via English Russia

Howard Zinn is dead.

I just found this out, fittingly enough, as I was watching the State of the Union address.

It wasn't unexpected -the man was 87 and lost his wife 2 years ago- but still, it hits hard. The man served his country in WWII, he marched for civil rights and taught at Spelman, and he wrote some of the most important history texts ever written.

If you're unfamiliar with the man's work, go to his site and read an essay or two, go to youtube and watch a lecture. Or check out Democracy Now tomorrow, where I'm sure there will be a tribute in the morning.  There's also a movie version of A People's History that'll be out on DVD in February.

We've lost a heavyweight today, take a moment to remember him.

The Third Man

One of the more productive things I got to do over the trip home was get some reading done. A lot of it has been a massive book about basketball, augmented with magazines, comics (I re-read We3, and it still sucks the air out of my chest), and the annotated screenplay to The Third Man. It's a movie I'd seen a couple years ago, but had for the most part forgotten, so I was happy to read through it on the flights to and from California.

One of the more impressive of the story's many, many impressive qualities is the way that the story so fittingly describes an time and a place -namely postwar Vienna- so perfectly. The confusion and disconcordance of having one city ruled by four different allied powers, most of whom not sharing a language with each other, let alone the people they are set to govern/protect. The stoic optimism of a war-scarred populace, eager to move on from the conflict but living in  system that won't let them... it's a rare thing to me, to get that sort of sense from any type of work, let alone a book and a film. I honestly don't know how they do it. Part of me suspects that it's a talent that eludes even the best of storytellers. Part of me is certain that it's more a result of my place and time. Does living in America in 2009 (yeah, I know) have a flavor that could be expressed? I could write in a story about economic peril and the hopes of a black president, but in fifty years from now, would someone read that and think "that's exactly what it was like!" Or would I have to include some veiled Rihanna reference?


Obviously, it's more than pop culture. While we (meaning, I) love to think that popular culture goes a way towards defining the greater culture, it far more often than not means sweet fuck all. With the exception of post-9/11 media, I can't really think of anything that snapshots specific American culture after the Cold War*. Perhaps it's because we as Americans have such a diverse climate of economic and social stations that it's nearly impossible to connect them without the benefit of several decades of distance to provide hindsight. It might be that most Americans tend to project their experiences and backgrounds onto the country, effectively ignoring everyone else. Maybe it's the apathy of the suburban MTV generation that has shifted our attitude to that of a vapid shrug (it's a cliche, I know, but not an unfair one). I have no idea. But as I was thinking about this, I was convinced that the most common way to get a picture of our country at any given moment is to show it in or immediately following tragedy**. It sounds dramatic, but maybe that's the only time we'll be able to look around and agree about what's going on. Or at least that's the closest we get to it.

But I digress. I want to write about The Third Man. Because it's one of those movies that holds up so damned well. I'm not one of those classic film nerds that can't watch anything made in America after the mid-70s. I will talk loads of shit about Avatar, and yet I avoid most foreign films on the grounds that they're depressing for the sake of being depressing, and I will prefer color to black & white. I don't consider myself an erudite scholar of film, but I like to think I know what I like. and I love The Third Man. I could rail on about the framework or the advancements in cinematography, but it'd be 100% bullshit lifted from other places, ass opposed to the 50% bullshit that I'm just making up. In order for me to even notice things like that, it has to be so spectacularly good or bad that my attention is taken from the dialogue, acting, and overall theme. So I don't notice that when I'm watching The Third Man. I notice the more obvious things: the Karas soundtrack, which I put on a mix at some point in college and baffled even myself with, The zither fluttering along through the scenes, almost ditzy when juxtaposed against the story. There's the drunken petulance of protagonist Holly Martins, a European caricature of an American if there ever was one***, even if the character was supposed to be Canadian****. There's the opportunists, fops, and schemers that show up throughout the story, and the distance of the Austrians, who don't want anything to do with anything that isn't getting their lives back on track. This is classic noir, and still it stands as more than just a detective story. Oh, and there's Orson Welles. He was already the major filmmaker of the world, and he had just turned his back on Hollywood. He was just the actor here, but he improvised one of the best movie lines in history (he later said he stole it from somewhere else) like it was nothing.

I don't want to get into the story too much, because there are turns and revelations that still amaze me (even if one of the biggest ones is given away by the movie poster/DVD cover).  But I would recommend checking it out. You can watch it on Netflix ad the moment, and you can probably pick up a (non-Criterion) copy for pretty cheap since it's in the public domain. But I'd suggest checking out the book or screenplay first. It won't take up much of your time (I read most of it on the worst plane ride ever), and it really is worth it. Afterwards, check out the movie, and tell me I'm wrong about this. Tell me you don't get a feeling for postwar Vienna, despite the fact that it serves mostly as a backdrop for the story.

Anyway, that's just what I'm feeling on it.

