Feels like a two-fer of sadness today what with the death of Coretta Scott King and the speedy swearing-in of Judge Alito. It's not enough to hustle him into robes so that he can be confirmed in the afternoon, attend the State of the Union in the evening but Trent Lott has to shoot his mouth off about how the only reason anyone could oppose Alito is partisanship.
John Powers talks about this entertainingly in his book Sore Winners, that it's not enough to simply emerge victorious; it's important to smush your opponents' noses in their defeat. Indeed. In writing about the 2000 Election, Powers says that he wasn't expecting Bush to have won and then notes that, in retrospect, since Gladiator won best picture that year, he should have read the zeitgeist a little more closely.
So then what are we to glean from this year's nominees for Best Picture? Brokeback Mountain, Munich, Good Night and Good Luck, Crash and Capote? Other than the fact that the liberal, homosexual agenda is obviously thriving (go zeitgeist! woo hoo!)
Enough of that. I had to order a book from Amazon for school and I am a total sucker for the little message that says, "Wait! Add just $8.91 to your order and it qualifies for free shipping!" The book I ordered to push my $ over the threshold was 99 Ways to Tell a Story: Exercises in Style by Matt Madden.
Here's the story, as transcribed by Bookslut:
A young man sits at his desk, hard at work on his laptop.
He stands up and folds the laptop down.
As he walks out of the room, he stops for a second.
“What time is it?” asks a voice.
“It’s 1:15,” he says.
The voice says “Thanks!”
He opens the fridge.
The young man then stares at the open fridge.
He thinks to himself: What the hell was I looking for, anyway?!
I should point out that these are cartoons. Madden experiments with not only cartooning styles (underground comix, political cartoon, superhero) and narrative styles (point of view, language, etc.) but with everything. 99 is a lot of variations and setting the bar so high forces innovative approaches (tell the story as an advertisement, as a tapestry, as a map.)
What if it happened in a different location? What if everything was the opposite (and what does "opposite" mean when applied to "everything")? What if it had different text? Different images?
It's tough to describe how charming this book is; the website offers a sliver that suggests the joy.
Monday, January 16, 2006
Chicago is getting a smoking ban this week for "public places." What's a public place? Well, it's not a restaurant or a tavern; they have until July 1, 2008. Furthermore, establishments that can demonstrate that they have a kickass air filtration system can continue to allow smoking. I'm assuming that "demonstrate" is code for "pay off the inspector" but whatever.
Also this week, the Marshall McGearty Tobacco Artisans Lounge is opening in Wicker Park. As far as I can tell, it's going to be like a brewpub for tobacco...they handroll swanky cigarettes and put them in a fancy box. According to the Sun Times, the place is like a coffee shop with WiFi, board games, sofas, a full bar, desserts and snacks. And deep pockets, the whole venture is underwritten by RJ Reynolds, whose research indicates that 20% of smokers have "a superpremium mindset" whatever the hell that is.
This seems like a fantastic idea, this swanky cigarette place. As someone who enjoys the occasional cigarette, yet would enjoy dancing or eating an omlette a lot more if there wasn't anyone smoking nearby, I think that people should be permitted to vice up SOMEPLACE without huddling near the parking meters. By flagging it as a Tobacco Artisans Lounge, it's a clear signal that there is going to be smoking and lots of it indoors (they claim to have one of those kickass air filtration systems) and if that grosses you out, there are certainly plenty of other places for you to go in the neighborhood.
If tobacco lounges blew up the way coffee shops did, little neighborhood places to sit on old, velvet furniture and smoke, well that sounds awesome.
Also this week, the Marshall McGearty Tobacco Artisans Lounge is opening in Wicker Park. As far as I can tell, it's going to be like a brewpub for tobacco...they handroll swanky cigarettes and put them in a fancy box. According to the Sun Times, the place is like a coffee shop with WiFi, board games, sofas, a full bar, desserts and snacks. And deep pockets, the whole venture is underwritten by RJ Reynolds, whose research indicates that 20% of smokers have "a superpremium mindset" whatever the hell that is.
