Enjoy wholesome things.

#

Fri, 18 Dec 2009 13:25:11 -0500

I’m pretty sure there’s more to say about this.

Kit Kat

Thu, 17 Dec 2009 11:45:38 -0500

Dig dog, fish fash, bird bard, liz lard, sheep shat.

"Ochocinco is 6-foot-1, 192 pounds. Merriman is 6-4, 265."

Thu, 17 Dec 2009 10:11:39 -0500

“Ochocinco is 6-foot-1, 192 pounds. Merriman is 6-4, 265.”

- Ochocinco wants to fight Merriman. ESPN.com. Nice, but a responsible journalist would’ve included the following links: Ochocinco’s twitter, Merriman’s twitter.

Brooks & Dunn. “Hillbilly Deluxe.”

Thu, 17 Dec 2009 10:03:55 -0500

Brooks & Dunn. “Hillbilly Deluxe.”

“what does it mean”

Thu, 17 Dec 2009 09:15:00 -0500

“what does it mean”

sunplusnightplusjess: katiebakes: vicemag: DO: Quiet nerds...

Thu, 17 Dec 2009 07:14:43 -0500

sunplusnightplusjess:

katiebakes:

vicemag:

DO: Quiet nerds who are into their jobs and keep everything neat and together seem like they’re missing out when you’re in the middle of your drunken shithead years, but they’re really so far ahead of the curve it’ll be years before you realize how hard you’ve been shined.

True.

[emphasis above added by me]

but but but! it is SUCH a myth, this idea that people who happen to be ignorant are ignorant of everything. that is to say that everyone (or, almost everyone) is aware of the hierarchy. it’s so fucking obvious. the ‘dumb jocks’ in high school knew i was better than them and i knew i was better than them. and the ‘quiet nerds who are into their jobs’ know that they are better than me. and more imporantly, i know that they are better than me. i may be dumb but i’m not-dumb enough to know that. and the fact of the matter is, almost everyone is not-dumb enough to know who is ahead of them. let’s stop with this fake sense of comeuppance for those who are [feigned surprise!] below “Us” now! and this EVEN FAKER sense of underdog-ness for those quiet nerds. we knew from the beginning that they were going to win (i knew because they are almost always white and men and have smart parents who would buy them books, and really what else do you need to get ahead, ever?) but maybe hide behind a veneer of false modesty (“who me? i’m not cool! i have glasses like a nerd from an 80s movie! one might consider giving me a swirly!” etc etc barf [LIES]) until it becomes an undeniable, spoken-about truth that they are society’s Winners. know that these people (the Winners, the Quiet Nerds Who Love Their Jobs) are just people who come out on top, and their story has nothing to do with justice or anything. it’s just about them winning and the rest of us being various levels of Shitheads who are forced to drink our way through the years due to failure-induced sadness.

What do you and vicemag mean by winning and failure. And who precisely is a drunken shithead. Not to mention: who in the heck is a quiet nerd who is into his or her job. And: in what way is being into one’s job related to being ahead of the curve, and what does it mean do be so. Because vicemag originated the discussion and subsequent posts mention glasses, I assume it has to do with personal style.

Which brings me to my final question: Why are there still fingers on those gloves.

Reading The New Yorker's Fiction: "Diary of an Interesting Year," by Helen Simpson

Wed, 16 Dec 2009 11:58:00 -0500

“Diary of an Interesting Year,” which appears in the December 21, 2009, issue of The New Yorker, is by Helen Simpson, British student of Restoration comedy and former staff writer at Vogue. She has also written a libretto for a jazz opera, which sounds like an interesting thing to do.

Basically, “Diary of an Interesting Year” is The Road from a woman’s point of view, and funny. Still interested? Let’s take a look.

As one might suspect from the title, “Diary” is an espistolary, so the action comes through a series of short postapocalyptic journal entries by a polite 30-year-old British woman. The narrator wrote these entries in 2040, sometime after the Big Melt, which the reader can safely presume is the result of global warming and not a delicious new sandwich on offer at McDonald’s. In fact, McDonald’s makes no appearance in the story — an illustration of just how bleak everything will be in the future. Oh, and the Internet hasn’t worked in a while.

