4.15.2009
4.12.2009
4.10.2009
4.07.2009
"That’s a really good question, but I don’t know. Someone should pick that up as a thesis at Hampshire College."
—Amy Poehler, on why there haven't been more openly gay cast members on Saturday Night Live. (There has only been one: Terry Sweeney. He lasted just one season, 1985-86.)
Heh, heh.
[via Queerty]
—Amy Poehler, on why there haven't been more openly gay cast members on Saturday Night Live. (There has only been one: Terry Sweeney. He lasted just one season, 1985-86.)
Heh, heh.
[via Queerty]
4.05.2009
From Sweet Juniper's Collection of Terrifying Nixon-Era Children's Books come these images from the story of Eric; his pet bird, Snow; and Eric's grandfather [no title available]:
"my inane envelopes"
I'm just tucking into Denise Duhamel's KA-CHING!, which my public library system miraculously decided to purchase, and already I want to quote Duhamel's "eBay sonnets":
Pity my rough drafts, my false starts, my trade-
mark pink SASEs I was sure would catch
a big editor's attention. But batch
after batch of my poems came back with staid
"no thanks" notes in my inane envelopes.
I worked in a rare bookstore in Cambridge,
selling first editions and unabridged
collections of Alexander Pope,
which made me think longevity was creepy—
some poets relegated to bargain bins
while other poets were like mannequins,
modeling their in-vogue verse obliquely
from their famous graves. I was twenty-one.
I worshipped every poet's skeleton.
Mannequins! You can read eBay sonnets in full at Verse Daily.
Pity my rough drafts, my false starts, my trade-
mark pink SASEs I was sure would catch
a big editor's attention. But batch
after batch of my poems came back with staid
"no thanks" notes in my inane envelopes.
I worked in a rare bookstore in Cambridge,
selling first editions and unabridged
collections of Alexander Pope,
which made me think longevity was creepy—
some poets relegated to bargain bins
while other poets were like mannequins,
modeling their in-vogue verse obliquely
from their famous graves. I was twenty-one.
I worshipped every poet's skeleton.
Mannequins! You can read eBay sonnets in full at Verse Daily.
4.04.2009
4.03.2009
*Addict-o-matic (tagline: "inhale the web") is an impressive new-to-me tool for creating a quick snapshot of what's currently being said/posted online about a given topic. Enter your search term and see results from YouTube, Digg, Twitter, Technorati, Flickr, Delicious, and many others, all on one page. (via Phil Bradley)
*via folderol, a clean and simple "Economy Tracker" map from CNN--mouse over a state to see its current unemployment rate
*via Julie Dill (at someecards):
*via JB (from pictures for sad children):
*via Jessy Randall, a new favorite poem--David Mason's "Song of the Powers"
*via folderol, a clean and simple "Economy Tracker" map from CNN--mouse over a state to see its current unemployment rate
*via Julie Dill (at someecards):
*via JB (from pictures for sad children):
*via Jessy Randall, a new favorite poem--David Mason's "Song of the Powers"
4.02.2009
Diet Coke with Lime: "Guess What It Tastes Like"
Hmm. It looks like one now needs a password to access poems archived in Three Candles. Bummer, as one of the points (for me) in publishing online is in having stuff accessible to a wider audience than might purchase a print journal. I'm re-posting one of the three I published there here, for the fabulous Jessy Randall. It was written around the time Diet Coke with Lime came out.
Diet Coke with Lime: "Guess What it Tastes Like"
I guess it tastes like petals on a wet, black bough
I guess it tastes like the farmer's daughter
just after she's milked the cow
I guess it tastes like whatever she'll allow
I guess it tastes like the uncut hair of graves
I guess it tastes like getting your test back
and learning you don't have AIDS
I guess it tastes like the mome raths as they outgrabe
I guess it tastes like blackberry, blackberry, blackberry
I guess it tastes like riding back and forth
all night on the ferry
I guess it tastes like Diet Coke with Cherry
I guess it tastes like world enough and time
I guess it tastes like the night
of cloudless climes
I guess it tastes like nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless
Diet Coke with Lime: "Guess What it Tastes Like"
I guess it tastes like petals on a wet, black bough
I guess it tastes like the farmer's daughter
just after she's milked the cow
I guess it tastes like whatever she'll allow
I guess it tastes like the uncut hair of graves
I guess it tastes like getting your test back
and learning you don't have AIDS
I guess it tastes like the mome raths as they outgrabe
I guess it tastes like blackberry, blackberry, blackberry
I guess it tastes like riding back and forth
all night on the ferry
I guess it tastes like Diet Coke with Cherry
I guess it tastes like world enough and time
I guess it tastes like the night
of cloudless climes
I guess it tastes like nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless
3.31.2009
3.26.2009
3.25.2009
Found The McSweeney's Joke Book of Book Jokes in the stacks today and took it to lunch. The below made me laugh out loud in the break room, which I (naturally) never do:
*From Following My Creative Writing Teacher's Advice to Write "Like My Parents Are Dead", by Ellie Kemper:
FROM
Autumn Days Are Fleeting
There was a slight nip in the air, and I pulled my anorak closer. The leaves were beginning to turn. Orange, brown, bright yellow. Autumn, I thought. I inhaled deeply, imagining the crisp air filling my lungs. Oh, God. I miss Mom. Why did you take her from me, God? Why did she have to die? She is gone.
FROM
Seven Days, Five of Them Working
I agreed with Cynthia. I did. Four hours would never be enough time to prepare the presentation. There was too much data. There were too many bar graphs. It wasn't our fault. We were told the meeting would be on Thursday; it got bumped back to Wednesday. Oh, God. Wednesday. My dad's favorite day. What was it that he used to call it again? Oh, yeah: Hump Day. I miss Dad so much.
[read whole piece]
*From Social Security Denies Gregor Samsa's Disability Claim by Alex St. Andrews:
Important Notice
GREGOR SAMSA Is Not Eligible for SSI
We are writing about GREGOR SAMSA's claim for Supplemental Security Income (SSI) payments. Based on a review of his/her medical condition, he/she does not qualify for SSI payments on this claim. This is because he/she is not disabled or blind under our rules.
The Decision on GREGOR SAMSA's Case
You listed the following impairment(s) on your SSI application:
I AM A GIGANTIC COCKROACH
DEPRESSION
BACK PAIN
You said the above impairment(s) affected you in the following way(s):
I CANNOT STAND OR WALK UPRIGHT OR SPEAK ANY HUMAN LANGUAGE
I CANNOT HANDLE OR MANIPULATE OBJECTS WITH MY MANY LEGS OR ANTENNAE
WHEN I AM ON MY BACK I HAVE DIFFICULTY RIGHTING MYSELF
MY FAMILY HAS IMPRISONED ME IN MY ROOM AND IS FEEDING ME SCRAPS
[read whole piece]
*From Following My Creative Writing Teacher's Advice to Write "Like My Parents Are Dead", by Ellie Kemper:
FROM
Autumn Days Are Fleeting
There was a slight nip in the air, and I pulled my anorak closer. The leaves were beginning to turn. Orange, brown, bright yellow. Autumn, I thought. I inhaled deeply, imagining the crisp air filling my lungs. Oh, God. I miss Mom. Why did you take her from me, God? Why did she have to die? She is gone.
FROM
Seven Days, Five of Them Working
I agreed with Cynthia. I did. Four hours would never be enough time to prepare the presentation. There was too much data. There were too many bar graphs. It wasn't our fault. We were told the meeting would be on Thursday; it got bumped back to Wednesday. Oh, God. Wednesday. My dad's favorite day. What was it that he used to call it again? Oh, yeah: Hump Day. I miss Dad so much.
[read whole piece]
*From Social Security Denies Gregor Samsa's Disability Claim by Alex St. Andrews:
Important Notice
GREGOR SAMSA Is Not Eligible for SSI
We are writing about GREGOR SAMSA's claim for Supplemental Security Income (SSI) payments. Based on a review of his/her medical condition, he/she does not qualify for SSI payments on this claim. This is because he/she is not disabled or blind under our rules.
The Decision on GREGOR SAMSA's Case
You listed the following impairment(s) on your SSI application:
I AM A GIGANTIC COCKROACH
DEPRESSION
BACK PAIN
You said the above impairment(s) affected you in the following way(s):
I CANNOT STAND OR WALK UPRIGHT OR SPEAK ANY HUMAN LANGUAGE
I CANNOT HANDLE OR MANIPULATE OBJECTS WITH MY MANY LEGS OR ANTENNAE
WHEN I AM ON MY BACK I HAVE DIFFICULTY RIGHTING MYSELF
MY FAMILY HAS IMPRISONED ME IN MY ROOM AND IS FEEDING ME SCRAPS
[read whole piece]
3.21.2009
an extra set of memories
From Why Time Seems to Slow Down in Emergencies, a 2007 article by Charles Q. Choi:
When a person is scared, a brain area called the amygdala becomes more active, laying down an extra set of memories that go along with those normally taken care of by other parts of the brain.