This seems like a fantastic idea, this swanky cigarette place. As someone who enjoys the occasional cigarette, yet would enjoy dancing or eating an omlette a lot more if there wasn't anyone smoking nearby, I think that people should be permitted to vice up SOMEPLACE without huddling near the parking meters. By flagging it as a Tobacco Artisans Lounge, it's a clear signal that there is going to be smoking and lots of it indoors (they claim to have one of those kickass air filtration systems) and if that grosses you out, there are certainly plenty of other places for you to go in the neighborhood.
If tobacco lounges blew up the way coffee shops did, little neighborhood places to sit on old, velvet furniture and smoke, well that sounds awesome.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
I bought a sandwich for lunch today and I paid using a gift card for that chain of restaurants. I think the woman at the cash register was high. I say that partly because I used to operate the cash register while high at a restaurant where I once worked. And I say that partly because she stapled my receipt to the gift card, right through the magnetic stripe.
When I asked, "Just out of curiosity--why did you staple my receipt to my card?" she looked at me and said, "so you'll know the remaining balance on the card."
That eye contact, that's a giveaway too. "I'm acting like I have nothing to hide! I'm transparent! If I was stoned, would I be making eye contact with you?!?" was always a big part of getting high before clocking in.
I'm living my life differently now, one day at a time as they emphasize, and it's good every once in a while to be reminded of what it was like to try and seem sober.
Which brings me to the James Frey book scandal.
I was annoyed by James Frey when the book first came out because the interviews all mentioned that he has FTBSITTTD tattooed on his arm (the letters stand for "Fuck The Bull Shit It's Time To Throw Down" which is this weird sort of mullet-pretension.) Alex read the book and liked it very much. I haven't read it except for the parts I could see over strangers' shoulders on the El so I can't really speak to the book itself.
I remember Alex trying to explain to me that the message of the book is "Hang on." That's not his interpretation of the message, that's the message. Hang on. Which maybe seems incredibly moving in the context of the book, it didn't do anything for me when I heard it.
Seth Mnookin, who has written about his own experiences in getting off drugs, writes in today's Slate about the scandal over A Million Little Pieces and why the scandal is about more than whether or not someone did a little embellishing in his memoir.
Mnookin describes a passage from the book, one that has NOT been contested by any fact checkers. As a child, Frey had horrible ear infections which were never properly diagnosed. He literally spent the first two years of his life screaming in pain. As an adult, a counselor tells Frey, "If those screams went unheeded, whether consciously or unconsciously, they might have ignited a fairly profound sense of rage within you."
Frey goes on to declare:
I'm a victim of nothing but myself, just as I believe that most people with this so-called disease aren't victims of anything other than themselves. … I call it being responsible. I call it the acceptance of my own problems and my own weaknesses with honor and dignity. I call it getting better.
Mnookin says that this fear of seeming like a victim necessitated the fabrications in the story.
Based on all the evidence, it seems Frey's weird, macho fear of seeing himself as a "victim" led him to fabricate a life that was painful and extreme enough so as to explain the sadness and despair he felt. Instead of a crack-binging street fighter, ostracized by both his peers and society, the investigation indicates Frey was more likely a lonely, confused boy who may or may not have needed ear surgery as a child and felt distant from his parents and alienated from his peers. He drank too much, did some drugs, got nailed for a couple of DUIs and ended up, at age 23, in one of the country's most prestigious drug-and-alcohol treatment centers.
When Frey writes that, after one of his fictitious arrests, he hated himself, saw no future, and wanted to die, I believe him. I grew up in a well-off suburban household with loving parents and no clear traumas in my past. I was popular enough in high school, I joined the newspaper and acted in plays, and I got into a good college. I was also miserably, sometimes almost suicidally, depressed, and, from the age of 15, I was taking drugs and drinking almost every day.