I hate epistolaries unless they’re by Borges, because they’re obvious. Each entry signals the exact passage of time (even in a world where Britain is a failed state and cannibalism is on the rise, people still remember the date). The author faces no obligation to create causal links or an actual plot, and any connection among the entries is either fodder for jokes or cheap character development. (Simpson resorts to expository dialog, a trick that falls particularly flat when it arises in a fictitious diary entry. Why would the diarist note dialog that states the current situation so obviously?)

Good thing this is a comedic piece, which in The New Yorker seems to get a little more wiggle room in terms of plotting and technique. Maybe for good reason. It’s funny to watch a fussy British woman maintain her sense of minor social obligation even as she is staving off rapists and cannibals and trying to remember, without the help of Google, how to DIY-abort her unwanted child.

Humor aside, the story’s main redeeming quality is its imagination. It contemplates the fate of a woman whose life begins in the very immediate future — she turns 30 in 2040, meaning she will be born next year (heyyy maath). The protagonist’s world therefore never touches the one we currently live in but is maximally and related to our own. The piece is also timely in that it focuses wholly on crisis. After 2009, many of us think we’ve learned a little bit about life in crisis, but Simpson’s story shows how much farther we can yet fall, and how unprepared we are for the landing.

Notes:

“Biro” means “ballpoint pen” in British English.

Simpson’s jazz opera is called “Good Friday, 1663.” The name may be an allusion to the diary of Samuel Pepys, one of the main chroniclers of the English Restoration. This would make sense, being that Simpson was just all about the Restoration in college. Here’s the entry for Friday, April 17, 1663.

When the diarist says she’s in “Shropshire, or possibly Chester,” she’s referring to two counties in the northwest corner of England. She is obviously quite disoriented, to not know which county she’s in.

For some reason the radio continues to work in this postapocalyptic future, suggesting that there is some vestige of civilization remaining somewhere.

“Enigma Variations” is an orchestra piece by Edward Elgar. You can hear the ninth variation, “Nimrod,” here.

Soul-searching

Tue, 15 Dec 2009 18:16:06 -0500

me: i love to exercise
Janine: that's great. maybe you should consider being a personal trainer
me: i don't think i have the salesmanship
and i hate personal trainers
Janine: haha
maybe you should put out a workout video
me: now you're just being silly
Janine: "Get fit with Mike T!"
"he puts the T in Fit!"
me: hahahahahahaha

Is It Wrong to Be Strong?

Tue, 15 Dec 2009 12:59:00 -0500

I was just at the gym, getting *this* where it *needs to be.* Naturally, I overheard two guys talking about chicks, and life. The more vocal of the two was detailing his plans to “study under some chefs” in Thailand, and “have a great time while I’m over there.” He was curling 50 pounds (a lot of pounds to curl, in my opinion). He had a half-sleeve tattoo on his right arm — leopard-print — and lots of hair gel.

Their conversation kept looping back to a young lady, Sandy, who’d recently arrived in the city. Leopard-sleeve said he had ordered her a box of chocolates he’d made himself. He’d also attached a note that said: Why don’t you give me a call. “Girls love chocolates and flowers and all that stuff, especially if you make it yourself, because then it’s something personal.” He sounded pretty generous when it came to chocolates.

“So, Wednesday, did Sandy come over?” His friend asked.

“No, she waited till 11:45 to call me. She’s young, so she thinks she’s smart.”

“What, is she in her twenties?”

“Twenty-six.”

The buddy sighed. Twenty-six, man. I even sighed a little.

I started doing some more dumbbell presses. They did some curls.

Leopard-sleeve set down his weights. “I think I’ll send her some more chocolates. And maybe some for her friend. Chicks love that stuff.”

“Man I can never do crazy stuff like that, what you do.”

“See, that’s the key,” said Leopard-sleeve. “You can be ugly, fat, skinny, bald, it doesn’t matter. If you — as soon as you touch her heart, it’s over.

I set down my weights. The pair resolved to head to that Thai place over on 50th for lunch. Leopard-sleeve knew the chef.

At first, walking back from the gym, I hoped Sandy would see past the charade. Sure, the chocolates were a good opening move, but this leopard-printed Thailand enthusiast didn’t seem like the kind to follow through — on birthdays or anniversaries, for example. Careful, Sandy. A little later, though, I saw a couple holding hands, both wearing leather jackets and sunglasses. I quit worrying, got home, and smoked a cigarette.

waksays: Pride and Predators

Tue, 15 Dec 2009 12:08:39 -0500

waksays:

Pride and Predators

paulbrady: Some photos I’ve taken recently. Bigger versions and...

