Friday, February 27, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
hypocrisy, or, quote of the day
"We believe health care decisions should be made between a patient and his or her doctor."
-Bobby Jindal, Republican response to Obama's speech, 2/24/09
-Bobby Jindal, Republican response to Obama's speech, 2/24/09
Monday, February 23, 2009
'let me ask you this...'
"Let me ask you this. Red meat has been found to cause cancer in white rats. Maraschino cherries have been found to cause cancer in white rats. Cellular phones have been found to cause cancer in white rats. Has anyone examined the possibility that cancer might be hereditary in white rats?"
-Margaret, The West Wing
-Margaret, The West Wing
Saturday, February 21, 2009
'with the wild wolves around you in the morning i'll call you...'
I've been listening, this past week, to Wisconsin's Bon Iver,
specifically For Emma, Forever Ago.
Also from For Emma: Skinny Love, Lump Sum, Flume
Friday, February 20, 2009
quote of the day
Everyone's favorite ignoramus, Rick Santorum, had this to say at a recent lecture on Islam at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln:
"A democracy could not exist because Mohammad already made the perfect law. The Quran is perfect just the way it is, that's why it is only written in Islamic."
Islamic? And is the New Testament only written in Christian?
"A democracy could not exist because Mohammad already made the perfect law. The Quran is perfect just the way it is, that's why it is only written in Islamic."
Islamic? And is the New Testament only written in Christian?
toothpaste, or, the overwhelming drive of consumerism
I needed new toothpaste the other day and found myself transfixed in the dental hygiene aisle of my local drug store. I mean, how many damned toothpastes does the world really need?
My selection is relatively narrow, in that I use Sensodyne because unfortunately it's not just my personality that's prone, at times, to oversensitivity. But even within this one brand there are eight different kinds of toothpaste, and I can never remember, when faced with choosing one, which kinds I've tried and liked or not liked, or even which kind I currently have at home. Was it Fresh Mint or Original Flavor or Fresh Impact? What exactly does Cool Gel Fresh Flavor taste like, anyway? Did I get suckered in by the Extra Whitening last time? Which one was it that I really disliked? Why wouldn't I want Full Protection Plus Whitening, and why is there a separate Tartar Control when presumably tartar control is part of Full Protection Plus Whitening? Is their new ProNamel really going to reharden my enamel and protect my pearly whites from wine stains, fruit acids, and general wear and tear?
And that's only one brand, and a small one at that. Have you seen the ever-lengthening aisles of Crest? Of Colgate? Of Tom's of Maine? A girl could lose it in the toothpaste aisle, I swear to God.
My selection is relatively narrow, in that I use Sensodyne because unfortunately it's not just my personality that's prone, at times, to oversensitivity. But even within this one brand there are eight different kinds of toothpaste, and I can never remember, when faced with choosing one, which kinds I've tried and liked or not liked, or even which kind I currently have at home. Was it Fresh Mint or Original Flavor or Fresh Impact? What exactly does Cool Gel Fresh Flavor taste like, anyway? Did I get suckered in by the Extra Whitening last time? Which one was it that I really disliked? Why wouldn't I want Full Protection Plus Whitening, and why is there a separate Tartar Control when presumably tartar control is part of Full Protection Plus Whitening? Is their new ProNamel really going to reharden my enamel and protect my pearly whites from wine stains, fruit acids, and general wear and tear?
And that's only one brand, and a small one at that. Have you seen the ever-lengthening aisles of Crest? Of Colgate? Of Tom's of Maine? A girl could lose it in the toothpaste aisle, I swear to God.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
Sunday, February 15, 2009
'she's dancing round in circles, stripping off her armor'
I've been listening this evening to Benewah Road, the most recent project from David Hoffman of Harrison, Idaho days.
On the David note, there must be something about that particular name, because it always seems like the Davids in my life are amongst the kindest, coolest people in the world.
And on the Idaho note, there's a book I might buy if I were buying books these days, by the name of On All Sides Nowhere, the story of a man who went off into the wilds of northern Idaho for graduate school (yes, they have graduate schools in the wilds of Idaho!) and has this to say about the state that Gregory Peck's character in On the Beach claimed as home:
Idaho first registered on my consciousness at the movies. In the summer of 1960 I was sixteen, and in the middle of August there was no place in suburban Pennsylvania to find air conditioning except in supermarkets or theaters. I could not spend summer days amid the cabbages and canned goods, and so to escape the heat I went with my friends as often as I could to the movies; one of the movies I sought out was an elegy for the waning days of modern civilization, On the Beach.