* of course, this isn't entirely true. Wall Street probably did a great job of  defining the mid-late 80s for a lot of people, despite the fact that there's no mention of the decline of American industry, the dumbest fashion sense in history, and the historic rise/acceptance of rap music. Philadelphia might also carry a distinct resonance, while Forrest Gump will always serve to remind us how fucking dumb and self-servingly nostalgic we can be.
** the other might be comedy. Of course, this is not always the case, but it's a lot easier to gain insight towards the culture of a time and place by what jokes can and can't be made and the way that they are made. Of course, 85% of American comedy disproves this entirely.
*** I still laugh every time he intentionally gets Calloway's name wrong.
**** what non-hockey playing Canadian shows up in another country and takes a swing at a cop first thing off the plane? There are Canadians that don't play hockey, right?

I know I said I'd post a mix before the year's end, but I haven't. It's about half done, though. In the meantime, I've got loads of emails to get back to (including ones to every one of my friends, who I didn't get to hang out with while I was home), insane family bullshit to address, and classes that start tomorrow.

I'm not saying don't hold your breath, but seriously, don't hold your breath.

So, here's a story. Tonight, Carrie and I decided to go out to dinner. After spending New Year's Eve in and the next 2 days sick and in bed, we felt we were owed as much. So we did what we usually do. Spend an hour trying to decide where to go for dinner and then eventually settle on the cheapest place. Tonight, it was a Mexican place down the street we rarely frequent.

I should've known something was up as soon as we walked in there. The place is huge. In addition to the outdoor deck (it was warm enough to have diners this evening), there's a labyrinth of indoor rooms and bars at this place. All of them were empty. Eventually, we came across an out-of-the-way reception desk. As we were seated, I was horrified to realize that there was only one other table occupied in the entire restaurant.

This is an issue with me. While I can appreciate being the only people in a movie theater or a plane or something, I don't like the undue attention of being the only patrons of a store. Put in this position, I don't dare leave because of my innate need to support any non-chain business that isn't terrible. So I just sit there, nervously staring at the entrance in hopes that the place will fill up by the time the meal is over. But oh, it gets worse. There was a musician.

If being the only diners in a restaurant gives me a mild panic attack, then being the only diners in a restaurant with live musicians fucking terrifies me. Are we supposed to act like this is a personal concert? Should we clap? Stare at him? Ignore him? I'm profoundly uncomfortable in situations like these, and usually it's pretty obvious.

Still. I can be magnanimous. I can eating a meal without freaking out. After all, we brought some cash to tip him wit.... shit. The money we had left over from the farmer's market that morning was sitting at home on the table. Making matters infinitely worse was that this guy was amazing. and elderly. and playing solo. I don't know what it is. If this guy was playing on the street, or Dave Matthews songs, I wouldn't even think twice of walking past. But I was watching him play with more passion than just about every live show I've ever seen (and paid for). If this guy was from Brooklyn and singing in English, he'd be on the cover of magazines. But instead I was watching this old guy playing by himself in an empty restaurant and it was too much. I felt like we were taking advantage of this guy, and it was only fair to compensate him. I know you might be thinking "but he's paid by the restaurant". I don't know if this is true. and if it is, it wasn't enough. After all, we were tipping the waiter, and he wasn't even that good a waiter.

I tried to put it out of my mind. I thought if I could convince myself that he was singing some really lewd filth, I wouldn't feel obligated to tip him. I thought maybe he'd give up at the realization that he was only playing to two people, and poor-looking ones at that. But no. He kept playing, sounding better with each song. It was torture, beautiful torture. So we decided that we had to tip him. So I got up, nodded to the host as I walked towards the bathroom, and then bolted out the front door towards the nearest business that would give me cash back.

I don't know what the people at the Trader Joe's made of me, running in through their doors and scanning the aisles before grabbing a Toblerone. They probably thought I was a lunatic. When I went to pay for them, the clerk said "Looks like someone's new year's resolution is to eat more candy!" She smiled, and I probably should've just nodded and smiled back. Instead, with my heart pounding through my chest I huffed "no time to explain", got my cash back, and sprinted back to the restaurant. The guy was still playing the same song when I sat down*. I slipped Carrie the money and she tipped him at the next break. If I tried, the singer might have notice that I was a) out of breath, or b) suddenly had a giant Toblerone in my pocket.

The next song, he played a cover of "Sounds of Silence". I swear this was for our benefit, since before that his set consisted of traditional Mexican songs, but it might've just been that place in the rotation. I'm usually not big on this sort of thing, the zany cover**, but I swear this guy killed it. He was amazing, and I can't swear it wasn't the palpitations or the cold medicine, but I was almost moved to tears.

It was far from the cheapest meal we could've had (In n' Out), but that was still the best $5 I've spent in years.

*I know it's depressing that I was winded after some four minutes of running but, to be fair, I haven't been to the gym in almost a month and I had just downed a taco, an enchilada, and a plate of beans and rice. We're all lucky that my being winded was the worst of it.
**anyone who has visited this site for over a year or so can probably find hundreds of pieces of evidence contradicting this. Well keep yer trap shut.

