Booth, April 26, 1865.
Sergent Boston Corbett, 16th N.Y. Cav. Who shot J. Wilkes Booth, April 26, 1865., originally uploaded by George Eastman House.
February 16, 2009
Not Of This Earth
Take the worst flight-panic dream you’ve ever had and multiply it by a hundred. Now you’re getting close to the anxiety you’ll experience during your first interplanetary jump.
Even seasoned air passengers get anxious and sleep badly during flight: the air is dry and recycled. The pressure changes worry your balance and hearing. This is somehow worst: remove the effects of gravity. The mucus in your sinuses floats. Food tastes duller. You need to learn a new way to drink and eat and sleep. Your ability to relax is gone. You can take pills while on the launchpad, but even with a handful of valium, you’ll still panic once you break free of orbit. It’s something about the fight-or-flight instinct. You’ll feel like there’s something behind you.
This is why there are so few windows on interplanetary commuter vessels: it’s better not to gaze into the abyss: There’s not much out there, but eventually you’ll see what you do not want to see. It’s pretty rare for first-time passengers to come back with something extra. But it can happen. It’s best to keep your eyes on the SkyMall and your harness fastened. You’ll come back human.
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Read my associate's writing on this picture postcard here.
February 13, 2009
Runaway Daughters
Daughters run. As toddlers, they stumble. As schoolgirls, they sprint for the joy of it. When they age, they bound across the fields into the arms of boys. Sometimes they do not come back.The day of the yearly run the village woke to a wind that came into the valley from the south. This was rare, as wind usually came from the plains in the north. Most people had slept badly., but they came to the edge of town nonetheless. A group of girls stood waiting to run. They fidgeted like colts. The wind blew their skirts against their legs. Not one wore tennis shoes: this was symbolic. The girls wore skirts and sweaters.
The bystanders gathered around the girls on three sides. They gave them a respectful distance. Some had cups of coffee or some sort of herbal tea. A few sat in their cars with the windows down and the heat up, but they couldn't see. It wasn't supposed to be cold. The girls shivered; they were thin.
A girl snaked a hand up her skirt to fix a stray bit of hose while the mothers clucked disapprovingly. Most of the boys looked away. The old men glared clinically at those few who did not. The youngest girls giggled.
One of the old men wore a felt hat and a polished bronze crest on its peak. The hat was battered but well-brushed. He cleared his throat and bellowed like an ox. A space opened in a crowd behind the girls. In that space were the young men of the village. They held axes and cudgels. The girls cried out in terror. The crowd shrieked like an audience. The girls began to run. The young men ran after them.
A girl snaked a hand up her skirt to fix a stray bit of hose while the mothers clucked disapprovingly. Most of the boys looked away. The old men glared clinically at those few who did not. The youngest girls giggled.
One of the old men wore a felt hat and a polished bronze crest on its peak. The hat was battered but well-brushed. He cleared his throat and bellowed like an ox. A space opened in a crowd behind the girls. In that space were the young men of the village. They held axes and cudgels. The girls cried out in terror. The crowd shrieked like an audience. The girls began to run. The young men ran after them.
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Read my associate's take on this card here.
February 12, 2009
Abraham Lincoln, Congressman-elect from Illinois. Three-quarter length portrait, seated, facing front
February 10, 2009
Breathing
In order to completely explain the anatomy of the lungs, it is necessary to discuss the passage of air through the mouth to the alveoli. Once air progresses through the mouth or nose, it travels through the oropharynx, nasopharynx, the larynx, the trachea, and a progressively subdividing system of bronchi and bronchioles until it finally reaches the alveoli where the gas exchange of carbon dioxide and oxygen takes place.
A bronchial spasm is a sudden constriction of the muscles in the walls of the bronchioles. It causes difficulty in breathing which can be very mild to severe.
The 4 Grades of Shortness of Breath, or Dyspnea
- Ortopnea: Dyspnea while being in the best respiratory position possible.
- Resting dyspnea: Dyspnea while resting.
- Talking dyspnea: Dyspnea while talking.
- Exertional dyspnea: Dyspnea a that occurs (or worsens) during physical activity.
Albuterol is a short-acting β2-adrenergic receptor agonist used for the relief of bronchospasm in conditions such as asthma and chronic obstructive pulmonary Salbutamol sulfate is usually given by the inhaled route for direct effect on bronchial smooth muscle. This is usually achieved through a metered dose inhaler (MDI), nebuliser or other proprietary delivery devices (e.g. Rotahaler or Autohaler). The effects of Salbutamol can take place within five to twenty minutes of dosing.