"In this way, frightening events are associated with richer and denser memories," [researcher and neuroscientist David] Eagleman explained. "And the more memory you have of an event, the longer you believe it took."
Eagleman added this illusion "is related to the phenomenon that time seems to speed up as you grow older. When you're a child, you lay down rich memories for all your experiences; when you're older, you've seen it all before and lay down fewer memories. Therefore, when a child looks back at the end of a summer, it seems to have lasted forever; adults think it zoomed by...
When a person is scared, a brain area called the amygdala becomes more active, laying down an extra set of memories that go along with those normally taken care of by other parts of the brain.
"In this way, frightening events are associated with richer and denser memories," [researcher and neuroscientist David] Eagleman explained. "And the more memory you have of an event, the longer you believe it took."
Eagleman added this illusion "is related to the phenomenon that time seems to speed up as you grow older. When you're a child, you lay down rich memories for all your experiences; when you're older, you've seen it all before and lay down fewer memories. Therefore, when a child looks back at the end of a summer, it seems to have lasted forever; adults think it zoomed by...
3.20.2009
You can get yourself dirty...
Robert Archambeau does a great job of articulating the significance of Adam Lambert's "Ring of Fire" performance on last week's American Idol. I know I jumped around when I saw it, hardly believing I was seeing it. Here was this large, fairly mainstream American Idol audience, expecting an evening like a Hilary Duff film, and getting Velvet Goldmine, or a Gregg Araki film, or Robert Mapplethorpe's Self Portrait with Whip.
Archambeau writes, "[Lambert] wasn't (like Aiken) a singer who happened to be gay. He was a gay man singing as a gay man." He was a gay man singing as a gay man, and NOT singing a show tune or an Erasure song, I'd add. Thanks to years of swishy comic relief characters and Oh SNAP! and "gay attitude," America was equipped to fairly comfortably accept last year's Danny "Ish" Noriega. America's Next Top Model's Miss J made us slightly less comfortable (he's so committed), but we're used to her by now.
Adam Lambert is "a gay man performing as a gay man"--and performing the sort of performance often reserved for a gay audience. He's not Nathan Lane, and he's not Rupert Everett, "a straight woman's gay best friend." He took the audience into (what I'm slightly embarrassed to call, but want to call) the catacombs of gay experience. I'm sure he made at least one spectator think "I want my mommy!" (or "I want 'YMCA'!")
Here's the performance (or click to view). I've always liked the Cash original, and how the trumpets and clippity-clop pace sort of wink at the heavy lyrics. Lambert's version emphasizes the heavy lyrics--making it a different song entirely.
Archambeau writes, "[Lambert] wasn't (like Aiken) a singer who happened to be gay. He was a gay man singing as a gay man." He was a gay man singing as a gay man, and NOT singing a show tune or an Erasure song, I'd add. Thanks to years of swishy comic relief characters and Oh SNAP! and "gay attitude," America was equipped to fairly comfortably accept last year's Danny "Ish" Noriega. America's Next Top Model's Miss J made us slightly less comfortable (he's so committed), but we're used to her by now.
Adam Lambert is "a gay man performing as a gay man"--and performing the sort of performance often reserved for a gay audience. He's not Nathan Lane, and he's not Rupert Everett, "a straight woman's gay best friend." He took the audience into (what I'm slightly embarrassed to call, but want to call) the catacombs of gay experience. I'm sure he made at least one spectator think "I want my mommy!" (or "I want 'YMCA'!")
Here's the performance (or click to view). I've always liked the Cash original, and how the trumpets and clippity-clop pace sort of wink at the heavy lyrics. Lambert's version emphasizes the heavy lyrics--making it a different song entirely.
3.19.2009
Dan Meth's Charts
I'm enjoying Dan Meth's series of "Pop-Cultural Charts" (click to enlarge):
I'd forgotten my home state could boast A Different World.
3.18.2009
I loved re-encountering this image at Vintage Kids' Books My Kid Loves. It's from The Golden Book of 365 Stories, and for a long time represented my ideal home or social life: everything feels intimate, "social," and cozy, but (chicken pals excepted) everyone's reading alone in her own little space.
Aimee Mullins & Her 12 Pairs of Legs
This blog still gets a lot of hits from searches on fibular hemimelia, mainly from parents with young kids who have been diagnosed with fh seeking answers about whether to amputate. This recent 10-minute talk by athlete/model/activist Aimee Mullins--diagnosed with fibular hemimelia in both legs as a child--should add some perspective. It's a spectacular piece about, among other things, seeing prostheses not as replacements and imitations but as mindblowing design opportunities. I'm not sure anyone could watch it without coveting at least one pair of Aimee's legs. I've never been excited about shoe shopping, but I could get really excited about leg shopping.
Aimee Mullins:
Aimee Mullins:
3.16.2009
"With the old economics destroyed, organizational forms perfected for industrial production have to be replaced with structures optimized for digital data. It makes increasingly less sense even to talk about a publishing industry, because the core problem publishing solves--the incredible difficulty, complexity, and expense of making something available to the public--has stopped being a problem."
--Clay Shirky, Newspapers and Thinking the Unthinkable
--Clay Shirky, Newspapers and Thinking the Unthinkable
3.11.2009
3.08.2009
" a sort of woolly rice..."
One more tenth for the 10 Lines Meme, a line that came into my head today and does sometimes when I consider the usefulness of what I make and do: "a sort of woolly rice..."
It's from
Counting Sheep
by Russell Edson:
A scientist has a test tube full of sheep. He wonders if he should try to shrink a pasture for them.
They are like grains of rice.
He wonders if it is possible to shrink something out of existence.
He wonders if the sheep are aware of their tininess, if they have any sense of scale. Perhaps they think the test tube is a glass barn...
He wonders what he should do with them; they certainly have less meat and wool than ordinary sheep. Has he reduced their commercial value?
He wonders if they could be used as a substitute for rice, a sort of woolly rice...
He wonders if he shouldn't rub them into a red paste between his fingers.
He wonders if they are breeding, or if any of them have died.
He puts them under a microscope, and falls asleep counting them...
It's from
Counting Sheep
by Russell Edson:
A scientist has a test tube full of sheep. He wonders if he should try to shrink a pasture for them.
They are like grains of rice.
He wonders if it is possible to shrink something out of existence.
He wonders if the sheep are aware of their tininess, if they have any sense of scale. Perhaps they think the test tube is a glass barn...
He wonders what he should do with them; they certainly have less meat and wool than ordinary sheep. Has he reduced their commercial value?
He wonders if they could be used as a substitute for rice, a sort of woolly rice...
He wonders if he shouldn't rub them into a red paste between his fingers.
He wonders if they are breeding, or if any of them have died.
He puts them under a microscope, and falls asleep counting them...
3.07.2009
One Sentence
One Sentence describes itself as featuring "True stories, told in one sentence." At its base, it's like PostSecret without all that distracting imagery; at its best, it's a place to find well-crafted sentences, sentences that suggest more sentences, "the truest sentence you know." Here are some posts (all are anonymous) I liked enough to save in my Bloglines account:
I was copy editor of my yearbook and purposely spelled our class president's name wrong, just to make my depressed friend smile.
When I opened the door I noticed 2 things: one, someone had made cookies, and two, all the furniture was missing, in that order.
Every time I think of September 11th, I remember how he tried to convince me to lose my virginity "on a day I would never forget."
I met an anaesthesiologist last year who confessed after several drinks that she sometimes pops the pimples of her patients while they are asleep so that they will look better when they wake up.
I told my eight-year-old daughter she could choose lemonade, lemonade or lemonade and she asked "What was the second one again?"
When I finally downloaded the contents of my 3-year-old's birthday digital camera, I found pictures of another woman kissing my husband.
When they left me alone with your body, my fist came down so hard I heard your ribs crack.
If my writing career doesn't work out, I'll invent a cereal which is composed of only marshmallows.
On Wednesday I'm driving my husband to the airport to be deported.
As a child, I used to eat all my cereal in case I hurt the feelings of any pieces of left-behind cereal.
I still wish I had taken the F instead of the A on the online test I hurried to finish while I could hear my dog dying on the kitchen floor.
I was copy editor of my yearbook and purposely spelled our class president's name wrong, just to make my depressed friend smile.
When I opened the door I noticed 2 things: one, someone had made cookies, and two, all the furniture was missing, in that order.
Every time I think of September 11th, I remember how he tried to convince me to lose my virginity "on a day I would never forget."
I met an anaesthesiologist last year who confessed after several drinks that she sometimes pops the pimples of her patients while they are asleep so that they will look better when they wake up.
I told my eight-year-old daughter she could choose lemonade, lemonade or lemonade and she asked "What was the second one again?"
When I finally downloaded the contents of my 3-year-old's birthday digital camera, I found pictures of another woman kissing my husband.
