Take the quiz: "What Monarch Are You?" Henry VIII You are impuslive, temperamental, and autocratic. You make strong decisions based on your gut reactions. You are true to you friends, but if they betray you in the slightest way, then they're OUT. You like being in a monogamous relationship, but if you feel betrayed, you will tear apart the peson that hurt you. You are brilliant! But impulsive. Work on the impulsive streak, and continue being brilliant!
In One Stroke, Podcasting Hits Mainstream: "(Makers of rival players, on the other hand, must be gnashing their teeth and every other body part. According to an article in The Seattle Post-Intelligencer, in fact, Microsoft employees are pointedly using the unappetizing term 'blogcast,' just so they won't have to say or type the word Pod.)"
My work ting on the Upper West Side is ending Friday. My time at the higher latitude has changed me. It began subtly--I only wanted my coffee from Zabar's. It was confirmed yesterday when I caught myself reading the New Yorker on the subway.
Sadly, I must admit that I contributed about $20 to the Island's $12 million flop opening. Brian reckons that the cast--Ewan McGregor, Scarlett Johansson, Steve Buscemi, Djimon Hounsou--were tricked into the Michael Bay mess. Don't blame the actors--ScarJo channelled her inner Tara Reid (I think it was the hair).
When a Dog Day Afternoon Starts Before Dawn: "Call it the Grumpy Factor, a phenomenon tied to humidity. In a nursery-rhyme-science sort of a way, the Grumpy Factor explains how unpleasantness can shuffle across the city, lighting tempers and darkening moods."
Unfortunately, this zeitgeist has taken hold of me too.
I bought that book over the weekend because a) it won't get any cheaper, and b) classes start up in just about one month and no more pleasure reading after that. Of course, I don't want everyone to know that I am reading it so I took the dust jacket off. A few other people on the train had the tell-tale purple binding after removing the dust jacket as well. But still, I thought, no one will see mine.
But my ruse was busted when a young woman sat down next to me on the train with the purple book out. She gave me one of those up and down looks that said that she knew what I was doing. I think she was on the same page as well. I'm still not reading it on the subway though.
Ever sit around and wonder what would happen if a lion attacked a crocodile? Well, even if you don't, television does it for you now. My sister's Tivo had Animal Face Off waiting for me. It's like animal documentary crossed with battle bots. Geeks, erm, scientists study the animal movements, build models and then animate the big face off. And best of all, no animals really get hurt. Everyone is a little better off for this show. (Darn it though, my non satellite television does not carry it--I'll forever wonder about Colossal Squid vs. Sperm Whale).
Yesterday morning at the train station a few cops were milling around. That was not strange since there has been a "presence" since the London bombings. The train before mine pulled late. That also was not strange since trains often run late. However, it was strange that the conductors brought a few cops on board for a conference. And that everyone on the platform was then told to move away from the train. Then to move across the parking lot (and across the street for good measure). We waited for a few more cop cars to drive by, a few firetrucks to idle by the perimeter. Eventually the K-9 patrol arrived and sniffed no bombs on the train. Then we went on our merry way. No, not merry--weary, scared, and late, actually.
The Speech the President Should Give: "The only possible presidential speech fantasy in my wildest of daydreams, my oratorical castle in the air, is that one day, for just one measly speech, the president... would sit behind his Oval Office desk, stare into a TV camera and say: 'My fellow Americans, good evening. As if that's possible.' He continues, 'We are a divided people, but let us celebrate what we have in common. We don't all worship the same god. Some of us do not believe in a god at all. But the good news is that, thanks to me, we all now believe in the Apocalypse. You're welcome.'"
Sarah Vowell is hitting her stride. MauDo should stay on book leave just a bit longer, or someone at least give Ms. Vowell a HuffPo blog.
Survey reveals good, bad and ugly: "If everyone in Concord [NH] got their wish, the city would have a river walk, a major university and a dog park. There would be a strip club, a conservative newspaper and a leash law for cats. Downtown would have more stores, and so would the mall."
Other suggestions are a Chinatown and a Ben & Jerry's ice cream shop. I would like to add a Starbucks, more decent restaurants, a Whole Foods, better movie theater, a Kiehls... and since reality isn't a factor here, let's move the city across the Atlantic to where Paris is, for example. I also want mango trees and cats that never get larger than kittens.
The Huffington Post | Summer of Love: "And because it's The West Wing through the eyes of a 16 year-old, you get takes you're not going to get from the New York Times television critic. For instance, one night Christina said, 'You know what? When I watch The O.C. all I think about is my weight, but when I watch The West Wing I don't care.' Which explains the box of Cocoa Puffs next to her bed!