The Side Effects of Albuterol
Agitation Anxiety Back Pain Excitement General Bodily Discomfort Heart Palpitations Hyperactivity Hypertension Hyperkinesis Insomnia Irritability Lightheadedness Muscle Cramps Muscle tremor Nasal Inflammation Nervousness Nightmares Nosebleed Rash Shakiness Tachycardia
February 8, 2009
my father making a canoe
Perhaps you have seen this before. Perhaps not. I may have shown you. There is a story.
John Wilkes Booth, Lincoln's Assassin
February 12 is the anniversary of the birth of Abraham Lincoln -and, oddly, the birth of Charles Darwin. As a boy I was fascinated with Lincoln, a fascination that led quickly into a great love of presidential history. Presidents may have been my first obsessive interest.
What finer way to begin this anniversal week than with a portrait of his killer, John Wilkes Booth?
And, given that two days later it will be St. Valentine's Day, a few words on Booth's love, for even Confederate sympathizers and assassins fall in love. Perhaps, later, some words on Lincoln's loves as well.
Several months before he shot and killed President Lincoln, Booth became infatuated with Lucy Hale, the daughter of U.S. Senator John P. Hale of New Hampshire. They became secretly engaged when Booth received his mother's blessing for their marriage plans.
"You have so often been dead in love," his mother counseled Booth in a letter, "be well assured she is really and truly devoted to you". Booth composed a handwritten Valentine card for his betrothed on February 13, 1864, expressing his adoration.
Lucy was unaware of Booth's deep dislike of Lincoln.
What finer way to begin this anniversal week than with a portrait of his killer, John Wilkes Booth?
And, given that two days later it will be St. Valentine's Day, a few words on Booth's love, for even Confederate sympathizers and assassins fall in love. Perhaps, later, some words on Lincoln's loves as well.
Several months before he shot and killed President Lincoln, Booth became infatuated with Lucy Hale, the daughter of U.S. Senator John P. Hale of New Hampshire. They became secretly engaged when Booth received his mother's blessing for their marriage plans.
"You have so often been dead in love," his mother counseled Booth in a letter, "be well assured she is really and truly devoted to you". Booth composed a handwritten Valentine card for his betrothed on February 13, 1864, expressing his adoration.
Lucy was unaware of Booth's deep dislike of Lincoln.
The Trespasser
The Trespasser, originally uploaded by ricko.
He's not family, but he sure looks like someone in my line: my stock of family photos is filled with men like this.
Occupational Portrait of a Locksmith
Occupational Portrait of a Locksmith, originally uploaded by pantufla.
In hand one, a lock. In hand two, a key. His arms: muscular and his veins prominent. I like to think he is confident and proud of his skill.
I Married a Monster from Outer Space
As I write this I see her cutting onions. She does not cry. Her grip on the chef's knife would break another person’s wrist. She cuts speedily. A pot boils on the stove – she reaches in, pulls out a potato and playfully throws it at me. I drop it because it’s scalding hot. She laughs at me and calls me clumsy.
When she laughs, the dog howls.
Sometimes when we kiss there are too many tongues. In the bedroom, that first time together, her back bent so far back I had to ask, Are you a gymnast? No. Did I feel more hands on my back than I should have, or is that just a memory of a dream?
We kept our parties separate the week of the wedding. Superstitions can be a game in which to romantically indulge: her and her family on one side of the hotel, I and mine on the other. She insisted on a white wedding dress, and kept the veil on until the last moment. When she lifted it, I saw a seam on her jaw line like a hairline fracture in a piece of vintage china.
You may call her monster, but I will call her something different.
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February 5, 2009
Them
From the blackest, hottest depths of the lithosphere they roamed. They sped together from disparate sources to meet in a single, giant super-tunnel, there to form an oily, black torrent of scale and carapace that clacked arrhythmically as it sped upwards, upwards, to meet the first touch of sun and fresh air. There, the ants paused to clinically examine the new sensations of heat, wind, dust, and light. A blast of hot desert air pushed against the antennae of the first few to walk forward out of the hole into the full glare of the desert sun.
The forerunners stopped again, this time to their peril. Their nameless companions swarmed over them, driven by one desire: to find nourishment and return it to the hive.
Each followed a path defined by the ground beneath their feet and by signals in the air. Their paths were chaotic but predictable, like water droplets across a rippling tarpaulin: drunken, stumbling, but never losing sight of their shared goal.