Frey must have felt that his real, very scary, and very lonely feelings would have seemed weak if it was only preceded by standard-issue suburban teenage angst.
Okay, so Frey may have deluded himself into thinking that he was Courtney Love and he turned it into an entertaining book. So what? As Oprah said on Larry King, he's bringing a good message forward to people who need it, right? Mnookin again:
For nonaddicts, "Pieces" reinforces the still dangerously prevalent notion that it's easy to spot a drug addict or an alcoholic—they're the ones bleeding from holes in their cheeks or getting beaten down by the police or doing hard time with killers and rapists. For those struggling with their own substance-abuse issues, Pieces sends the message that unless you've reached the depths Frey describes, you don't have anything to worry about—you're a Fraud.
In building up a false bogeyman—the American recovery movement's supposed reliance on the notion of "victimhood"—Frey has set himself up as the one, truth-telling savior.
And if you do have a problem, you don't need to necessarily get treatment or look to others for support; all you need to do is "hold on."
FTBS indeed
When I asked, "Just out of curiosity--why did you staple my receipt to my card?" she looked at me and said, "so you'll know the remaining balance on the card."
That eye contact, that's a giveaway too. "I'm acting like I have nothing to hide! I'm transparent! If I was stoned, would I be making eye contact with you?!?" was always a big part of getting high before clocking in.
I'm living my life differently now, one day at a time as they emphasize, and it's good every once in a while to be reminded of what it was like to try and seem sober.
Which brings me to the James Frey book scandal.
I was annoyed by James Frey when the book first came out because the interviews all mentioned that he has FTBSITTTD tattooed on his arm (the letters stand for "Fuck The Bull Shit It's Time To Throw Down" which is this weird sort of mullet-pretension.) Alex read the book and liked it very much. I haven't read it except for the parts I could see over strangers' shoulders on the El so I can't really speak to the book itself.
I remember Alex trying to explain to me that the message of the book is "Hang on." That's not his interpretation of the message, that's the message. Hang on. Which maybe seems incredibly moving in the context of the book, it didn't do anything for me when I heard it.
Seth Mnookin, who has written about his own experiences in getting off drugs, writes in today's Slate about the scandal over A Million Little Pieces and why the scandal is about more than whether or not someone did a little embellishing in his memoir.
Mnookin describes a passage from the book, one that has NOT been contested by any fact checkers. As a child, Frey had horrible ear infections which were never properly diagnosed. He literally spent the first two years of his life screaming in pain. As an adult, a counselor tells Frey, "If those screams went unheeded, whether consciously or unconsciously, they might have ignited a fairly profound sense of rage within you."
Frey goes on to declare:
I'm a victim of nothing but myself, just as I believe that most people with this so-called disease aren't victims of anything other than themselves. … I call it being responsible. I call it the acceptance of my own problems and my own weaknesses with honor and dignity. I call it getting better.
Mnookin says that this fear of seeming like a victim necessitated the fabrications in the story.
Based on all the evidence, it seems Frey's weird, macho fear of seeing himself as a "victim" led him to fabricate a life that was painful and extreme enough so as to explain the sadness and despair he felt. Instead of a crack-binging street fighter, ostracized by both his peers and society, the investigation indicates Frey was more likely a lonely, confused boy who may or may not have needed ear surgery as a child and felt distant from his parents and alienated from his peers. He drank too much, did some drugs, got nailed for a couple of DUIs and ended up, at age 23, in one of the country's most prestigious drug-and-alcohol treatment centers.
When Frey writes that, after one of his fictitious arrests, he hated himself, saw no future, and wanted to die, I believe him. I grew up in a well-off suburban household with loving parents and no clear traumas in my past. I was popular enough in high school, I joined the newspaper and acted in plays, and I got into a good college. I was also miserably, sometimes almost suicidally, depressed, and, from the age of 15, I was taking drugs and drinking almost every day.
