Um, I kinda want this. Is that nutty?
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Friday, January 30, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Wow.
Conde Nast magazines are feeling the pinch, it would seem.
I have here previously bemoaned the sad political flogfest Vanity Fair has become under the heavy hand of Graydon Carter. In old days, when the new VF arrived, I'd tear into it and spend an afternoon with an iced tea reading my way through. However, after 15+ years as a subscriber, I recognized I could no longer support GC's poltical proselytizing, despite the occasional levity of Christopher Hitchens and a few non-politically oriented delights.
I've dropped nearly all my subscriptions and once read, most magazines find their way to the trash in my house these days. Of course, Vanity Fair was the first one I actively chose not to renew.
It's interesting to me, then, to see Vanity Fair's ad revenues have declined by 15.5% last year. This can not bode well. Then again, maybe their advertisers have grown tired of the DNC mouthpiece, or perhaps their customers have let them know they are tired of it. In any case, I'm well out of it.
Conde Nast magazines are feeling the pinch, it would seem.
I have here previously bemoaned the sad political flogfest Vanity Fair has become under the heavy hand of Graydon Carter. In old days, when the new VF arrived, I'd tear into it and spend an afternoon with an iced tea reading my way through. However, after 15+ years as a subscriber, I recognized I could no longer support GC's poltical proselytizing, despite the occasional levity of Christopher Hitchens and a few non-politically oriented delights.
I've dropped nearly all my subscriptions and once read, most magazines find their way to the trash in my house these days. Of course, Vanity Fair was the first one I actively chose not to renew.
It's interesting to me, then, to see Vanity Fair's ad revenues have declined by 15.5% last year. This can not bode well. Then again, maybe their advertisers have grown tired of the DNC mouthpiece, or perhaps their customers have let them know they are tired of it. In any case, I'm well out of it.
A friend loaned me Storm Front, the first of the Dresden Files series by Jim Butcher. This book was rollicking right along and I liked it well enough, but he had me at shoe-whore vampiress:
Um, what's not to like? The *squeee* was added by me, by the way.
Anyway, as I said, I loved the book. Good pacing and action kept this an enjoyable read, but then, at the very end, the author referenced a most profound poem, and I was mightily impressed.
Yeats had some kooky ideas, but The Second Coming seems eerily prescient. He believed the world was a gyre, a great spiral which would become increasingly unstable until-- at the end of the second millennium-- things would hie themselves to a fiery place in the conveyance of a woven basket. Turning in a widening gyre, the falcon flies up and away from the falconer and cannot hear him call for the return to its base. The falcon and falconer represent the primitive self and the intellect, with the former no longer governed by the wisdom of the latter. Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold. A structure with no core can not be stable. The wild outward spirals of the falcon only make for more instability. What a mess.
Then again, Yeats was living at the end of a century, and in such times, people always consider their moment pregnant with gravity and potential for as-yet-untold degrees of horror and misery. Probably means nothing at all, but it sounds mighty pretty.
Stop me now. I'll type for hours. Anyhoo. What was the point? Oh, yeah: read The Dresden Files. You'll like 'em.
The Second Coming
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all around it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
William Butler Yeats
She came into the room like a candle burning with a cold, clear flame. ...She was not a tall woman, but shapely, wearing a black dress with a plunging neckline and a slash in one side that showed off a generous portion of pale thigh. Black gloves covered her hands to above the elbows, and her three-hundred-dollar shoes [*SQUEEE*] were a study in high-heeled torture devices...
Um, what's not to like? The *squeee* was added by me, by the way.
Anyway, as I said, I loved the book. Good pacing and action kept this an enjoyable read, but then, at the very end, the author referenced a most profound poem, and I was mightily impressed.
Falcons and falconers.
The centre cannot hold.
Yeats had some kooky ideas, but The Second Coming seems eerily prescient. He believed the world was a gyre, a great spiral which would become increasingly unstable until-- at the end of the second millennium-- things would hie themselves to a fiery place in the conveyance of a woven basket. Turning in a widening gyre, the falcon flies up and away from the falconer and cannot hear him call for the return to its base. The falcon and falconer represent the primitive self and the intellect, with the former no longer governed by the wisdom of the latter. Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold. A structure with no core can not be stable. The wild outward spirals of the falcon only make for more instability. What a mess.
Then again, Yeats was living at the end of a century, and in such times, people always consider their moment pregnant with gravity and potential for as-yet-untold degrees of horror and misery. Probably means nothing at all, but it sounds mighty pretty.
Stop me now. I'll type for hours. Anyhoo. What was the point? Oh, yeah: read The Dresden Files. You'll like 'em.
The Second Coming
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all around it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
William Butler Yeats
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Nazi Drip-fest
Monday was delectably dreary- *bliss* - so I was much in the vein to go to the cinema. Various folk told me I could see a film where Nazis get shot. No, no, no, sez I - I don't want to see some Nazi drip-fest. So I unwittingly went see The Reader starring Kate Winslet and Ralph Fiennes at the local art film moviehouse.
Harumph.