Before they had gone far, a wave of something rippled the air and touched them beneath their exoskeleton. As they walked they changed, and as they changed, they grew. Those who once could walk a blade of grass were a few minutes later crushing entire shrubs. Soon their high-pitched chirps became a low, menacing buzz.
The ants scuttled ahead with frightening speed across the vast and empty desert. Before long, the ants were clearing tall yuccas the way a man might hop a fence. It took less than fifteen minutes before they could pick prairie dogs from their burrows with their jaws. Within an hour they were large enough that hawks and crows were soaring frantically away.
The forerunners stopped again, this time to their peril. Their nameless companions swarmed over them, driven by one desire: to find nourishment and return it to the hive.
Each followed a path defined by the ground beneath their feet and by signals in the air. Their paths were chaotic but predictable, like water droplets across a rippling tarpaulin: drunken, stumbling, but never losing sight of their shared goal.
Before they had gone far, a wave of something rippled the air and touched them beneath their exoskeleton. As they walked they changed, and as they changed, they grew. Those who once could walk a blade of grass were a few minutes later crushing entire shrubs. Soon their high-pitched chirps became a low, menacing buzz.
The ants scuttled ahead with frightening speed across the vast and empty desert. Before long, the ants were clearing tall yuccas the way a man might hop a fence. It took less than fifteen minutes before they could pick prairie dogs from their burrows with their jaws. Within an hour they were large enough that hawks and crows were soaring frantically away.
Several hours later they were spread across the desert. One of the ants reached the top of a small hill. She looked forward down the hill, then stopped and chirped. The antennae of the others went stiff, and they obediently turned towards the one who had chirped. The same chaotic unity of purpose that had brought them all to the surface now sent them towards a quiet, unassuming desert village some miles below.
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Read Seth's too.February 4, 2009
February 3, 2009
Insane, 1917
Washington, D.C., 1917. "St. Elizabeths, government hospital for the insane." Harris & Ewing Collection glass negative, Library of Congress.
February 2, 2009
words
My favorite homonym set is cleave/cleave:
My favorite homophone set is flower/flour.
This exchange is from the film Stranger than Fiction:
My least favorite homophone set is separate/suppurate*:
*Well, near enough for poetic confusion, anyway.
When followed by "to" it can mean to adhere closely or remain faithful.
When followed immediately by a direct object, cleave can mean to split or divide as if by a cutting blow.
My favorite homophone set is flower/flour.
This exchange is from the film Stranger than Fiction:
Harold, an IRS auditor, runs to Ana, the baker. He is holding a box of 10 brown paper bags.
Harold: I'm glad I caught you. I wanted to give you these.
Ana: What are they?
Harold: Flours.
My least favorite homophone set is separate/suppurate*:
Separate means to put, bring, or force apart.
Suppurate means to form or discharge pus.
*Well, near enough for poetic confusion, anyway.
Glen or Glenda
Comedic transvestitism, folks, is the realm of macho dudes attempting to show a “wacky” side. It’s a step above Henny Youngman’s stream of one-liners. It’s not even a step above: It’s a tiny roll up an ADA-mandated wheelchair ramp above that realm of bad jokes.
Some thought experiments:
During a slow week, Ben Affleck hosts Saturday Night Live. In his first skit he acts alongside Kirsten Wiig as two of the hosts from The View. Kirsten Wiig does a spot-on Barbara Walters. Affleck gamely attempts an accent, but you cannot tell if he is meant to be Joy Behar or Elizabeth Hasselbeck.
Is Affleck’s performance
A) Funny, or
B) A calculated attempt to reclaim some much-missed cultural capital?
Johnny Depp wears a women’s angora sweater in a touching, yet humorous tribute to one of the country’s most overconfident directors. Is this
A) Comedic, or
B) Just one role in the long line of nuanced, persona-effacing performances that has endeared Johnny Depp to most filmgoers?
You attend an off-campus Halloween party your sophomore year of college. A Phi Delta Kappa brother crashes through the front door wearing a Betsy Johnson frock, his hairy legs and broad shoulders absolutely ruining the line of the dress. After an ill-recieved admonitation to do keg stands, he drunkenly and sloppily hits on a friend of yours. Several years later, you recognize his patter from an episode of “The Pickup Artist.”
Is the Phi-Delt’s choice of costume
A) Humorous, or
B) gender blackface?
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Best read this, too, pilgrim.
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