When they left me alone with your body, my fist came down so hard I heard your ribs crack.
If my writing career doesn't work out, I'll invent a cereal which is composed of only marshmallows.
On Wednesday I'm driving my husband to the airport to be deported.
As a child, I used to eat all my cereal in case I hurt the feelings of any pieces of left-behind cereal.
I still wish I had taken the F instead of the A on the online test I hurried to finish while I could hear my dog dying on the kitchen floor.
3.06.2009
60 seconds on Twitter
elloyd74: New immigrant requesting *Atlas Shrugged* bcuz her boss said she needed 2 assimilate & the book was a "great representation of USA culture."
esseffen: @elloyd74 save her! go library go!
madsimian: @elloyd74 I assume you actually gave the immigrant Gravity's Rainbow, right?
eeyorelibrarian: @elloyd74 Shrug it off and hand her an atlas. You can't know where you're going until you know where you are.
heathra: @elloyd74 Oh dear god.
gatewaygroupie: @elloyd74 _Atlas Shrugged_ was so 6 months ago. Give her _Grapes of Wrath_.
esseffen: @elloyd74 save her! go library go!
madsimian: @elloyd74 I assume you actually gave the immigrant Gravity's Rainbow, right?
eeyorelibrarian: @elloyd74 Shrug it off and hand her an atlas. You can't know where you're going until you know where you are.
heathra: @elloyd74 Oh dear god.
gatewaygroupie: @elloyd74 _Atlas Shrugged_ was so 6 months ago. Give her _Grapes of Wrath_.
3.05.2009
7/10 of the 10 Lines Meme
I like this one, spotted on Facebook: (originated by Michael Dumanis and Gary McDowell? Eduardo Corral? Not sure)
"What are ten lines from poems that stick in your head when you are walking around your day? Or, if you stop a minute and think of some lines of poetry, what comes up? It’s fine if you distort the line as you remember it, if you misremember it..."
I've linked to the poems the lines come from, where possible.
1. Generations have trod, have trod, have trod. (G.M. Hopkins)
2. Morale is down in the boneless, lactic fist of my genitals. (Jeffrey McDaniel)
[I've blogged about this one before; it's a frequent repeater. Someday someone will ask me "How are you?" and I'll slip and answer with this.]
3. Catbird, catbird./ O lady hear me. I have no// other/ voice left. (Robert Creeley)
4. Jason--sham--too. (Emily Dickinson)
[I like this one so much, I've thought of naming a son "Jason Sham Too"]
5. Sometimes the last line, sometimes the whole stanza (I love lips/depths):
Is it because he’s angry at me
for my face with its moping lips?
It was so often ready to be
light and clear in its depths;
but nothing came so close to it
as big dogs did.
And dogs don’t have what I need.
(Rainer Maria Rilke)
6. And say why it never worked for me. (Philip Larkin. And almost any line from this poem)
7. "Look!"//Look. This is the morning. (WS Merwin)
There are seven. When I "stop a minute and think of some lines," I could choose many more, but the above are lines that come to me frequently--honestly, probably all of them hit me at some point every week, and many daily.
I'd like to read anyone's responses to this, but I'll tag Teresa, Anne, Amanda, Laurel, and Peter. And, if you're reading and care to comment here, non-bloggers MAC and Polly.
"What are ten lines from poems that stick in your head when you are walking around your day? Or, if you stop a minute and think of some lines of poetry, what comes up? It’s fine if you distort the line as you remember it, if you misremember it..."
I've linked to the poems the lines come from, where possible.
1. Generations have trod, have trod, have trod. (G.M. Hopkins)
2. Morale is down in the boneless, lactic fist of my genitals. (Jeffrey McDaniel)
[I've blogged about this one before; it's a frequent repeater. Someday someone will ask me "How are you?" and I'll slip and answer with this.]
3. Catbird, catbird./ O lady hear me. I have no// other/ voice left. (Robert Creeley)
4. Jason--sham--too. (Emily Dickinson)
[I like this one so much, I've thought of naming a son "Jason Sham Too"]
5. Sometimes the last line, sometimes the whole stanza (I love lips/depths):
Is it because he’s angry at me
for my face with its moping lips?
It was so often ready to be
light and clear in its depths;
but nothing came so close to it
as big dogs did.
And dogs don’t have what I need.
(Rainer Maria Rilke)
6. And say why it never worked for me. (Philip Larkin. And almost any line from this poem)
7. "Look!"//Look. This is the morning. (WS Merwin)
There are seven. When I "stop a minute and think of some lines," I could choose many more, but the above are lines that come to me frequently--honestly, probably all of them hit me at some point every week, and many daily.
I'd like to read anyone's responses to this, but I'll tag Teresa, Anne, Amanda, Laurel, and Peter. And, if you're reading and care to comment here, non-bloggers MAC and Polly.
3.04.2009
Austrian artist Erwin Wurm's "Fat Cars"
"Fat Cars" by Erwin Wurm
I'm not sure how to describe my response to these. Something between wanting to cry, wanting to never eat anything creamy again...smart work.
3.03.2009
Pi Kappa Alpha at Anchorsplash 2009 (Virginia Tech)
Via Neatorama--a performance from a talent show at Virginia Tech.
UPDATE: How about that--according to Wikipedia, both Jon Stewart & Karl Rove are "Prominent Pikes."
UPDATE: How about that--according to Wikipedia, both Jon Stewart & Karl Rove are "Prominent Pikes."
2.27.2009
"It's in the click of my eternal return..."
Nada Gordon's ~~ululations~~ is probably my favorite blog to read these days. She posts excellent poems, among other things, seemingly daily, and they're full of great phrases like "I won't be adulthoodedness anymore," "I’ll weep here until my tag clouds run dry," and "Baby please don't lurch at me."
She posted this take-off on Maya Angelou's "Phenomenal Woman" a few days back. Empowering as many have found "Phenomenal Woman," I'm glad to have other options.
From Nada Gordon's ~~ululations~~:
Phenomenal Philosopher
(after Maya Angelou)
Petty philosophers wonder where my thesis lies.
I'm not smart or built to theorize
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my propositions
The span of my logic,
The stride of my argument,
The curl of my rhetoric.
I'm a philosopher
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal philosopher,
That's me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a disciple,
The acolytes stand or
Fall down on their syllogisms.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of minor premises.
I say,
It's the fire in my cogito,
And the flash of my materialism,
The swing in my noumena,
And the joy in my ontology.
I'm a philosopher
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal philosopher,
That's me.
Disciples themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner monadology.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my mind-body problem,
The sun of my hermeneutics,
The ride of my fallacies,
The grace of my axioms.
I'm a philosopher
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal philosopher,
That's me.
Now you understand
Just why my head's not contingent.
I don't appeal to emotion or authority
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me ratiocinating
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my eternal return,
The bend of my dialectic,
the Weltanshauung of my Wirklichkeit,
The need of my petitio principii,
'Cause I'm a philosopher
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal philosopher,
That's me.
She posted this take-off on Maya Angelou's "Phenomenal Woman" a few days back. Empowering as many have found "Phenomenal Woman," I'm glad to have other options.
From Nada Gordon's ~~ululations~~:
Phenomenal Philosopher
(after Maya Angelou)
Petty philosophers wonder where my thesis lies.
I'm not smart or built to theorize
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my propositions
The span of my logic,
The stride of my argument,
The curl of my rhetoric.
I'm a philosopher
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal philosopher,
That's me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a disciple,
The acolytes stand or
Fall down on their syllogisms.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of minor premises.
I say,
It's the fire in my cogito,
And the flash of my materialism,
The swing in my noumena,
And the joy in my ontology.
I'm a philosopher
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal philosopher,
That's me.
Disciples themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner monadology.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my mind-body problem,
The sun of my hermeneutics,
The ride of my fallacies,
The grace of my axioms.
I'm a philosopher
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal philosopher,
That's me.
Now you understand
Just why my head's not contingent.
I don't appeal to emotion or authority
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me ratiocinating
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my eternal return,
The bend of my dialectic,
the Weltanshauung of my Wirklichkeit,
The need of my petitio principii,
'Cause I'm a philosopher
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal philosopher,
That's me.
2.26.2009
Legacy Libraries at LibraryThing
LibraryThing has a neat thing going with "Legacy Libraries": records of famous dead people's libraries--what they owned--and their comments/reviews, gleaned from marginalia in their books, from their letters, or from remarks they made elsewhere. Here's Benjamin Franklin's library. Here's a sample "review" from Franklin, on William Cowper's Poems: "The relish for reading poetry had long since left me; but there is something so new in the manner, so easy, and yet so correct in the language, so clear in the expression, yet concise, and so just in the sentiments, that I have read the whole with great pleasure, and some of the pieces more than once." - BF to John Thornton, 8 May 1782.