So I went to see a movie I'd heard nothing about, but I liked the prinicpal actors. Guess what? Nazis! Dripfest! The world is lousy with 'em. Can't get away, apparently. Anyway, it was a gorgeous and sad movie. I kept thinking of Rocky Horror singing "I'm at the start of a pretty big downer!"
I'll prolly skip Valkyrie, as I'm not down with the Tom Cruise scene and all that, but if he made a movie appropriate to the comic cover at the right, I'd totally go see that movie.
*sigh*
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
...because i'm a masochist, that's why.
*shudder*
We all know we have fashion horrors in our pasts, and we live daily putting such hideousness behind us. However, Facebook has found a way to keep the anguish alive and spooling out forever.
Someone posted part of my senior class yearbook photo. I think considering how some other folk look, I bear up reasonably well.
Still, this was my mullet. There were many like it, but this one was mine. Blue shirt, second row. Do keep in mind I was a mere breath away from the choppy-offy punkette hair phase. And yeah, my face is blurry - I never could be still.
We all know we have fashion horrors in our pasts, and we live daily putting such hideousness behind us. However, Facebook has found a way to keep the anguish alive and spooling out forever.
Someone posted part of my senior class yearbook photo. I think considering how some other folk look, I bear up reasonably well.
Still, this was my mullet. There were many like it, but this one was mine. Blue shirt, second row. Do keep in mind I was a mere breath away from the choppy-offy punkette hair phase. And yeah, my face is blurry - I never could be still.
Are you sitting down? I'm about to write in defense of Michelle Obama
I know: I can hardly believe it myself.
Michelle Obama's wardrobe has inspired a lot of breathless praise in the media, that Narciso Rodriguez fantase dans la clef d'Black Widow notwithstanding. However, not everyone is happy with her sartorial choices:
Isn't there something insulting about any group of people bawling like newly-weaned calves about the raiment of a woman who's only been First Lady for 7 blasted days? The mere fact that this group takes umbrage at MO's fashions seems to indicate they believe Michelle's husband-- at least in part-- is POTUS due to his racial makeup, and she should dance with the ones wot brung her. Ironic, much? I wonder if the Obamas take umbrage at such presumptuousness? They should do.
I am pleased that in recent days MO seems to be making style selections which are more classic and elegant in nature than at times prior to the inauguration. She will have many hundreds of formal appearances over the next 4 years. I have no doubt that sooner or later, she's probably going to don she then her gay apparel designed by just about every ethnic group.
Why should she be beholden to any group of designers? Why can't she wear what she likes, what fits her well and what she deems appropriate to the occasion? Why can't she choose her garments by the content of their couture and not by the color of the person whose name is on the label?
Michelle Obama's wardrobe has inspired a lot of breathless praise in the media, that Narciso Rodriguez fantase dans la clef d'Black Widow notwithstanding. However, not everyone is happy with her sartorial choices:
The Black Artists Association is chiding FLOTUS for not choosing any African-American designers.
Isn't there something insulting about any group of people bawling like newly-weaned calves about the raiment of a woman who's only been First Lady for 7 blasted days? The mere fact that this group takes umbrage at MO's fashions seems to indicate they believe Michelle's husband-- at least in part-- is POTUS due to his racial makeup, and she should dance with the ones wot brung her. Ironic, much? I wonder if the Obamas take umbrage at such presumptuousness? They should do.
I am pleased that in recent days MO seems to be making style selections which are more classic and elegant in nature than at times prior to the inauguration. She will have many hundreds of formal appearances over the next 4 years. I have no doubt that sooner or later, she's probably going to don she then her gay apparel designed by just about every ethnic group.
Why should she be beholden to any group of designers? Why can't she wear what she likes, what fits her well and what she deems appropriate to the occasion? Why can't she choose her garments by the content of their couture and not by the color of the person whose name is on the label?
Monday, January 26, 2009
Poppies! Poppies! Poppies will put them to sleep!
We're told to shut up and fall in line because everything's sweetness and light. Mike-istan has a good post up about that very thing.
Now, my beauties: something with poison in it, I think. With poison in it, but attractive to the eye and soothing to the smell...
You know, I'm sympathetic to those folks who were led astray by ruthless investment hucksters, truly I am. The truth is that pretty much everyone I know of who has an IRA has been hard-hit by the downward caprices of the stock market, so the economic mess has been the sinking tide which lowers all boats. Ideally, most of those folks are young enough that if they continue to invest apace in their IRA, this can be a big building time for the portfolio of someone with at least 10 years to go before they need to tap those funds for living expenses[so long as no one hits the reset button].
But someone who lost millions? Jeepers. Doesn't everyone on earth know to diversify, and particularly people with that amount of dosh lying about? So the untold story is so-and-so lost millions, but what are their other holdings? Someone barely making ends meet supporting a family on $25K loses their job and they've got real problems. Someone losing millions in a stock scam is probably not going to have the electricity cut off at their ski lodge in Banff. I'm guessing the person who lost those millions will not be queuing up for a job washing the streets they used to own. After all- they are richer, smarter and better than pretty much everyone else, and what's the point of having all those advantages if they are not insulated from consequences in life?