Got in to Philly this morning off of the redeye, and it took me until the baggage claim before some girl scolded me for talking about her (I wasn't). The I went home and shovelled snow. That's right, you think the West Coast has softened this guy up? NO WAY! Lack of sleep, jet lag be damned. I'm in this!

(this is my way of saying posts will be sparse, what with lack of internet and time. I'm sure you're all there with me).

Sorry for the small blackout, I just wrapped up my finals and really just didn't want to spend any more time in front of a computer than I already had to for the past few days. Which really just means I've been outside a bunch, trying to take advantage of California weather before heading back East on Sunday. Spent a couple hours walking around a college campus and generally just catching up on existence when I found a giant papier-mache milk jug rotting on the side of the road. Without a holie big enough to crawl into it, had no other option left but to take some pictures of it.

In internet news, how effing cute (and a little disgusting) is this?

yeah...

Missing: granny in rocking chair.

I'm watching (well, listening to) this Iverson press conference in Philly right now, and I'm seeing a guy with tears in his eyes describing what the Philly fans mean to him. While I respect that, and probably even believe it, it's still an even that brings up some mixed feelings for me.

I should preface this by saying that Iverson means a lot to me as a Sixers fan. The man has arguably* sparked more interest in the team -my favorite team- more than any other player in history, and as a fan I owe him that. I can't think of a player that threw himself into the game as hard as he did for the better part of a decade, and he took us to the finals. So please don't mistake what I'm about to say as hatred of Iverson.

I was against him coming back. I think I still am. His leaving was tumultuous at best, and we're still getting over the ramifications of building a team around him before he left. We have a bunch of young players now that need to learn the game in their own way, and I think Iverson could damage that in a way that could never be fixed. There's also the off-court drama associated with Iverson. I've had four people send me the "practice!?" clip in the past week, and it's not like I needed reminding the first time. I think Iverson will sell a shitload of tickets, but in the long run bringing him back might be detrimental to the young talent.

But watching this press conference... watching him picking up that uniform -the uni that he should've been wearing in his first run here- and seeing his smile when he did it... I can't help but feel a little hopeful. It might be the desperation of a horrified fan who has seen his favorite team in shambles all season following the coaching style of a lunatic. I might be grasping at whatever optimism I can pull out of the situation.  But there's also something else, something that I forgot about a while back.

This is Allen Iverson.

This is a guy who in the past has thrived on defying odds and proving people wrong. This might be the last stop in the league after dropping lower and lower on the the ladder, but he might just be able to rejuvenate this team and smack some sense into them. And if we're really lucky, he might just get Eddie Jordan fired. It's a longshot, but it's still the best shot I, as a fan, can have at the moment.

Sure, there's a strong chance I'll be eating these words (not literally) in a few months, but for now I'm kind of excited. the way I see it, the team can't possibly get worse than they've been so far, so let's give him the shot.

*with apologies to Charles, Julius and Wilt

How did I miss this?

Sarah Palin attributed a quote to the infamous UCLA Basketball coach John Wooden in her book, which is strange enough. What is laughably insane is that the quote:

"Our land is everything to us...I will tell you one of the things we remember on our land. We remember our grandfathers paid for it -- with their lives."

Is not John Wooden's (you mean basketball coaches don't often talk about how their fathers died for their land?), it does however belong to one native American activist John Wooden Legs.

I'm sick of Palin, and I'm even more sick of everyone attacking her, if only because it makes her fans even crazier and more self-righteous. But this is without a doubt one of the dumbest things I've ever seen. I'm sure she had nothing to do with it (at all, including selecting the quote), you would think that anyone publishing a book that's set to be scrutinized as this one would be smart enough to hire a fact checker to see if this was on the level.

also, I have to admit I never knew that reindeer were this cute.

Oooooh fish shoes!

I want them.

(via Illusion360)

Hoagie dreams

I don't know who tipped the little bugger off, but my subconsciousness is now aware that I'm going to be back in PA pretty soon. I had a frighteningly intense dream last night about my favorite sandwich. I actually woke up with my mouth watering. This can only means that dreams about Sarcone's, pizza, and maybe a cheese steak are forthcoming.

I've been pretty wound up lately, with Carrie sporting some sort of H1N1 action lately, and my finals in full swing. I don't see this dying down before next friday, but I should have some more time to post here next week. Going to Conan on Tuesday, so that should be nice.

In the meantime, Paul F. Tompkins' new album came out today. It is hilarious, and you should buy it, here or over on iTunes.

Death by water + children

via Shorpy

[post deleted]

This was waaaay too depressing for Thanksgiving, and I'm not in the mood to bring everyone down.

All I can say is that despite hating on him for the bulk of his career, Shaq is a fucking stand-up guy.

So instead, I'm up at 4 AM the morning after the holiday watching war movies and reading comics, because at least there's a bad guy in those.

But let it be known that any whining I encounter in the coming weeks will be met with a sharp rebuke. I hate not having cable news sometimes, since I hear about these stories until too late to really write on them.

Does this mean that I can't post on any depressing stories until January? Fucking holidays.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

I don't have much else to add to that, but remember to be thankful for something (or everything) today.

and go read AP Mike's vaguely terrifying xmas story here.

holy crap

Post #981: WASTED!