Legacy Libraries are voluntarily compiled by a user group on Library Thing, I See Dead People's Books. One can join a Legacy project already underway or start a new one. "Completed" libraries (in quotes because LibraryThing acknowledges that completed is a relative term here) include those of Ezra Pound, Tupac Shakur, Marilyn Monroe, George S. Patton Jr., Susan B. Anthony., and others. Libraries-in-progress include those of Susan Sontag, James Joyce, Emily Dickinson, Harry Truman, and others. All are linked to the "I See Dead People" page.
In addition to the whole "labor of love" thing, creating a Legacy Library might be a good side project/assignment for grad students doing in-depth independent studies of certain writers--
Legacy Libraries are voluntarily compiled by a user group on Library Thing, I See Dead People's Books. One can join a Legacy project already underway or start a new one. "Completed" libraries (in quotes because LibraryThing acknowledges that completed is a relative term here) include those of Ezra Pound, Tupac Shakur, Marilyn Monroe, George S. Patton Jr., Susan B. Anthony., and others. Libraries-in-progress include those of Susan Sontag, James Joyce, Emily Dickinson, Harry Truman, and others. All are linked to the "I See Dead People" page.
In addition to the whole "labor of love" thing, creating a Legacy Library might be a good side project/assignment for grad students doing in-depth independent studies of certain writers--
2.25.2009
I Remember
I got Teresa Joe Brainard's I Remember for Valentine's Day, and now that she's read it, I am. Reading it for the first time in 2009 (first published in 1970), it strikes me how much it resembles a response to a Facebook meme, or a blog project like The Chatelaine Shops or Spends. The genius of the idea being that it came 30+ years before those kinds of things--and not in response to the anyone!-instant!-publishing of the internet, which makes it seem obvious.
I've been in at least four writing classes in which we were asked to freewrite on the phrase I remember "in the manner of Joe Brainard's I Remember." I'm lousy at freewriting and the exercise has always left me cold. But after reading Brainard for ten minutes or so, I found myself writing "I remember" sentences in my head--and remembering things I'd never remembered when "freewriting" (forcedwriting) on that exercise. I got up to type some out, and here they are, in place of a response to the recent "25 Random Things About Me" meme:
I remember the Rodriguez girls who took piano lessons from our same piano teacher and performed at the same recitals my sister and I did. They wore "Add-a-Bead" necklaces and their parents gave them a new gold bead at every recital.
I remember envying teenagers for getting to walk through doors marked "Employees Only."
I remember living with my girlfriend the winter we were 18 and had little money. I got annoyed that she insisted on buying Jewish rye bread, which cost 30 cents more than plain rye bread.
I remember walking with her from the grocery store to the basement apartment we were living in, a mile away. It began to rain and the paper bags holding the groceries started to dissolve. She took off her coat, even though it was freezing, and used it to carry the groceries.
I remember walking in downtown DC with her later that week and giving a dollar to a panhandler sitting on the pavement (to impress her). It did, and she kissed me, and the panhandler leapt to his feet and yelled "Freaks! Freaks!" after us until we ducked down into a subway station.
I remember cassingles, and owning one of Wilson Phillips's "Hold On."
I remember Popcorn Circus, the store that sold nothing but flavored popcorn (bubble gum, green apple, blue raspberry, cinnamon...) that was the (overpriced) must-have snack for birthday parties when I was in 4th grade.
I remember finding it impossibly sophisticated in 8th grade when a friend ate an apple by cutting off an individual slice with a knife, eating it, cutting off another individual slice, etc. It hadn't occurred to me that it was possible to eat an apple like that. I doubted I could ever "pull it off."
I remember for a long time thinking that "Sumer is icumen in" referred to Sumer/Sumerians, and perhaps icemen (was it a typo?).
I remember being 15 and purchasing Leaves of Grass and a cassette tape of Mozart's Clarinet Concerto from the same store, going home and listening to the concerto while reading the book, feeling intellectual.
I remember listening to 10,000 Maniacs "Verdi Cries" over and over the same year, full of longing for the beach, the bath, the pastries, the jackal-headed woman drawn in the sand, Natalie Merchant, and a classmate I felt sure would "get it" all.
I remember James Swearingen.
I remember going to Hechinger's hardware store with my dad and getting to pick out a paint chip or a washer. I still think washers make great tokens of affection.
I remember Speak n' Spell, and how strange the recorded male voice sounded saying "W"--it sounded slurred and slightly drunk: vuhhvullyou.
I remember liking the theme songs and credits of Saturday morning cartoons more than the shows themselves.
I remember highlighting passages I found "poetic" in my first bible. I was eight, and still have the book.
I remember the first time I saw k.d. lang (in the "Trail of Broken Hearts" video on VH1) and the first time I saw Ya Kid K of Technotronic (in a Saturday Night Live performance). I couldn't tell for certain what their genders were, and was instantly attracted to them.
I remember lots of talk about an alcoholic beverage called "Cisco," that came in flavors like grape and orange and was said to contain liquid crack, but never seeing a bottle of it.
I remember being taken aback when I met my first college roommate, who was overweight, black, a mother of a toddler, and ironed her (light blue) sweatpants. All Sweet Valley visions of "sharing clothes with my roomie" evaporated.
I remember realizing, at around age 23 as a graduate TA, that all of those "What I Did This Summer" essays one wrote at the beginning of a school year were assigned for writing diagnostic purposes as opposed to true interest about one's life on the part of one's teachers. At the same time I realized that "Who Can Be the Quietest?" played in the back seat of the car as a child was not a true competition but a way to get one's children to shut up. [Shock!]
I remember painting the blue veins and red arteries of a Visible Woman.
I remember, in the books of my youth, people (especially mothers) often becoming "cross."
I remember, when the song came out in 8th grade, none of us buying that "You Don't Have to Take Your Clothes Off (To Have a Good Time)."
I remember reading, at 15, that 15 was the average age at which girls in the U.S. lost their virginity, and thinking I really needed to get on it, because the thought of being "average" at anything was repellent enough, let alone the thought of being less or slower than average.
I remember being the first one awake at slumber parties in another kid's house, and how, when you had a glass of milk at home, it tasted like milk, but when you had a glass of milk at someone else's house, it tasted like milk + the glass.
I remember finding marbles (clearies or marbleds, not cat's eyes, which were not aesthetically pleasing) sublimely, almost wisely, beautiful (heaven in a wildflower) and keeping mine in a purple velvet Crown Royal bag. I remember, years later, meeting a woman who kept her sex toys in a purple velvet Crown Royal bag.
I've been in at least four writing classes in which we were asked to freewrite on the phrase I remember "in the manner of Joe Brainard's I Remember." I'm lousy at freewriting and the exercise has always left me cold. But after reading Brainard for ten minutes or so, I found myself writing "I remember" sentences in my head--and remembering things I'd never remembered when "freewriting" (forcedwriting) on that exercise. I got up to type some out, and here they are, in place of a response to the recent "25 Random Things About Me" meme:
I remember the Rodriguez girls who took piano lessons from our same piano teacher and performed at the same recitals my sister and I did. They wore "Add-a-Bead" necklaces and their parents gave them a new gold bead at every recital.
I remember envying teenagers for getting to walk through doors marked "Employees Only."
I remember living with my girlfriend the winter we were 18 and had little money. I got annoyed that she insisted on buying Jewish rye bread, which cost 30 cents more than plain rye bread.
I remember walking with her from the grocery store to the basement apartment we were living in, a mile away. It began to rain and the paper bags holding the groceries started to dissolve. She took off her coat, even though it was freezing, and used it to carry the groceries.
I remember walking in downtown DC with her later that week and giving a dollar to a panhandler sitting on the pavement (to impress her). It did, and she kissed me, and the panhandler leapt to his feet and yelled "Freaks! Freaks!" after us until we ducked down into a subway station.
I remember cassingles, and owning one of Wilson Phillips's "Hold On."
I remember Popcorn Circus, the store that sold nothing but flavored popcorn (bubble gum, green apple, blue raspberry, cinnamon...) that was the (overpriced) must-have snack for birthday parties when I was in 4th grade.
I remember finding it impossibly sophisticated in 8th grade when a friend ate an apple by cutting off an individual slice with a knife, eating it, cutting off another individual slice, etc. It hadn't occurred to me that it was possible to eat an apple like that. I doubted I could ever "pull it off."
I remember for a long time thinking that "Sumer is icumen in" referred to Sumer/Sumerians, and perhaps icemen (was it a typo?).
I remember being 15 and purchasing Leaves of Grass and a cassette tape of Mozart's Clarinet Concerto from the same store, going home and listening to the concerto while reading the book, feeling intellectual.
I remember listening to 10,000 Maniacs "Verdi Cries" over and over the same year, full of longing for the beach, the bath, the pastries, the jackal-headed woman drawn in the sand, Natalie Merchant, and a classmate I felt sure would "get it" all.
I remember James Swearingen.
I remember going to Hechinger's hardware store with my dad and getting to pick out a paint chip or a washer. I still think washers make great tokens of affection.