So you want a role model for your teen-aged girl? Give her C.J. Cregg not The O.C.'s Julie Cooper"
Well, yeah! (Though Buffy is still the best role model because she also gets to fight).
Boone v. Jackson (aka Fabolous) [PDF]: The presence of the phrase “holla back,” rapped in an eighth note, eighth note, quarter note rhythmic pattern in the hook of each song is too common to be protectable. [Cite]. Evidence proffered by the defendant noting the presence of the phrase “holla back” in numerous songs demonstrates the banal and therefore unprotectable nature of the phrase. [Cite]...The appearance of the phrase “holla back” in the Urban Dictionary further supports defendant’s contention that the phrase is common and therefore unprotectable. Finally, plaintiff’s expert’s own admission that the phrase “holla back” rapped in an eighth note, eighth note, quarter note pattern is neither original nor unique undercuts a finding of substantial similarity. It is black letter law that common phrases such as “Holla Back” are not protectable.
Beyond Gay Marriage: "[A] quiet social revolution is proceeding apace, as unmarried
households of all ages and backgrounds work to forge collective economic and social rights. By drafting novel cohabitation contracts, pressing for state and local legislation, challenging discriminatory laws and urging employers to expand benefits, they have begun to create the kind of household recognitions that befit a genuinely pluralistic society. They have done so without an organized political infrastructure and without any major political party championing their rights."
Heaven or Las Vegas: "Some claim the end of CBGB's is overdue, and that its continued existence has been symptomatic of a current flabbiness in punk rock; that punk, once the great exhorter of annihilation, of ripping up and starting again, has reached an age where it can grow attached to its family heirlooms. Would it really be fitting to shift CBGB's to Vegas, to pickle and preserve it as one of America's great cultural artefacts, as a place where tourists can take time out from the casinos and Celine Dion concerts to visit this freakshow museum of sorts and buy their branded punk-rock memorabilia?"
Burn yr idols, yadda, whatever. All faded icons end up in Vegas or the Smithsonian. I know which I would choose, given the choice.
With Covers, Publishers Take More Than Page From Rivals: "When a book hits stores with a cover nearly identical to another's, it's the publishing equivalent of arriving at a party wearing the same dress as the hostess. But while book jacket look-alikes may chafe publishers, it happens more often than you might think."
Featuring my former employer, who has now been consumed by Getty Images. Fortunately, this wasn't my fault. However, it is sort of embarassing to have your largest grey area exposed in the newspaper.
Astrologer Sues NASA Over Comet Mission: "Marina Bai has sued the U.S. space agency, claiming the Deep Impact probe that punched a crater into the comet Tempel 1 late Sunday 'ruins the natural balance of forces in the universe,' the newspaper Izvestia reported Tuesday... Bai is seeking damages totaling $300 million--the approximate equivalent of the mission's cost--for her 'moral sufferings,' Izvestia said, citing her lawyer Alexander Molokhov. She earlier told the paper that the experiment would 'deform her horoscope.'"
They would stare right through you, even when you were talking to them, neighbors recalled. The three wore black dresses and often donned Sunday church hats even in the heat of summer. At Halloween, they gave away $10 and $20 bills to the trick-or-treaters who knocked on their door...
Even as Gabriel Durand lay decomposing, the other women had been going about their lives in the apartment, stepping over the body, the police said. Recently, they ate Chinese takeout. The containers were still on the table when the police arrived."
Museums Use New Tools to Fix Old Works: "John Singer Sargent's 'Madame X' developed strange tiny bumps under her right arm and along the back of her head. A set of drawings by Louis Comfort Tiffany was crumpled, frayed and stained by water and mold. The enamel on a fish pendant was not as old as it should have been, suggesting that the piece might be a fake.
With a collection exceeding two million works, the Metropolitan Museum of Art encounters such problems often enough to keep a staff of eight full-time scientists busy... The scientists have an arsenal of tests - from microscopy and X-rays to more complicated ones with names like X-ray fluorescence and Raman spectroscopy - to analyze just what an object (or the grime on its surface) is made of, how it was made and what can be done to repair or stabilize a problem."
Rather, Met: Art Scene Investigators, but that would be stretching the joke too far.
Not just a place to do your hair: "A new exhibition at the Jewish Museum in New York traces the development of the salon and showcases the women who ran them from Paris in the early 17th century to Hollywood in the 1940s when, the curators suggest, the taste for sociable, intellectual conversation in such domestic spaces died. Thereafter salons just became places where you got your hair done."
And just the other day I was lamenting the loss of salons after finishing Swann's Way (not that I want to be anywhere near Mme Verdurin, but still!).