 I think I got this back at Largo last night. No idea what it means, but it still makes me laugh. I like to think that "Gay Money" was an overlooked character from New Jack City.

The show was great last night, this is really turning into a nice little evening, o if you're thinking about visiting while one of these shows is on, you're going whether you like it or not.

So, with this post 999, I am gonna start working on something new, with luck I can just switch this site over and rename it and such, but either way, I'll post developments as they come. My final projects are all firing up this week and next, which means I'll be doing a lot of reading and swearing, but hopefully I'll post a mix (best of?) or something celebratory for the big K.

In the meantime, have a wonderful week and a happy thanksgiving, everyone. Be thankful for everything you have, and for many things you do not have (oh, you want a radioactive snapping turtle that poops acid? I THOUGHT NOT). But most of all, remember how great this place can be if you give it a shot.

EDIT: So, it turns out there were about 20 saved drafts that were being counted as posts. So as it turns out, I got plenty of room to post before I need to worry about the dial rolling over. So ignore all that crap and look forward to 19 posts about TV, the casserole I just made, and my cat.

Bat Vehicles!

People always go for the stuff from the Burton years on, but I really like the old Adam West rides. Simple, fun color motifs, absurdity... good times.

That Bat-copter looked REALLY Unsafe, though.

(this is post 998, which means I'm going to be doing something drastic pretty soon. I still have no idea what, but this site will die a lonely death).

There's an article in the New York Times about the usage of the word "douche" on television.

If this isn't a sign that we've gone too far with this work, I don't know what else is. It's time to explore new options.

in the meantime, wouldn't it be better just to hear an occasional f-bomb on TV than this crap?

There's a great Baltermants collection over at tsutpen. Russian WWII war photography is bound to be pretty bleak stuff. But it's powerful as hell, and just incredible to look at.

This, incidentally, might be my favorite site on the internet.

Marvel's gonna have to call their lawyers

Those dicks. NYPD would never arrest Spidey.

Will Forte reading Tommy Lee. It's every bit as NSFW audio as you can imagine, but it's still pretty hilarious.

Last night, after dinner, I got some new (marked down!) kicks. The original pair I wanted is apparently only made for ladies. I like the colors, but thinking about it now kinda makes me think that while I used to wear every color imaginable, most of my clothing/accoutrement is of two color schemes: blue/gray and brown/orange. Also, right as I was getting ready for bed at like 2:30-3 AM, I saw a very drunk person stumbling all around the parking lot from the porch. After coming dangerously to cracking his head open a couple of times, he finally ended up swaying -then falling- into a little shrub/ivy patch that I personally see at least 2 dogs pee in every day.

I'm pretty sure he would've passed out there if my laughing hadn't startled him back up. So for once, by obnoxious tittering did something useful. Take that, 10th grade chemistry teacher!

It was pretty much the best thing I could've seen before going off the bed.

Guy Fawkes day!

Is the Indira Gandhi Planetarium the coolest looking building ever?

YES.

Not like that crazy-ass one in Bochum, Germany. Don't try to sell me the Legion of Doom! I know the goddamn Legion of Doom when I see it!

That Andre Agassi was using meth for awhile during his playing days? Kind of a shock.

That his crazy, untamed 90s hair was actually a wig? HOLY SHIT!

Ping Pong was never played again

via fffound

Off to the library. Will act aloof to any comments about my appearance.

update. a guy circled me for 5 minutes, and then asked what happened to my mouth. I blew it and told him that it was a costume. Next time, I should look concerned, then taste my (fake, "mint-flavored) blood and smile at him.

I feel like the glasses help to make it look more authentic. I should also startle easily.



There's like a 70% chance I'm not going to get dressed up tomorrow. But I enjoy this.

Umm.....

From my National Geographic picture of the day: Ultraviolet Bath, Russia

Eisenhower inspects the goods

No good picture for the morning, because it's still dark and I'm pretty sure I'll be able to fall back asleep in a few minutes.

So I propose to you: What sounds better, a tofu chair or a Tetris chair?

At first I thought the latter, because it looks so damned comfortable, but wouldn't you hate having a chair that you would always have to point out to new people that it's a chair? Besides, I'll sit in anything tetris.

back to bed.

"O walls, you have held up so much tedious graffiti that I am amazed that you have not already collapsed in ruin"

I've been reading some of the graffiti found on the walls at Pompeii. There's some pretty crude stuff to be found there (thought I did enjoy "'Secundus defecated here' three time on one wall"), as well as sweet sentiments and weird inanities. I wonder if anyone thought to bring this up during Koch's major anti-graffiti campaigns in the early 80s. Judging by the article I linked there, it might not have done any good.

Anyway, a nice little read to start your morning.

Apologies for the delay since my last post, school has been mercilessly kicking my ass (I cannot understate this, especially considering yesterday). I'll get back on some sort of posting schedule soon, I promise. After al, time is running out before I hit my big 1,000th post spectacular, right?