I remember Speak n' Spell, and how strange the recorded male voice sounded saying "W"--it sounded slurred and slightly drunk: vuhhvullyou.
I remember liking the theme songs and credits of Saturday morning cartoons more than the shows themselves.
I remember highlighting passages I found "poetic" in my first bible. I was eight, and still have the book.
I remember the first time I saw k.d. lang (in the "Trail of Broken Hearts" video on VH1) and the first time I saw Ya Kid K of Technotronic (in a Saturday Night Live performance). I couldn't tell for certain what their genders were, and was instantly attracted to them.
I remember lots of talk about an alcoholic beverage called "Cisco," that came in flavors like grape and orange and was said to contain liquid crack, but never seeing a bottle of it.
I remember being taken aback when I met my first college roommate, who was overweight, black, a mother of a toddler, and ironed her (light blue) sweatpants. All Sweet Valley visions of "sharing clothes with my roomie" evaporated.
I remember realizing, at around age 23 as a graduate TA, that all of those "What I Did This Summer" essays one wrote at the beginning of a school year were assigned for writing diagnostic purposes as opposed to true interest about one's life on the part of one's teachers. At the same time I realized that "Who Can Be the Quietest?" played in the back seat of the car as a child was not a true competition but a way to get one's children to shut up. [Shock!]
I remember painting the blue veins and red arteries of a Visible Woman.
I remember, in the books of my youth, people (especially mothers) often becoming "cross."
I remember, when the song came out in 8th grade, none of us buying that "You Don't Have to Take Your Clothes Off (To Have a Good Time)."
I remember reading, at 15, that 15 was the average age at which girls in the U.S. lost their virginity, and thinking I really needed to get on it, because the thought of being "average" at anything was repellent enough, let alone the thought of being less or slower than average.
I remember being the first one awake at slumber parties in another kid's house, and how, when you had a glass of milk at home, it tasted like milk, but when you had a glass of milk at someone else's house, it tasted like milk + the glass.
I remember finding marbles (clearies or marbleds, not cat's eyes, which were not aesthetically pleasing) sublimely, almost wisely, beautiful (heaven in a wildflower) and keeping mine in a purple velvet Crown Royal bag. I remember, years later, meeting a woman who kept her sex toys in a purple velvet Crown Royal bag.
2.24.2009
Poetic Cross-Dressing Contest at WhimsyLand
Jeffery Bahr is holding a "Poetic Cross-Dressing Contest" (details here) which requires one to rewrite one well-known poet's well-known poem in the style of a second well-known poet. It looks like he's run a similar contest three times in the past, and he links to examples and past winners here, here, and here.
I love the premise and wish my brain felt fresh enough these days to do it serious justice. If yours does, the deadline is 3/6/09 and the prize is fantastic: "The winner will receive 4 one-year subscriptions to literary journals of his or her choice. The runner-up will receive 2 one-year subscriptions to literary journals of his or her choice."
Here's an entry from a previous year, by David Wright. Many are longer and deeper, but this one made me smile:
We Real Prufrock
We real depressed. We
get dressed. We
don’t talk. We
just walk. We
don’t giggle. We
pin and wriggle. We
measure spoons. We
drown soon.
I love the premise and wish my brain felt fresh enough these days to do it serious justice. If yours does, the deadline is 3/6/09 and the prize is fantastic: "The winner will receive 4 one-year subscriptions to literary journals of his or her choice. The runner-up will receive 2 one-year subscriptions to literary journals of his or her choice."
Here's an entry from a previous year, by David Wright. Many are longer and deeper, but this one made me smile:
We Real Prufrock
We real depressed. We
get dressed. We
don’t talk. We
just walk. We
don’t giggle. We
pin and wriggle. We
measure spoons. We
drown soon.
2.21.2009
Carmina Burana: Alternate Lyrics by YTMND
Spotted this at Home of the Immoral Minority this morning. I'd seen it mentioned before, but never bothered to click through and view until seeing it on Julia's blog, which proves me freakishly more susceptible to the internet theory that "people want to see what people they know have recommended" than I'd have guessed. Give it 30 seconds--by "hot temperate cheese" I was giggling uncontrollably.
2.20.2009
Security questions for forgotten email passwords were in the news a lot last fall, when Sarah Palin's account was easily hacked by someone who'd done a little basic research ("What is your mother's maiden name? What was the name of your high school?"). Joel Gunz offers some alternative questions over at McSweeney's:
SECURE WEBSITE AUTHENTIFICATION QUESTIONS:
What is your older sister's favorite Monopoly game piece?
Where were you sitting when your girlfriend told you she was pregnant?
Where did you never end up going for your honeymoon?
In what year did you begin working on your novel?
What time was it when, in a drunken rage, you threw your novel into the fire?
(see rest of list here)
SECURE WEBSITE AUTHENTIFICATION QUESTIONS:
What is your older sister's favorite Monopoly game piece?
Where were you sitting when your girlfriend told you she was pregnant?
Where did you never end up going for your honeymoon?
In what year did you begin working on your novel?
What time was it when, in a drunken rage, you threw your novel into the fire?
(see rest of list here)
2.18.2009
Benign Girl
Weeding my Bloglines acct--I've had this image saved in there since 9/07:
From BoingBoing reader Matt: "Over the Labor Day weekend, we went to Di Fara's Pizza for the best slice in New York City (probably the world). Well, you have to wait while each slice is hand-made to order, so I took my 14 month-old daughter to the 99 cent store next door to touch things for the duration. On our way out of the store, we saw this gem: the 'Benign Girl' Super Telephone. Chinese marketing at its best. How could there be any lead in a Benign Girl toy?"
From BoingBoing reader Matt: "Over the Labor Day weekend, we went to Di Fara's Pizza for the best slice in New York City (probably the world). Well, you have to wait while each slice is hand-made to order, so I took my 14 month-old daughter to the 99 cent store next door to touch things for the duration. On our way out of the store, we saw this gem: the 'Benign Girl' Super Telephone. Chinese marketing at its best. How could there be any lead in a Benign Girl toy?"
2.14.2009
From Jeni Olin's "25 Things" on Facebook:
i hate sunny days but fake an optimism about them with new boyfriends. i genuinely feel the rain comes to break the heat of the heart & that is its dazzling purpose.
I hate rainy days and there isn't a day I don't crave a sunny one. But check out that line: "rain comes to break the heat of the heart." What rhythm and lift from a line of single-syllable words.
i hate sunny days but fake an optimism about them with new boyfriends. i genuinely feel the rain comes to break the heat of the heart & that is its dazzling purpose.
I hate rainy days and there isn't a day I don't crave a sunny one. But check out that line: "rain comes to break the heat of the heart." What rhythm and lift from a line of single-syllable words.
1.31.2009
"What's the difference between a metaphor...and a lie?"
Elizabeth Alexander on The Colbert Report--this has been around for at least a week, but I just saw it this morning, and if you missed it, it's worth a view. Alexander does a good job of handling Colbert (imho, a much better job than she did writing the inaugural poem), and Colbert on Prufrock is pretty priceless:
1.20.2009
Halloween, Oberlin, 1992
Joys of Facebook: if for some reason you have lost a photo of yourself in the early 90s, someone else is sure to have and post it. I'm on the floor in the black hat, going as Roxy, Catherine Tremell's murderous lesbian lover in Basic Instinct.
1.13.2009
"The States are full of mush and pie"
I've been enjoying A is for Archive: 100 Years of Alphabet Books at the Internet Archive. Most of the books can be quickly loaded and flipped through. "The States are full of mush and pie" is only one of many promising lines from T.W.H. Crosland's 1901 Little People: An Alphabet.
1899's An Alphabet of Celebrities by Oliver Herford is also worth a spin. Sample pages:
1905's An Alphabet of History includes both nonfictional and fictional characters, apparently without drawing a line between them. I is for Iago, which is rhymed with "Chicago." Caesar, for the rhyme, is a "frosty geezer." E's Euripides is also called, for the meter, "Rippy." X is for Xantippe (or "Xanty"), Socrates's wife, portrayed with a husband-clobbering rolling pin:
Another book's X is for "Xerxes," and another's for "Xanthus." O, the plight of the alphabet book author before the invention of the X-ray!
1.11.2009
No One Wants to Play Sega with Harrison Ford (click for large view), by Brandon Bird, via my cousin Daniel's blog, lloydsoldout.
You might also enjoy Bird's Mr. Noodle, Signifier and Signified, Lazy Sunday Afternoon, etc.
1.08.2009
1.07.2009
Kottke posted a link today to the opening credits from "3-2-1 Contact":
It surprised me how many of the images I remembered intensely: the baby with the weird tongue, the frog, the trampoline from below, the girl whispering a secret.