But, heigh ho! There's good news: there are lots of ways to turn it around and find the gleaming pot of gold at the end of the tunnel. Here's an article on MSN.com about how to turn your capital losses into a silver lining. It's called Get your Madoff deduction here! I'm not kidding about the title. Yet more evidence that if you lose on a real, skin-of-your-teeth level, you're pretty much ood-scray, but if you lose big-- well, that's everyone else's problem, including the skin-of-their-teeth folk.
from the video teaser on the article:
Thank goodness there's real help for the folks who really rate. *snerk*
But someone who lost millions? Jeepers. Doesn't everyone on earth know to diversify, and particularly people with that amount of dosh lying about? So the untold story is so-and-so lost millions, but what are their other holdings? Someone barely making ends meet supporting a family on $25K loses their job and they've got real problems. Someone losing millions in a stock scam is probably not going to have the electricity cut off at their ski lodge in Banff. I'm guessing the person who lost those millions will not be queuing up for a job washing the streets they used to own. After all- they are richer, smarter and better than pretty much everyone else, and what's the point of having all those advantages if they are not insulated from consequences in life?
But, heigh ho! There's good news: there are lots of ways to turn it around and find the gleaming pot of gold at the end of the tunnel. Here's an article on MSN.com about how to turn your capital losses into a silver lining. It's called Get your Madoff deduction here! I'm not kidding about the title. Yet more evidence that if you lose on a real, skin-of-your-teeth level, you're pretty much ood-scray, but if you lose big-- well, that's everyone else's problem, including the skin-of-their-teeth folk.
from the video teaser on the article:
You can deduct almost anything, if you know the rules. Even body parts.
Thank goodness there's real help for the folks who really rate. *snerk*
Sunday, January 25, 2009
The Storage Space of Dorian Gray.
I've been cleaning and organizing my apartment and hauling stuff off to Goodwill and throwing things out.
Will I ever finish that paint-by-numbers zebra I meant to festoon with big red kissy lips? Probably not. Quilting? May get back to that- keep that fabric in holding pattern. Oodles of other craft projects? Nah. Let it go.
I have been sorting through and trying to pare down my sprawling collection of possessions, but owing to living in a relatively small space, keeping some things in storage seems unavoidable. I seem to remember George Carlin talking about stuff. "...if you didn't have so much stuff, you wouldn't need a house" and "all a house is is a pile of stuff with a cover on it." Got that right.
I cleaned like a fiend on Friday and got the place more tidy than it's been in yonks. There's also much less stuff here, owing to the departure of unstuffed and peed-on furniture, as well as basketloads of clothing that went to Goodwill. Someone might look at my apartment and think I live in a relatively tidy way (I do, actually) and that it never gets nasty in here (clean clutter is the extent of it). But even if someone esle thinks I'm Donna Reed, I know what's in the storage and it weighs on me whether I see it or not. I'm always thinking I've got to do something about all that stuff. I'm ready to be more settled in a slightly larger space (with more studio room) and at that time I want to be done with paying for a storage unit forever. I may not make it, but I call that a worthy goal, anyway.
I've let go of so many objects in the last 6 months which I thought I'd never part with-- even so, why is it so hard to just let the impersonal objects go? I mean, you do have to have a certain amount of stuff to live, but more and more, the bits and bobs mean less and less to me.
They say if you love something, set it free and all that bullcorn.
Well, Friday I tossed away the boomerang sofa. Let's see if it comes back, but I'm not holding my breath-- I don't have room.
I've been cleaning and organizing my apartment and hauling stuff off to Goodwill and throwing things out.
Will I ever finish that paint-by-numbers zebra I meant to festoon with big red kissy lips? Probably not. Quilting? May get back to that- keep that fabric in holding pattern. Oodles of other craft projects? Nah. Let it go.
I have been sorting through and trying to pare down my sprawling collection of possessions, but owing to living in a relatively small space, keeping some things in storage seems unavoidable. I seem to remember George Carlin talking about stuff. "...if you didn't have so much stuff, you wouldn't need a house" and "all a house is is a pile of stuff with a cover on it." Got that right.
I cleaned like a fiend on Friday and got the place more tidy than it's been in yonks. There's also much less stuff here, owing to the departure of unstuffed and peed-on furniture, as well as basketloads of clothing that went to Goodwill. Someone might look at my apartment and think I live in a relatively tidy way (I do, actually) and that it never gets nasty in here (clean clutter is the extent of it). But even if someone esle thinks I'm Donna Reed, I know what's in the storage and it weighs on me whether I see it or not. I'm always thinking I've got to do something about all that stuff. I'm ready to be more settled in a slightly larger space (with more studio room) and at that time I want to be done with paying for a storage unit forever. I may not make it, but I call that a worthy goal, anyway.
I've let go of so many objects in the last 6 months which I thought I'd never part with-- even so, why is it so hard to just let the impersonal objects go? I mean, you do have to have a certain amount of stuff to live, but more and more, the bits and bobs mean less and less to me.
They say if you love something, set it free and all that bullcorn.
Well, Friday I tossed away the boomerang sofa. Let's see if it comes back, but I'm not holding my breath-- I don't have room.
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