Anyway, here's a pic I snapped at 5 this morning. I don't know what made me think of doing this (certainly not the screen in the way of the shot), but it was a peaceful scene after what an intensely long and shitty day. Maybe I'll take another one when I get up at 4 tomorrow morning (today?) to register for my next semester's classes. Maybe I should just turn this blog into a series of photographs I take without leaving the apartment. They'd all be of the cat and the mountains.

To answer your question, yes, that is a ferris wheel. It does not work, and is actually not even a whole ferris wheel.

oops

Huh. I wonder how Specter felt when he first saw that?

So wow.... 1975 was pretty messed up

Was Captain Lou Albano really most famous for being in a Cyndi Lauper video? I can't help but think of that Super Mario show. Oh, and the two decades of pro wrestling.

anyway, Carrie and I were talking about him like 3 days ago, for some reason that escapes me now.

Also, Philadelphia Will Do had one of the best/and most infuriating sports posts ever the other day.

Hey, you wanna watch this Spider Woman motion comic, but don't want to spend $10 on iTunes like I did? The good news is you don't have to. It's upon Hulu now (all but the last part, which I expact will be up in a week). I still don't know how I feel about the final result, I will probably prefer the print version in the end, but it still is an interesting foray into a new medium. Alex Maleev's art looked better in the book, but it still looks great here. What are you complaining about, it's free.

BTW I broke down and have a twitter account. It is a source of great shame, but at least now I can pay attention to the Best Show feuds. My favorite person to follow so far? Tie between Jon Wurster and Roger Ebert.

and God giveth us rain

We finally got the rain I've been whining about missing for the past 6 months. It's a nice cloudy day and even though I'm stuck in a library, I'm determined to make the most of it, even circling the block a few times before entering to get to work.

It's a nice cool day, and I'm listening to the latest album from Richard Hawley, which has never sounded more sincere and beautiful.

So, a devout Christian goes to a Phillies game (apparently time traveling there from 1961), and here' what happens. 

The comments, though cruel, are pretty hilarious.

Watching The Friends of Eddie Coyle's Criterion edition, which I didn't even know was released back in May. It's been ages since I've seen this movie, and even longer since I read the book in college. This was released in 1973, not long before The Rockford Files started, and as I mentioned the other day, this feels like the last great era for really good crime stories that don't involve electronic surveillance, DNA tests, etc... There's a reason why Criminal (which is back, and still the best noir/crime stories being told today) is so ambiguous with the period in which it's set.

  Anyway, go see this movie. It's a great story, with Robert Mitchum simultaneously at his booziest and most judicious. Peter Boyle (who remains one of the most puzzling actors ever) meeting him step for step the entire time, and Steven Keats as the young punk gunrunner... it's really a classic crime movie, without any of the flash and pomp that seem to go with these stories a lot of the time.

So yeah, go rent that. 

Okay, I really, really need to get back to my paper.

 The coolest Google Map find ever?

via Emma From Toronto, response to Ted Leo's mind.

Watching The Long Goodbye and just made 2 stunning realizations: A) Henry Gibson just died and B) he was from Germantown. Huh.

Is this not the most adorable beer of all time?

(hint: it isn't)