The video naturally pointed to a bit from "The Bloodhound Gang," my favorite "3-2-1 Contact" sketch:
and this led me to "The Great Space Coaster" credits:
and "Simon in the Land of Chalk Drawings":
and the theme from Bill Cosby's "Picture Pages":
I wonder how many papers are being written out there about how YouTube is changing our experience of nostalgia. Everything is accessible (on the lucky side of the digital divide). Like the shift from having to see works of art in person to being able to see reproductions in books, the shift from having to have been alive & glued to the set in a certain era to see TV bits to being able to see them online. (Did I mention here that the other day I saw a high school girl at the library with a giant sketchbook, sketching a work of art on her computer screen as if she were an art student sketching in a museum?)
I wonder what a mid-21st century "Persistence of Memory" might look like.
It surprised me how many of the images I remembered intensely: the baby with the weird tongue, the frog, the trampoline from below, the girl whispering a secret.
The video naturally pointed to a bit from "The Bloodhound Gang," my favorite "3-2-1 Contact" sketch:
and this led me to "The Great Space Coaster" credits:
and "Simon in the Land of Chalk Drawings":
and the theme from Bill Cosby's "Picture Pages":
I wonder how many papers are being written out there about how YouTube is changing our experience of nostalgia. Everything is accessible (on the lucky side of the digital divide). Like the shift from having to see works of art in person to being able to see reproductions in books, the shift from having to have been alive & glued to the set in a certain era to see TV bits to being able to see them online. (Did I mention here that the other day I saw a high school girl at the library with a giant sketchbook, sketching a work of art on her computer screen as if she were an art student sketching in a museum?)
I wonder what a mid-21st century "Persistence of Memory" might look like.
...and blow.
Had this scene from To Have and Have Not in my head this morning. This was Bacall's first movie; she was 19, and Bogart was 44 and already a huge star. She writes that she was shaking in her boots when she filmed it. I love how unexpected she was. I imagine the moment in the theatre when it first played as similar to the moment in the theatre when Garbo spoke her first out-loud lines in that low, low voice in Anna Christie.
Best Thought, Worst Thought
Best Thought, Worst Thought (Graywolf Press) is a new book of aphorisms & observations by Scottish poet Don Paterson. Teresa picked it up for me at a recent book festival, judging correctly by the title and look of it that it would be something I'd gravitate to. I liked--didn't love--it, and as I read I jotted down the entries I thought I'd want to return to later:
*[from the foreword]: On the morning the Barbarians wandered through the gates, everyone in Rome had their feet up and was reading a foreword.
*The aphorism will often contain one italicized word; this denotes its magnetic North, not its direction.
*No matter how beautiful it is, if it appears in the wrong month, kill it.
*When I first learned that Bach preceded Mozart I was completely incredulous. All but the most naive among us accept that literature doesn't progress, but we've always held out higher hopes for music, as if the species might somehow hitch a ride on it.
*Like every other literary critic, Bloom credits the writer with far too much interest in literature.
*Sympathetic proof of hylozoism: imagine a stone lying on a beach, undisturbed for fifty years; impossible to think that, walking by, we could pick it up and throw it into the sea, and that it could feel nothing...
*Our names should be lengthened a little after our demise, by the lovely matronymic of death...we'd then appear in the conversation of our friends and enemies with our signature cadence gently altered, discreetly informing strangers of our change of status.
*No sense steps into the same word twice.
Poetry Daily posted Paterson's full foreword to the book as a special prose feature a while back. In it, Paterson shares his thoughts on the form and on a number of other aphorists, including Nietzsche, author of my favorite aphorism--not for the sentiment, but for the image: "In a man devoted to knowledge, pity seems almost ridiculous, like delicate hands on a cyclops."
*[from the foreword]: On the morning the Barbarians wandered through the gates, everyone in Rome had their feet up and was reading a foreword.
*The aphorism will often contain one italicized word; this denotes its magnetic North, not its direction.
*No matter how beautiful it is, if it appears in the wrong month, kill it.
*When I first learned that Bach preceded Mozart I was completely incredulous. All but the most naive among us accept that literature doesn't progress, but we've always held out higher hopes for music, as if the species might somehow hitch a ride on it.
*Like every other literary critic, Bloom credits the writer with far too much interest in literature.
*Sympathetic proof of hylozoism: imagine a stone lying on a beach, undisturbed for fifty years; impossible to think that, walking by, we could pick it up and throw it into the sea, and that it could feel nothing...
*Our names should be lengthened a little after our demise, by the lovely matronymic of death...we'd then appear in the conversation of our friends and enemies with our signature cadence gently altered, discreetly informing strangers of our change of status.
*No sense steps into the same word twice.
Poetry Daily posted Paterson's full foreword to the book as a special prose feature a while back. In it, Paterson shares his thoughts on the form and on a number of other aphorists, including Nietzsche, author of my favorite aphorism--not for the sentiment, but for the image: "In a man devoted to knowledge, pity seems almost ridiculous, like delicate hands on a cyclops."
12.27.2008
Photo: Jose Hernandez / National Geographic Magazine
Hernandez: "This is a shot of three eagles fighting over a fish in Homer, Alaska, from March 2008. You can see the fish at the top of the image flying by itself, but it was caught in its fall by another eagle."
This photo won an honorable mention in the "Nature" category in National Geographic's 2008 International Photography Contest (click to see winners in various categories).
Fimoculous: 2008 End-of-Year Lists
Fimoculous gathers links to 2008's end-of-year lists on one page. There are ninety book lists so far, along with lists on everything from advertising to words. I like Tampa Bay Online's 50 Things We Know Now (That We Didn't Know This Time Last Year), which includes links to the stories behind them for more information.
Why reenact wars when you can reenact Far Side cartoons?
by entitee, from the Far Side Reenactment Pool on Flickr. Setting up a shot to contribute might be a fun way to spend a few hours.
12.07.2008
Toothpaste for Dinner
I was sick and seeing double most of the weekend--too dizzy to read or watch a movie. The upside was digging around in the Toothpaste for Dinner archives as an alternative to more strenuous visual pursuits. Some favorites so far:
12.05.2008
Apostrophe's! Extra apostrophe's! Use 'em for plural's!
There are so many wonderful t-shirt's on the internet that I never buy any, fearing an uncontrollable downward spiral. This, though--this could break the seal:
T-shirt $16 at Sharing Machine (choose "Toothpaste for Dinner" for merch related to the webcomic).
T-shirt $16 at Sharing Machine (choose "Toothpaste for Dinner" for merch related to the webcomic).
From The Guardian, "Body swap research shows that self is a trick of the mind":
"Brain scientists have succeeded in fooling people into thinking they are inside the body of another person or a plastic dummy.
The out-of-body experience - which is surprisingly easy to induce - will help researchers to understand how the human brain constructs a sense of physical self. The research may also lead to practical applications such as more intuitive remote control of robots, treatments for phantom limb pain in amputee patients and possible treatments for anorexia." (read rest of article)
--
I went to Oberlin College, but am ashamed to say I never thought to check out the Oberlin Public Library. I see now that this was a mistake:
"OBERLIN, Ohio, Dec. 4 (UPI) -- A public library in Oberlin, Ohio, has a holiday display that features a legless Santa Claus being pushed down the stairs by a sadistic Christmas tree.
Conceptual artist Keith McGuckin, who created the Oberlin Public Library display, created a narrative to accompany the image that explains Santa's legs were destroyed by an alcohol-fueled incident involving power lines, and the tree pushing St. Nick's wheelchair down a flight of stairs plans to visit a strip club with the money he took from Santa's Salvation Army kettle, The Chronicle-Telegram (Elyria, Ohio) reported Thursday." (read rest of article, which includes mention of previous Oberlin library displays by McGuckin, including ones with "Nazi gingerbread men and drug-smuggling elves.")
UPDATE: Library director decided to take display down, said it was "becoming too much of a distraction."
"Brain scientists have succeeded in fooling people into thinking they are inside the body of another person or a plastic dummy.
The out-of-body experience - which is surprisingly easy to induce - will help researchers to understand how the human brain constructs a sense of physical self. The research may also lead to practical applications such as more intuitive remote control of robots, treatments for phantom limb pain in amputee patients and possible treatments for anorexia." (read rest of article)
--
I went to Oberlin College, but am ashamed to say I never thought to check out the Oberlin Public Library. I see now that this was a mistake:
"OBERLIN, Ohio, Dec. 4 (UPI) -- A public library in Oberlin, Ohio, has a holiday display that features a legless Santa Claus being pushed down the stairs by a sadistic Christmas tree.
Conceptual artist Keith McGuckin, who created the Oberlin Public Library display, created a narrative to accompany the image that explains Santa's legs were destroyed by an alcohol-fueled incident involving power lines, and the tree pushing St. Nick's wheelchair down a flight of stairs plans to visit a strip club with the money he took from Santa's Salvation Army kettle, The Chronicle-Telegram (Elyria, Ohio) reported Thursday." (read rest of article, which includes mention of previous Oberlin library displays by McGuckin, including ones with "Nazi gingerbread men and drug-smuggling elves.")