Tue, 15 Dec 2009 07:13:50 -0500

Shoes

Westfield Centre

My Watch

A Contrail

paulbrady:

Some photos I’ve taken recently. Bigger versions and tags are on Flickr.

Great watch shot.

Wikipedia's list of Marvel Comics characters with superhuman strength

Mon, 14 Dec 2009 19:20:26 -0500

Wikipedia's list of Marvel Comics characters with superhuman strength:

Highlights include Beef, Bison, Bushmaster, Bushwacker, Man Beast, Man-Ape, Man-Bull, Man-Thing, Strong Guy, Wall, Walrus, Wild Child, Wild Thing, Wild Streak.

Simply weird: Hemingway.

My Favorite: Poundcakes.

Soundgarden. “Rusty Cage.” Soundgarden might be the...

Mon, 14 Dec 2009 08:30:25 -0500

Soundgarden. “Rusty Cage.”

Soundgarden might be the coolest band that it’s not cool to like. Maybe if their guitars were quieter and they spelled their name “Soundgarten,” people would’ve thought they were clever and cute.

"A man sat at a metro station in Washington DC and started to play the violin; it was a cold January..."

Sun, 13 Dec 2009 18:31:34 -0500

“A man sat at a metro station in Washington DC and started to play the violin; it was a cold January morning. He played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time, since it was rush hour, it was calculated that thousands of people went through the station, most of them on their way to work. Three minutes went by and a middle aged man noticed there was musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds and then hurried up to meet his schedule. A minute later, the violinist received his first dollar tip: a woman threw the money in the till and without stopping continued to walk. A few minutes later, someone leaned against the wall to listen to him, but the man looked at his watch and started to walk again. Clearly he was late for work. The one who paid the most attention was a 3 year old boy. His mother tagged him along, hurried but the kid stopped to look at the violinist. Finally the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk turning his head all the time. Every single time a child walked past, he or she tried to stop and watch. All the parents, without exception, forced them to move on. In the 45 minutes the musician played, only 6 people stopped and stayed for a while. About 20 gave him money but continued to walk their normal pace. He collected $32. When he finished playing and silence took over, no one noticed it. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition. No one knew this but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the best musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written with a violin worth 3.5 million dollars. Two days before his playing in the subway, Joshua Bell sold out at a theater in Boston and the seats average $100. Joshua Bell playing incognito in the metro station was organized by the Washington Post as part of an social experiment about perception, taste and priorities of people. The outlines were: in a commonplace environment at an inappropriate hour: do we perceive beauty? Do we stop to appreciate it? Do we recognize the talent in an unexpected context? One of the possible conclusions from this experience could be: if we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world playing the best music ever written, how many other things are we missing?”

- (via) (via birds-planes-trains-cars) (via sus) (via constellation) (via allymack) (via wishforme) (via itsblitz) (via shimmerandrot) (via iampirate) (via tulletulle) (via promethea)

Washington, DC. Dec. 12, 2009.

Sat, 12 Dec 2009 13:37:11 -0500

Washington, DC. Dec. 12, 2009.

paulbrady: katiebakes: And the Miley song was on, and the...

Sat, 12 Dec 2009 13:02:50 -0500

paulbrady:

katiebakes:

And the Miley song was on, and the Miley song was on…

Travel tip: Always get the convertible.

Always get the Sebring.

I laughed super hard at this. (via sunplusnightplusjess)

Sat, 12 Dec 2009 12:18:40 -0500

I laughed super hard at this. (via sunplusnightplusjess)

But there are just too many wrinkles to this baby.

Fri, 11 Dec 2009 13:40:42 -0500

But there are just too many wrinkles to this baby.

Social Distortion. “Story of My Life.”

Fri, 11 Dec 2009 09:22:06 -0500

Social Distortion. “Story of My Life.”

One Day I Will Make $$

Thu, 10 Dec 2009 15:48:00 -0500

By integrating all on-line job boards into one, and creating software that effectively packages resumes and cover letters so that no company, ever, will host distinct off-the-shelf job app programs on their own web sites. Think of how much slower the economy is because of this inefficiency. It’s at least minutes slower, per capita.