To the filmgoing public in 1960, keenly aware that despite all the best intentions the cold war could suddently turn hot, the movie was perfectly credibe. It was set only a few years into the future; a calendar on the wall read, ominously, "1964." Nuclear war of undisclosed origins had killed everyone in the Northern Hemisphere, and now, as a lethal cloud of radiation spread slowly over the planet, one of the last surviving groups of humans clustered in Melbourne, Australia, to await the end. It was an intoxicating, almost carnivalesque, experience. Gregory Peck played the romantic lead opposite Ava Gardner, and at one point in the film, Peck, the taciturn commander of a nuclear submarine, tells Ava Gardner about his origins. In answer to her question about his childhood home, he repies with a single word that at the time seemed more homiletic than informative: "Idaho."
Whose decision was it for Peck to calim Idaho for his birthplace? Of all the possible states the scriptwriter could have chosen, why that one? And it was a choice: for the record, Peck was born in La Jolla, California, and his character in Nevil Shute's novel from which the movie was adapted comes from Westport, Connecticut. Peck's "Idaho" drops like a stone into a wel of unknown depth; it falls without a trace, without echo. It is a piece, apparently, of purely gratuitous information.
Why Idaho? The name resonates oddly with Melbourne and San Francisco, the environments of On the Beach. Those places set the mood of the film. To Americans in 1960, Melbournce was alien, exotic, and San Francisco brought to mind the glitz and romance of California. Set in that context, and set against the despairing hedonism of humans who number their remaining days according to the drifting global winds, "Idaho" seems dissonant. Its sound is stark, but as Peck speaks it, it sounds also moral and attractive. It seems to express Peck's loneliness, his longing for the simplicity of childhood and for the innocence of a world before the Bomb. None of the familiar mythic names of the American West, not Texas or Oregon or Colorado, would have the same aura of pure expressivity. My guess is that the name "Idaho" was chosen for its semantic emptiness. The name made sense because to most people "Idaho" meant nothing, and, meaning nothing, it could stand in for the infinite pathos of a world that would shortly cease to exist. Idaho was then, and in some ways still is, a geographic What You Will, and as a result the name "Idaho" becomes a kind of cultural Rorschach test for whoever happens to reflect on it.
On the David note, there must be something about that particular name, because it always seems like the Davids in my life are amongst the kindest, coolest people in the world.
And on the Idaho note, there's a book I might buy if I were buying books these days, by the name of On All Sides Nowhere, the story of a man who went off into the wilds of northern Idaho for graduate school (yes, they have graduate schools in the wilds of Idaho!) and has this to say about the state that Gregory Peck's character in On the Beach claimed as home:
Idaho first registered on my consciousness at the movies. In the summer of 1960 I was sixteen, and in the middle of August there was no place in suburban Pennsylvania to find air conditioning except in supermarkets or theaters. I could not spend summer days amid the cabbages and canned goods, and so to escape the heat I went with my friends as often as I could to the movies; one of the movies I sought out was an elegy for the waning days of modern civilization, On the Beach.
To the filmgoing public in 1960, keenly aware that despite all the best intentions the cold war could suddently turn hot, the movie was perfectly credibe. It was set only a few years into the future; a calendar on the wall read, ominously, "1964." Nuclear war of undisclosed origins had killed everyone in the Northern Hemisphere, and now, as a lethal cloud of radiation spread slowly over the planet, one of the last surviving groups of humans clustered in Melbourne, Australia, to await the end. It was an intoxicating, almost carnivalesque, experience. Gregory Peck played the romantic lead opposite Ava Gardner, and at one point in the film, Peck, the taciturn commander of a nuclear submarine, tells Ava Gardner about his origins. In answer to her question about his childhood home, he repies with a single word that at the time seemed more homiletic than informative: "Idaho."
Whose decision was it for Peck to calim Idaho for his birthplace? Of all the possible states the scriptwriter could have chosen, why that one? And it was a choice: for the record, Peck was born in La Jolla, California, and his character in Nevil Shute's novel from which the movie was adapted comes from Westport, Connecticut. Peck's "Idaho" drops like a stone into a wel of unknown depth; it falls without a trace, without echo. It is a piece, apparently, of purely gratuitous information.
Why Idaho? The name resonates oddly with Melbourne and San Francisco, the environments of On the Beach. Those places set the mood of the film. To Americans in 1960, Melbournce was alien, exotic, and San Francisco brought to mind the glitz and romance of California. Set in that context, and set against the despairing hedonism of humans who number their remaining days according to the drifting global winds, "Idaho" seems dissonant. Its sound is stark, but as Peck speaks it, it sounds also moral and attractive. It seems to express Peck's loneliness, his longing for the simplicity of childhood and for the innocence of a world before the Bomb. None of the familiar mythic names of the American West, not Texas or Oregon or Colorado, would have the same aura of pure expressivity. My guess is that the name "Idaho" was chosen for its semantic emptiness. The name made sense because to most people "Idaho" meant nothing, and, meaning nothing, it could stand in for the infinite pathos of a world that would shortly cease to exist. Idaho was then, and in some ways still is, a geographic What You Will, and as a result the name "Idaho" becomes a kind of cultural Rorschach test for whoever happens to reflect on it.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