UPDATE: Library director decided to take display down, said it was "becoming too much of a distraction."
11.28.2008
Matthea Harvey's excellent Modern Life appears on the NY Times 100 Notable Books of 2008 list. Aravind Adiga's Booker-winning The White Tiger, which I thoroughly enjoyed (but, hey, I still count American Psycho among my favorites), does not. Interesting to note that poetry books appear in the list's fiction section--not in nonfiction, where Dewey puts them.
11.20.2008
Sabupuraimu, "Morning Banana," and more--
The Top 60 Japanese Words and Phrases of 2008, brought to you by publishing company Jiyu Kokuminsha and translated by the folks at Pink Tentacle.
"Invisible and Overlooked": Gay Seniors in Newsweek
I missed this 9/18/08 Newsweek article, ‘Invisible And Overlooked’: A growing population of lesbian and gay senior citizens seeks recognition for their unique needs and challenges. It's a worthwhile short read. I've often been frustrated that, while my library does pretty well by GLBT teens--has a decent selection of books there--once a GLBT patron turns 18, we have near-zilch. Those who focus on service to seniors in public libraries should consider their GLBT seniors, too. Sexual orientation: it ain't just for kids.
Some excerpts from the article:
Gerontologists haven't traditionally viewed sexual orientation as relevant to their work—and, according to a study by the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force, most national health surveys of elderly citizens fail to assess sexual orientation. But gay seniors confront unique challenges: they're twice as likely as straights to live alone, and 10 times less likely to have a caretaker should they fall ill...Many face discrimination in medical and social services, and on top of it all, they're less likely to have health insurance: one survey, by the Williams Institute on Sexual Orientation Law, at UCLA, estimates that gay seniors are half as likely to have coverage as their straight counterparts...
...Over the next 25 years, persons in America who are 65 and older are expected to grow from about 12 to 20 percent of the total population, and various estimates indicate that lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgendered individuals will comprise 7 to 10 percent of that senior population...
...For those who can afford it, there are gay-specific retirement communities and free service centers dotted around the nation, mostly in urban areas. But most regular nursing homes give shared-room preference to their married clients, and only a few states require employers to give leave for employees caring for same-sex partners. Inside care centers, advocates tell stories of social workers using gloves to treat only their gay patients, or those patients being shuffled around from room to room to avoid harassment from other residents. In rare cases, social workers say that couples have gone to the extent of agreeing not to visit each other, for fear the staff will treat them differently. And many patients revert back into the closet to protect themselves...
...Financial and estate-planning matters can complicate things further. In most cases, gay survivors don't have rights to a partner's pension plans, and are taxed on 401(k)s and IRAs they might inherit. Same-sex couples must also pay federal estate taxes on jointly owned homes where married couples don't. Sometimes they even have to fight with blood relatives over how to dispose of a partner's remains. To approximate some of the protections of marriage, many gay couples have to set up extra legal frameworks, such as powers or attorney and joint tenancy agreements. "Senior citizens have enough of a challenge just figuring out all the paperwork for health insurance—but gays and lesbians have this added layer," says attorney David Buckel, the director of the Marriage Project at the Lambda Legal Defense and Education Fund, a civil rights group. "It can be overwhelming."
Sidenote: Heh heh. In the article, Michael Adams, executive director of SAGE (Services and Advocacy for GLBT Elders), is quoting as having said "not one emoticon of respect." Think he might actually have said "modicum"?
Some excerpts from the article:
Gerontologists haven't traditionally viewed sexual orientation as relevant to their work—and, according to a study by the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force, most national health surveys of elderly citizens fail to assess sexual orientation. But gay seniors confront unique challenges: they're twice as likely as straights to live alone, and 10 times less likely to have a caretaker should they fall ill...Many face discrimination in medical and social services, and on top of it all, they're less likely to have health insurance: one survey, by the Williams Institute on Sexual Orientation Law, at UCLA, estimates that gay seniors are half as likely to have coverage as their straight counterparts...
...Over the next 25 years, persons in America who are 65 and older are expected to grow from about 12 to 20 percent of the total population, and various estimates indicate that lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgendered individuals will comprise 7 to 10 percent of that senior population...
...For those who can afford it, there are gay-specific retirement communities and free service centers dotted around the nation, mostly in urban areas. But most regular nursing homes give shared-room preference to their married clients, and only a few states require employers to give leave for employees caring for same-sex partners. Inside care centers, advocates tell stories of social workers using gloves to treat only their gay patients, or those patients being shuffled around from room to room to avoid harassment from other residents. In rare cases, social workers say that couples have gone to the extent of agreeing not to visit each other, for fear the staff will treat them differently. And many patients revert back into the closet to protect themselves...
...Financial and estate-planning matters can complicate things further. In most cases, gay survivors don't have rights to a partner's pension plans, and are taxed on 401(k)s and IRAs they might inherit. Same-sex couples must also pay federal estate taxes on jointly owned homes where married couples don't. Sometimes they even have to fight with blood relatives over how to dispose of a partner's remains. To approximate some of the protections of marriage, many gay couples have to set up extra legal frameworks, such as powers or attorney and joint tenancy agreements. "Senior citizens have enough of a challenge just figuring out all the paperwork for health insurance—but gays and lesbians have this added layer," says attorney David Buckel, the director of the Marriage Project at the Lambda Legal Defense and Education Fund, a civil rights group. "It can be overwhelming."
Sidenote: Heh heh. In the article, Michael Adams, executive director of SAGE (Services and Advocacy for GLBT Elders), is quoting as having said "not one emoticon of respect." Think he might actually have said "modicum"?
11.19.2008
1 minute, 4 seconds in London, 1904
Via Folderol, one minute and four seconds in London, 1904. I love the kid camping it up on the bridge. Metafilter says: Birkbeck College professor Ian Christie rediscovered this footage in an archive in Canberra, shot for a travelogue by film pioneer Charles Urban.
New Anxiety Medications for Coping With Economic Gloom
--a McSweeney's list by Peter Scallion. These look about as good as ice cream flavors right now:
Debtrol
Downcyclen
Subprimacare
Lehmanax
Delinquedent
Panix
Nojoblin
Greedquil
Feariflu
Defaulta
Forclosen
Banxergon
Nuvopor
Catastrophex
Hysterian
Maxedoutrin
Stoxadon
Colapsin
Dowoff
Scamagan
Defeatra
Corruptol
Retirelator
Debtrol
Downcyclen
Subprimacare
Lehmanax
Delinquedent
Panix
Nojoblin
Greedquil
Feariflu
Defaulta
Forclosen
Banxergon
Nuvopor
Catastrophex
Hysterian
Maxedoutrin
Stoxadon
Colapsin
Dowoff
Scamagan
Defeatra
Corruptol
Retirelator
Toys, Games, Puzzles: Poems?
I like a call for submissions that makes me want to write poems.
It's Jessy Randall that's calling:
I am guest-editing the February 2009 issue of the online poetry magazine Snakeskin. The theme of this issue is ... TOYS, GAMES, AND PUZZLES. Send up to six poems. No previously-published poems. No simultaneous submissions. No attachments -- poems should be in the body of the email. The deadline is December 15. My email address is jessyrandall [at] yahoo [dot] com. I look forward to reading your work!
...and a toy poem I [EL, not JR, though she might, too] admire:
Chatty Cathy Villanelle
by David Trinidad
When you grow up, what will you do?
Please come to my tea party.
I'm Chatty Cathy. Who are you?
Let's take a trip to the zoo.
Tee-hee, tee-hee, tee-hee. You're silly!
When you grow up, what will you do?
One plus one equals two.
It's fun to learn your ABC's.
I'm Chatty Cathy. Who are you?
Please help me tie my shoe.
Can you come out and play with me?
When you grow up, what will you do?
The rooster says cock-a-doodle-doo.
Please read me a bedtime story.
I'm Chatty Cathy. Who are you?
Our flag is red, white and blue.
Let's makebelieve you're Mommy.
When you grow up, what will you do?
I'm Chatty Cathy. Who are you?
It's Jessy Randall that's calling:
I am guest-editing the February 2009 issue of the online poetry magazine Snakeskin. The theme of this issue is ... TOYS, GAMES, AND PUZZLES. Send up to six poems. No previously-published poems. No simultaneous submissions. No attachments -- poems should be in the body of the email. The deadline is December 15. My email address is jessyrandall [at] yahoo [dot] com. I look forward to reading your work!
...and a toy poem I [EL, not JR, though she might, too] admire:
Chatty Cathy Villanelle
by David Trinidad
When you grow up, what will you do?
Please come to my tea party.
I'm Chatty Cathy. Who are you?
Let's take a trip to the zoo.
Tee-hee, tee-hee, tee-hee. You're silly!
When you grow up, what will you do?
One plus one equals two.
It's fun to learn your ABC's.
I'm Chatty Cathy. Who are you?