Frey must have felt that his real, very scary, and very lonely feelings would have seemed weak if it was only preceded by standard-issue suburban teenage angst.
Okay, so Frey may have deluded himself into thinking that he was Courtney Love and he turned it into an entertaining book. So what? As Oprah said on Larry King, he's bringing a good message forward to people who need it, right? Mnookin again:
For nonaddicts, "Pieces" reinforces the still dangerously prevalent notion that it's easy to spot a drug addict or an alcoholic—they're the ones bleeding from holes in their cheeks or getting beaten down by the police or doing hard time with killers and rapists. For those struggling with their own substance-abuse issues, Pieces sends the message that unless you've reached the depths Frey describes, you don't have anything to worry about—you're a Fraud.
In building up a false bogeyman—the American recovery movement's supposed reliance on the notion of "victimhood"—Frey has set himself up as the one, truth-telling savior.
And if you do have a problem, you don't need to necessarily get treatment or look to others for support; all you need to do is "hold on."
FTBS indeed
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
I don't drink anymore so the game I've come up with for the Judge Alito confirmations is this:
Everytime someone says "Stare Decisis" you have to strip-search a minor.
Everytime someone says "Stare Decisis" you have to strip-search a minor.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Friday, December 09, 2005
Some random things from the news:
Sean Paul talks with Jim DeRogatis of the Sun-Times about his progressive attitudes towards women:
Just the other day, I was in Chicago seeing a lady walking to work, and she had a baby on her arm and work stuff in the other hand. You do not see many men doing that. So if I tell a woman, 'Shake that thing / I find you sexy to me,' I hope that's inspiring her to feel, 'Yeah, I work hard all the time, and I've gotta take care of the kids, but someone sees that I'm hot,' and that makes her feel good about herself."
Suzanne C. Ryan of the Boston Globe chats with Mike Wallace:
Q. President George W. Bush has declined to be interviewed by you. What would you ask him if you had the chance?
A. What in the world prepared you to be the commander in chief of the largest superpower in the world? In your background, Mr. President, you apparently were incurious. You didn't want to travel. You knew very little about the military ... The governor of Texas doesn't have the kind of power that some governors have ... Why do you think they nominated you? ... Do you think that has anything to do with the fact that the country is so [expletive] up?
And a man in Miami Beach has lynched Santa Claus (it's worth looking at the pictures):
"It's just wrong, I mean who would want their children to see this, and it reminds adults of lynching," neighbor Estelle Farnsworth said. "It's just nasty, there is no spirit of Christmas in this."
The Santa also has his hands and legs bound by some type of wire.
"Now the kids are sad with that, you know, because they say it's not fair with Santa," neighbor Tanira Giacian said. "Santa should be around bringing their gifts, looking for the gifts, and not hanging on a tree. They're just kind of scared of that."
Sean Paul talks with Jim DeRogatis of the Sun-Times about his progressive attitudes towards women:
Just the other day, I was in Chicago seeing a lady walking to work, and she had a baby on her arm and work stuff in the other hand. You do not see many men doing that. So if I tell a woman, 'Shake that thing / I find you sexy to me,' I hope that's inspiring her to feel, 'Yeah, I work hard all the time, and I've gotta take care of the kids, but someone sees that I'm hot,' and that makes her feel good about herself."
Suzanne C. Ryan of the Boston Globe chats with Mike Wallace:
Q. President George W. Bush has declined to be interviewed by you. What would you ask him if you had the chance?
A. What in the world prepared you to be the commander in chief of the largest superpower in the world? In your background, Mr. President, you apparently were incurious. You didn't want to travel. You knew very little about the military ... The governor of Texas doesn't have the kind of power that some governors have ... Why do you think they nominated you? ... Do you think that has anything to do with the fact that the country is so [expletive] up?
And a man in Miami Beach has lynched Santa Claus (it's worth looking at the pictures):
"It's just wrong, I mean who would want their children to see this, and it reminds adults of lynching," neighbor Estelle Farnsworth said. "It's just nasty, there is no spirit of Christmas in this."