So, I've got this real bad habit of getting wrapped up in some album or TV Series or film, and then writing the better part of a post and shelving it. It's not that my interest in these things wanes, or that I move on to other stuff before I get a chance to finish. More often than not I just can't finish or won't. I've got half-finished, long-winded posts about The Sandbaggers, Underbelly, Eye of the Needle, Friends of Eddie Coyle, three character analyses from The West Wing, and a couple others. A personal favorite is my lengthy rant on why I'm pretty sure that Guy Ritchie has never read a Sherlock Holmes story, but I'm waiting for the film on that one.
Anyway, a lot of the time it's because I'm sure these are points you might have felt, or stories you don't feel like revisiting, or that my own take on it isn't all that astute. Right now, one of the 6-7 books on my coffee table is a book of George Orwell's essays, which are both comforting and embarrassing to read, when I consider the crap dredge that gets thrown up on this thing. Because while I don't post a lot of things out of fear of appearing a self-important literary windbag, George Orwell manages to write these things in such an approachable, hospitable way that it leaves me dumbstruck.
But this is neither here nor there. Because I'm not writing about anything today that's critically adored or obscure. I'm not even writing about something that's all that unpopular. I'm referring, of course, to The Rockford Files, which aired on NBC from 1974-80. It's a show I never really watched as a kid, probably because it was off the air when I was 2, and unlike Columbo, I don't remember all that many reruns peppering the airways.
Jim Rockford fits some of the noir-ish standards for a detective. He's almost always at odds with the cops, he has a shady past (including a stint in prison as an innocent man), and he's got a real smart mouth that gets him into trouble. He's poor, and his home is a dilapidated trailer outside of LA on the Pacific Coast highway. Oh, and he seems to end up banging half of his female clientele.
He's still not quite noir, though. He generally avoids a fight, and almost never carries a gun (he keeps it in his coffee pot to avoid rust form the salt air!). He's a lot more genuine in his concern for clients than Marlowe ever would've been, and he often will end up working for free or at a reduced rate if he has to. Oh, and his dad is around all the time. I really like this last part, because his dad is a cheap old drunk who wants him to get out of the private eye racket. Oh, and unlike a lot of the old stories, Rockford isn't wearing a fedora and trenchcoat. If anything, he dresses cheap and garishly, which is to say, normal for the Seventies.
So why do I like this stuff? Why is it that after a decade of reading detective fiction and watching all those old black and whites that I find myself enamored with this program? A couple things. One is James Garner. There's just something about him that you want to root for. Ever since I was a kid and saw him as Hendley the scrounger in The Great Escape, I've enjoyed that guy. I remember going through a Maverick phase at some point, too. There's also the time period. One of the reasons that the seventies work so well for crime/detective stories, is because it's the last really good time frame for this type of story. I guess the Eighties might work as well, but something about that decade I find hard to take seriously. Maybe it would have to be all about drugs, or funny hairstyles.
But anyone my age or younger will view this show as impossible. There's no way that someone could get away with some of the things that go on here. Part of it is technology, part of it is people wising up to giving personal information out, etc... To write a good detective story set in the last ten years is to write... I dunno, to write like Ed Burns and David Simon.
The bottom line is that I'm amazed how much I enjoy a network TV show that's older than I am and isn't hosted by Rod Serling. It's a testament to our pop culture. But the best part is that you can go watch this for free right now. There are at least 3 seasons up on Hulu, and the entire run of the series is up on Netflix. So go check it out if you're bored one night and watching some shitty celebrity dance show. Seriously, you can do better than that. If you don't watch TV, hey, more power to you. But I know most of you do, and watch some pretty appalling stuff. Just my 2 cents. This show has car chases! Non-Italian mob bosses! Pretty ladies! Awesome celebrity cameos (so far, Abe Vigoda, a young James Woods, Bill Mumy, Strother Martin, Ned Beatty, Lindsay Wagner, etc...), oh and one of the best theme songs EVER.

if you haven't seen it yet, go watch an episode. It's been making my week.

When I first moved to CA, I used to laugh at everyone that would be wearing sweaters and the like when it was like 70 degrees out. It just seemed so unnecessary. But here I am, in the same weather, putting on a hoodie. I sort of caught myself doing it, and then realized that I wasn't even cold, it was just cool enough justify putting sleeves on. It's been an absurdly long summer (since late April or so?), and one without a single drop of rain. As someone who hates wearing shorts, I haven't had much wiggle room as far as clothing selection, especially with a wardrobe far more suited to the East coast. Maybe it's the fact that I've had this brand new Sixers hoodie that I got super cheap just waiting in my closet to be worn. Of course, I prefer the cold weather. I'd much rather want to throw on an extra layer than want to remove a layer of my own skin. So maybe it makes sense that in some weird way I'm hoping to usher in the cold(er) weather by dressing the part for it. Of course, I won't be so lucky. It's supposed to be back up in the mid-80s by next week, and nary a drop in the forecast. I think that drop would be the most revitalizing piece of precipitation that ever fell to the ground like manna from the heavens.

Maybe it'll show up by Thanksgiving.

It's kinda sad that between the opening of the Phillies' playoff series and the opening of the Sixers' preseason, I'm more excited about the latter. Right?

Especially when one is the reigning champs and the other might well struggle to get into the playoffs at all. Either way...

World's Tallest Rocket: Taking Off!

Bitchin'!

Excuse the grainy/blurry photos, which I surprisingly did not take with my cell phone.  The demo derby was a lot of fun, as was the crowd watching there. It's hard to say you've lived if you've never seen a grown man scream at the top of his lungs "behind you!" to a guy in a running car, 250 yards away, and in the middle of the loudest field on earth.

I have to say that I still don't understand the scoring and tactics of the game, but I suspect that very few in attendance did. I did pick the winner of the second round, though. The girl in the pink car (below), who managed to get through the thing with barely a scratch on her car. Good for her.

I've got a whole bunch of photos I need to go through, and I might put some more up later, but right now I'm scrambling to make up for lost time with school work. I also got some more fair pics I wanna post after the weekend, including pics of my adopted goat. His name is Hefe.

A reference colleague related the following anecdote. In the course of teaching a reference workshop she would hold up photos of users, and the attendees would provide a background profile for them. She showed them a photo of an older gentleman in a plaid flannel shirt with his white hair sticking out at odd angles. Every public librarian in attendance identified the user as a homeless man. every academic librarian in the audience saw a professor emeritus.