Please help me tie my shoe.
Can you come out and play with me?
When you grow up, what will you do?
The rooster says cock-a-doodle-doo.
Please read me a bedtime story.
I'm Chatty Cathy. Who are you?
Our flag is red, white and blue.
Let's makebelieve you're Mommy.
When you grow up, what will you do?
I'm Chatty Cathy. Who are you?
11.17.2008
Madnight: new album from RIAA
RIAA, the mashup geniuses that brought you Sounds for the Space-Set, have a new (fully free and downloadable) album out called Madnight. Their own description:
Inspirations: dreams, nightmares, Los Angeles noir film and literature, "Lowbrow" and Surreal art, carnivals and sideshows, 78 rpm records, weird old black and white movies, autumnal weather.
Sources listed include Kate Bush, some dialogue from an Ed Wood film, Tom Waits, Jelly Roll Morton, Young MC, Sal Mineo, "Jesus Wants Me For a Sunbeam," audio from "Children's Fairyland amusement park," a school filmstrip called "Who's Afraid?", Suzanne Vega, Alan Ladd, and many others.
You can listen to or download most of RIAA's albums here.
Inspirations: dreams, nightmares, Los Angeles noir film and literature, "Lowbrow" and Surreal art, carnivals and sideshows, 78 rpm records, weird old black and white movies, autumnal weather.
Sources listed include Kate Bush, some dialogue from an Ed Wood film, Tom Waits, Jelly Roll Morton, Young MC, Sal Mineo, "Jesus Wants Me For a Sunbeam," audio from "Children's Fairyland amusement park," a school filmstrip called "Who's Afraid?", Suzanne Vega, Alan Ladd, and many others.
You can listen to or download most of RIAA's albums here.
11.08.2008
Exvotos and Retablos Mexicanos blog
I recently found and subscribed to La Gracia de Dar Las Gracias, a blog by Selva Prieto that posts "exvotos y retablos mexicanos y algo mas." Prieto reproduces the text under many of the image scans. I love looking at exvotos (or ex-votos), which I realize means they're probably already listed on the "Stuff White People Like" blog (okay, I just checked. They aren't, yet). Some examples from the blog, with a mish-mash of Google's translation and mine underneath:
My daughter was born with a rare disease that prevents her from receiving the sun's rays, so I had to organize a night life for us. The idea was difficult for me, but, thanks to the Virgin of San Juan, we have gotten used to a paradise of moonlight. Instead of dogs we have cats and canaries. I believe that when the time comes, my daughter will find a sensitive man who does not mind living at night.
Bats invaded Carlota Valdez's house and flew over her bed at nights and they filled her with nightmares and their dreams. She feared they could be vampires and would suck her and her cats' blood and they would be converted into the living dead for all Eternity. Very worried, Carlota prayed to Saint Quiteria for protection. The saint worked a miracle for her, the bats left to live somewhere else, and Carlota gives thanks with this altarpiece.
I was quick to anger and to shout and argue. This affected my husband and therefore my marriage was being threatened. I thank the Virgencita of Zapopan, who gave me the idea of channeling my anger into a pair of knitting needles. Now when I feel that I'm getting angry, I run and grab the fabric and start knitting furiously. I have already knitted sweaters and scarves for the whole family and for cats and dogs, and I am still knitting and weaving. Thanks to this, now I can be sweet with my husband and my family almost always.
Also of interest: Everyday Miracles: Medical Imagery in Ex-Votos
(a 9/08-1/09 exhibit at the National Library of Medicine)
My daughter was born with a rare disease that prevents her from receiving the sun's rays, so I had to organize a night life for us. The idea was difficult for me, but, thanks to the Virgin of San Juan, we have gotten used to a paradise of moonlight. Instead of dogs we have cats and canaries. I believe that when the time comes, my daughter will find a sensitive man who does not mind living at night.
Bats invaded Carlota Valdez's house and flew over her bed at nights and they filled her with nightmares and their dreams. She feared they could be vampires and would suck her and her cats' blood and they would be converted into the living dead for all Eternity. Very worried, Carlota prayed to Saint Quiteria for protection. The saint worked a miracle for her, the bats left to live somewhere else, and Carlota gives thanks with this altarpiece.
I was quick to anger and to shout and argue. This affected my husband and therefore my marriage was being threatened. I thank the Virgencita of Zapopan, who gave me the idea of channeling my anger into a pair of knitting needles. Now when I feel that I'm getting angry, I run and grab the fabric and start knitting furiously. I have already knitted sweaters and scarves for the whole family and for cats and dogs, and I am still knitting and weaving. Thanks to this, now I can be sweet with my husband and my family almost always.
Also of interest: Everyday Miracles: Medical Imagery in Ex-Votos
(a 9/08-1/09 exhibit at the National Library of Medicine)
11.06.2008
"The Whole World Was Watching"--K.G. Schneider
Karen Schneider of Free Range Librarian was in Australia on the night of the US election. Here's her blog post on watching Obama's acceptance speech in a Sydney pub:
Don’t get me wrong, when it became obvious Obama was winning big, it was fun to be at the Democrats Abroad party at the Slide Nightclub in Darlinghurst, Sydney, waving my pint and shouting as the results came in. It was all the sweeter because it was clear this was no ordinary victory. To borrow an expression, “we beat them like rented mules.”
But the full significance of this election to the world at large swept over me an hour later, in an ordinary pub where a woman with a chihuahua snuggled in her arms sat outside sunning herself, men in the back played video games, and workmen struggled to install one more table near the door.
Lizanne and I had thought it was too early for McCain to concede, and were sprawled on a couch talking about the events of the day, when a screen-scroll announced that regular programming was preempted.
As Obama strode onto the stage, we stood up. This was for practical reasons — we couldn’t see the screen from where we sat — and yet it somehow felt right for other reasons. We were honoring something much larger than a new president.
The workmen put down their tools.
The bartender stopped wiping glasses.
The woman with the chihuahua walked in and stood with us.
The men in the back left their video games and came forward.
People drifted in off the street and stood quietly, eyes fixed on the screen.
No one sat. Everyone stood for Obama.
As Obama spoke, the pub was pregnant with respectful silence. I wanted to take a picture but my hands were wet from wiping away tears.
Obama finished his speech; then everyone in the pub--all but two of us Australians--cheered and applauded.
Life picked up where it left off. The television resumed its mindless daytime chatter, and soon the workmen were making a tremendous racket. The video-game players wandered to fresher territory. The woman with the chihuahua reestablished her post at the prime outdoor spot in front of the pub, her nervous little dog still tucked in her arms. Everyone else either got a beer and sat down, or stepped back into the sunshine of a Sydney spring day to resume their quotidian tasks.
But I felt, at long last, no longer an American with an asterisk, apologizing for a government at odds with the world.
Don’t get me wrong, when it became obvious Obama was winning big, it was fun to be at the Democrats Abroad party at the Slide Nightclub in Darlinghurst, Sydney, waving my pint and shouting as the results came in. It was all the sweeter because it was clear this was no ordinary victory. To borrow an expression, “we beat them like rented mules.”
But the full significance of this election to the world at large swept over me an hour later, in an ordinary pub where a woman with a chihuahua snuggled in her arms sat outside sunning herself, men in the back played video games, and workmen struggled to install one more table near the door.
Lizanne and I had thought it was too early for McCain to concede, and were sprawled on a couch talking about the events of the day, when a screen-scroll announced that regular programming was preempted.
As Obama strode onto the stage, we stood up. This was for practical reasons — we couldn’t see the screen from where we sat — and yet it somehow felt right for other reasons. We were honoring something much larger than a new president.
The workmen put down their tools.
The bartender stopped wiping glasses.
The woman with the chihuahua walked in and stood with us.
The men in the back left their video games and came forward.
People drifted in off the street and stood quietly, eyes fixed on the screen.
No one sat. Everyone stood for Obama.
As Obama spoke, the pub was pregnant with respectful silence. I wanted to take a picture but my hands were wet from wiping away tears.
Obama finished his speech; then everyone in the pub--all but two of us Australians--cheered and applauded.
Life picked up where it left off. The television resumed its mindless daytime chatter, and soon the workmen were making a tremendous racket. The video-game players wandered to fresher territory. The woman with the chihuahua reestablished her post at the prime outdoor spot in front of the pub, her nervous little dog still tucked in her arms. Everyone else either got a beer and sat down, or stepped back into the sunshine of a Sydney spring day to resume their quotidian tasks.
But I felt, at long last, no longer an American with an asterisk, apologizing for a government at odds with the world.
11.05.2008
Changes to Dewey Decimal System
This was good to see, at 025.431: The Dewey Blog:
973.93 2001–
973.931 Administration of George W. Bush, 2001–2009
973.932 Administration of Barack Obama, 2009–
973.93 2001–
973.931 Administration of George W. Bush, 2001–2009
973.932 Administration of Barack Obama, 2009–
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