The Santa also has his hands and legs bound by some type of wire.
"Now the kids are sad with that, you know, because they say it's not fair with Santa," neighbor Tanira Giacian said. "Santa should be around bringing their gifts, looking for the gifts, and not hanging on a tree. They're just kind of scared of that."
Sunday, December 04, 2005
I'm working on a story for class about how the pension system for the CTA (Chicago Transit Authority-responsible for the el and buses) is underfunded. This is every bit as exciting as it sounds.
Anyway, while digging through Google, I came across this gem about Carole Brown, Chairman of the CTA. This comes from the time when she was profiled by Crain's Chicago Business as one of the "40 Under 40." Brown had only recently been appointed as Chair.
It took her only a few weeks on the job to recognize the CTA's importance to area residents. "A lot of us just know it is there, but we don't think about how many people rely on it or the impact it has on people's lives," she says.
I mean, who knew that people rely on mass transit? Presumably candidates to chair a gigantic mass transit system might have given the matter a thought or two.
Anyway, while digging through Google, I came across this gem about Carole Brown, Chairman of the CTA. This comes from the time when she was profiled by Crain's Chicago Business as one of the "40 Under 40." Brown had only recently been appointed as Chair.
It took her only a few weeks on the job to recognize the CTA's importance to area residents. "A lot of us just know it is there, but we don't think about how many people rely on it or the impact it has on people's lives," she says.
I mean, who knew that people rely on mass transit? Presumably candidates to chair a gigantic mass transit system might have given the matter a thought or two.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
I bought a painting today. Isn't that weird?
I stood in the store a few weeks ago pondering buying a pair of sneakers, shoes that I knew I wanted, could afford, and were on sale for a good price. I am not an impulsive shopper.
So if I dithered around about spending $45 on sneakers, classic Adidas Sambas, I'm kind of amazed that I bought this painting (which cost more than the sneakers, less than a month's rent. I wouldn't be so cagey but it was quite affordable and I think the artist is great and I want him to sell a ton of work and get paid big-time and somehow I feel like actually putting the price here on the internet would set a weird cyberspace price celing into motion so why not be safe?)
There was an arts and crafts show at Hull House today. They threw open their doors to artists and craftspeople this weekend to set up tables and show their work.
It was all fine, nothing I really cared for but only one dreadful table with plastic doll faces sewn onto mammoth crochet-dresses. I went because I was hanging out with my friend Barry and his boyfriend, Mitch, who heard about the show and had somehow imagined that he was going to discover a little-old-lady knitter who made amazing gray hats. My fantasy life has never included discovering amazing homemade hats but it takes all kinds.
So I looked around and then, tucked into a hallway, were these paintings. I almost hate giving the link here because seeing the paintings on the internet isn't quite the same. Of course it isn't, otherwise we'd all just dial into the Louvre or whatever. I looked at them and then we walked down the corridor to see the other folks stuck in the weird, side space, and then back to Harry's stuff. And looked and looked. He had a little booklet with color copies of other recent work and I connected with this work. There was one smaller painting I liked very much. Isn't that cool? I really thought about that one but I kept returning to this one. Actually, mine is slightly different; same guys but the writing is different. Tiny, penciled words that surround the figures. I really wish it came across better online. I wish that looking at that image on your computer screen could make you feel the way that I feel when I look at the painting. I was going to type the words that surround the figures but that isn't likely to make things any better so you are going to have to take my word or just come over and look at it.
I didn't mention the part about him being from Tennessee. I had the feeling that he was the only artist there who isn't from Chicago. He said that he hoped to learn more about the Chicago art scene by participating in this show.
"I have a crush on your paintings," I said.
Somehow, they made me feel like Tennessee. They made me feel like the very best parts of living in Nashville, the music and the cars that would drive crazy because the drivers knew me and wanted to honk and wave and offer me a ride. Even though I love Chicago and it feels like home it doesn't feel like that.