- Julie Hersberger, "The homeless and information needs and services"

I think anyone who's ever been here knows my love of English Russia. I don't get there every day, since I find it incredibly time-consuming, given the simplicity of the site. It's not just the complete insanity of the commenters there (this is the only site I actually read the comments on), or the awesome cultural weirdness, but also the way you get to see all of these little things about the Soviet era that would've been swept under the rug of history were it not for the downfall of the regime. The submarine bases at Sevastopol, the Road of Bones, etc...
What's even more amazing is that these things are still there. The USSR ran out of money, and never bothered to cover these things up. Here, the greatest of efforts are made to urge the population to forget about our previous mistakes, and instead to focus on our triumphs, regardless of where they came from*.
So I was pretty shocked to discover on Mental Floss this morning that remnants of Manzanar are still there. Manzanar was one of the "relocation centers" to which we herded the Japanese-Americans on the West coast following the attack on Pearl Harbor. Interestingly enough, Japanese-Americans living in Hawaii at the time were relatively unmolested.
Anyway, I knew that it was made a National historic Site in the nineties, but I had no idea that any of it was still there. It just seems like the sort of thing we would bulldoze, put up a modest marker, and then move on. And while I'm sure they were pressured into doing so, I'm still happy to see that something was done. I have a friend whose parents were interned, and the stories she told me were awful. I like to see that we still wear this black eye.

Anyway, head over to Mental Floss to see the site as it looks today.

It's a road trip I should really consider making, and I guess that "I don't like driving through the desert" isn't really a viable excuse...

*It'll be curious in October, when we're celebrating the moon landing, if much mention is made that the space program which revitalized our national pride was the ultimate result of Nazi scientists and their slave labor. One of the reasons that we've prospered so much as a nation is that we've lifted technologies and methods from every culture around the world. Doesn't it strike you as odd that we feel obligated as a nation to be so proprietary about these ideas?

Cheese steak at Philly West. Not bad at all! Followed that up with n amazing night at Largo, a beer in Echo Park overlooking the city, and then a late breakfast, and you have one of the nicest nights I've ever had.

Beef squashed?

Okay, so I am positive that I've mentioned the Adidas/Puma rivalry and where it stems from on this site, but the search function appears to have lost it and I'm a little angry about it right now. The wheels come off at 961 posts, it would seem.

Anyway, it looks like a tentative step towards (sneaker) peace has been made, with Puma and Adidas employees holding a charity soccer match on Global (sneaker) Peace Day.

Not exactly ground-shaking, but still a nice thing to see.

Seriously, I'm wondering if those posts have been disappeared? I think it was also about the rivalry in the Houses of Huddle and Waffle. It might be time to pack up the tent and mosey on over to somewhere else. Maybe I'll switch at an even 1,000 posts. So look forward to 38 more posts about comic books and pictures of animals pooping!

okay, I updated that link to the mix. Everything should work fine if it didn't earlier. Sorry for the confusion

I don't know if you guys have noticed it, but English Russia has been killing it lately. A couple of weeks ago, they had these great old comic books listed*, and there seems to be quite a number of pagan-themed posts going on as well. Today, though, there's some photos of Lena's Stone Pillars, which is just one of the most amazing things I've ever laid eyes on. Anyway, check it out!

Incidentally, you'd be crazy to think that the pic I posted yesterday of a tank in a sunflower field wasn't from ER, but I actually found it while flipping through an old book and then scanned it.

*I've had that saved in a toolbar for weeks now and never got around to posting it. Apologies!

I have no idea where I found this, but check out this interactive graph of the American labor force from 1850-2000. I played with it for a while earlier and it's worth checking out for a little, even if it is a little scary in some ways...

http://flare.prefuse.org/launch/apps/job_voyager

Abandoned Russian tank on the Eastern front, WWII.

strangely gratifying....

Orange Herald

prepared for test at the Christmas Island Grapple series on 31 May 1957. Yield was 720 kT. The spherical implosion device is seen in this photograph housed in the centre section of a Blue Danube carcass with the nose, tail and panelling removed. The 32-lens implosion system can be clearly seen. The firing unit adapted from Blue Danube can be see at the top left attached to the tubular bulkhead, and with 64 cables radiating from it. Each of the 32 firing cables was duplicated.

huh. Pretty fun.

This whole story about the Phillies ball is pretty sweet, and a lot more in tune with Philly sports crowds than the most peoples' perception, so I'm all for it.

Plus, Judge Stiles gets quoted!

Who's Next?

Who's Next?

1. "Do you believe in the monsters?"
2. "Kiss With a Fist" - Florence and the Machine
3. "Can You Get to That?" - Funkadelic
4. "Lalita" - The Love Language
5. "Carly Simon" - The Haints
6. "Hope Dies Last" - Magnolia Electric Co.
7. "Going Back to Mexico" - Lula Reed
8. "March of the Dawn" - The Mummers
9. "Tattoo" - Petra Haden
10. "Look Back in Anger" - Television Personalities
11. "It's a Gas!"
12. "Deliverance" - Avenue A
13. "Indian War Whoop" - Hoyt Ming and his Pep Steppers
14. "There Goes a Girl" - Johnny Truitt
15. "The Grips" - Benjy Ferree
16. "The Last Kiss" - Aidan Moffett and the Best-Ofs
17. "Nothing but a Heartache" - The Flirtations
18. "You Know My Name (Look Up the Number)" - The Beatles
19. "Ingredients"

So, I haven't gotten to any of the correspondence that I've been waiting to get to, but I have had the bulk of this mix sitting on my desktop for the past 2 months. Some of this is very old and you might well hae heard a lot of it, but it's been played pretty steadily around here lately. This is a little more whimsical than most of my mixes tend to be, but I think it's still worth listening to. But then, that's your call.

download here.

updated link, for anyone having trouble with the last one

People Who Died: Jim Carroll

I just found out about this because I've been away from the internet for like three days. I've always enjoyed his work, from when my stoner English teacher gave me a copy of Book of Nods when I was in 9th grade onwards. He wrote a lot of crap, don't get me wrong. But his work that I like is amazing. I always enjoyed his second diary, Forced Entries, and I think I'll read it again while I have a few days off. Anyway, he'll be missed.

In the Finals that year, he compiled as complete a finish as you'll ever see when he registered a 3-pointer, a free throw, a steal, two rebounds and an assist on the go-ahead layup in the final three minutes of Game 5

Congratulations, John Stockton

I think I need a new nickname...


That could probably use some explaining. It came up in a search earlier. I'm in like hour 20 of working on my last final of the quarter, and I'm listening to a lot of Springsteen. This wasn't intended, just one of those things where I thought about it for a second, and then 20 years later I'd downloaded a bunch of old shows to help me get through the night.

At some point, my dad's favorite song came up. This is no surprise, Bruce played it almost every show. Still, it got me a little saw and since I'm working online, I was wondering if there are any pictures of him on the internet.

This is weird, and something I've never done. I don't keep many pictures, and I've gone to considerable lengths to keep pictures of me form being taken, let alone posted on the internet, but that's a different story. Anyway, my dad was different. He belonged to organizations and did charity work and for years was a township commissioner. So I was surprised when only one picture came up. I was even more surprised when I realized it was for one of my mom's high school reunions. and I just sank in my chair when I saw the picture.

It was late into the cancer. You hear people talk about it sometimes like they'll never forget watching their loved ones shrink away. That it's etched into your mind the way they just vanish so slowly. That's entirely true. It's long and shitty and you hate yourself for making the faces you make when you see them.

But what you never really hear about is what happens afterward. Or at least I didn't ever hear about it. Almost immediately, my memory just skipped over itself and the image of my father as this frail, fading man was practically gone. Almost as if by elastic, my mental image of him snapped back to the way he appeared my whole life before then. I can picture him with beard, without, whatever. Just there, you know? Actually tangible and not a whisper of the man who raised me. Of course, this is a good thing. I'm going to remember him the best way I can, and that hardly includes when he could barely speak from the pain. I guess this is some sort of cosmic right that allows people to cope easier. I'm grateful for it.

So seeing this picture was a blow for me. I haven't seen many of them, because frankly it's too fucking hard. The mercy of not seeing him like that was suddenly robbed of me for a few more minutes.

and I started to think about how unfair it is that it someone who didn't know him were to start looking for a picture of him right now, that's what would show up. It really upset me. Of course, he wouldn't care, and I'm not sure I should. But still, I m going to.

I have to get back to work, though. I cannot stop and think about this now, but I promise that first thing tomorrow I'm going to put up a better picture of him and then tag the hell out of it so that maybe google image won't be such a dick about things.

Anyway, that's all I got. Back to work. My dad would be pissed if he knew I put this stuff down for a half hour.

Anyway, cheerier stuff to come, I promise.

"We are all mutants", say scientists

probably my favorite headline of all time.

I know, I should be working on wrapping up Final #2. Well, I'm closing in on that. Halfway finished and have most of the research all lined up.

That didn't stop me from checking out Mental Floss on a study break.

When I hear the term Victorian, I tend to think of architecture. After that, it's Jack the Ripper, chimney sweeps, child labor, etc... you know, the fun stuff. But lately, what I'm realizing is that I should really just equate "Victorian" with "creepier than a haunted sanitarium".

I should point out that I don't mean that the Victorian-dressed goth kids are creepy. In fact, I admire their tenacity, especially in a subculture that has let itself go to a depressing (no pun intended) degree. I have no inclination to put on a corset and pointy hat and carry around a lace umbrella, but I respect that decision. At least more than the decision to wear ten year old Marilyn Manson t-shirts accompanied by a leash and acne.

But that's neither here nor there. Because what I'm talking about is the everyday Victorian-era items that are routinely used to terrify me. Like baby carriages, medical equipment, and the super-creepy practice of port-mortem photography. I mean, I get it, and I can sort of understand that having a portrait, any portrait of the deceased might be a valuable memento. I get that.

But Mental Floss went the extra mile by showing me a number of post-mortem pictures in which the deceased is posed as if they are awake and alive. Sometimes, retinas are painted on their eyelids.

I think I can blame a lot of my vear of all things Victorian on the slew of horror movies that make great use of these props (and often nothing else), but I still have nobody to blame but you, dead people of the era, for this insanity.

for shaaaaaaame.

Now I'm supposed to try and sleep? Great.