They weren't expensive paintings but they were more than I had. He told me to make an offer. And I stood there, wondering how I would feel if I left without it. The show runs tomorrow as well, the smart thing would be to go home and sleep on it then, if I still wanted it, I could go back tomorrow and make an offer.
But Barry has a car, I don't, and we're supposed to get 2-4" of snow tonight and the more I thought about it, the more I worried that it might slip away, that I might not get to act on this crush.
After I wrote a check (do I normally carry around a checkbook? No, I do not) we put the painting in Barry's car and went back to their apartment to eat nachos and watch dumb home decorating shows and play with their dogs. And all the time there I tried to engineer some buyer's remorse, wanting to check in with myself and see how I felt. Was that a weird rush, where I just bought something expensive in the heat of the moment without really thinking about it and now I would feel stupid, having this big painting as a reminder of that dumb afternoon?
No.
I was happy when we got back in the car and I could look at it again. And I moved some prints around in my living room, to give the painting a good spot. Now when I come home, walk through the kitchen, and into the living room BAM there they are, those two guys dancing.
Just because something starts out as a crush doesn't mean it won't blossom into love.
I stood in the store a few weeks ago pondering buying a pair of sneakers, shoes that I knew I wanted, could afford, and were on sale for a good price. I am not an impulsive shopper.
So if I dithered around about spending $45 on sneakers, classic Adidas Sambas, I'm kind of amazed that I bought this painting (which cost more than the sneakers, less than a month's rent. I wouldn't be so cagey but it was quite affordable and I think the artist is great and I want him to sell a ton of work and get paid big-time and somehow I feel like actually putting the price here on the internet would set a weird cyberspace price celing into motion so why not be safe?)
There was an arts and crafts show at Hull House today. They threw open their doors to artists and craftspeople this weekend to set up tables and show their work.
It was all fine, nothing I really cared for but only one dreadful table with plastic doll faces sewn onto mammoth crochet-dresses. I went because I was hanging out with my friend Barry and his boyfriend, Mitch, who heard about the show and had somehow imagined that he was going to discover a little-old-lady knitter who made amazing gray hats. My fantasy life has never included discovering amazing homemade hats but it takes all kinds.
So I looked around and then, tucked into a hallway, were these paintings. I almost hate giving the link here because seeing the paintings on the internet isn't quite the same. Of course it isn't, otherwise we'd all just dial into the Louvre or whatever. I looked at them and then we walked down the corridor to see the other folks stuck in the weird, side space, and then back to Harry's stuff. And looked and looked. He had a little booklet with color copies of other recent work and I connected with this work. There was one smaller painting I liked very much. Isn't that cool? I really thought about that one but I kept returning to this one. Actually, mine is slightly different; same guys but the writing is different. Tiny, penciled words that surround the figures. I really wish it came across better online. I wish that looking at that image on your computer screen could make you feel the way that I feel when I look at the painting. I was going to type the words that surround the figures but that isn't likely to make things any better so you are going to have to take my word or just come over and look at it.
I didn't mention the part about him being from Tennessee. I had the feeling that he was the only artist there who isn't from Chicago. He said that he hoped to learn more about the Chicago art scene by participating in this show.
"I have a crush on your paintings," I said.
Somehow, they made me feel like Tennessee. They made me feel like the very best parts of living in Nashville, the music and the cars that would drive crazy because the drivers knew me and wanted to honk and wave and offer me a ride. Even though I love Chicago and it feels like home it doesn't feel like that.
They weren't expensive paintings but they were more than I had. He told me to make an offer. And I stood there, wondering how I would feel if I left without it. The show runs tomorrow as well, the smart thing would be to go home and sleep on it then, if I still wanted it, I could go back tomorrow and make an offer.
But Barry has a car, I don't, and we're supposed to get 2-4" of snow tonight and the more I thought about it, the more I worried that it might slip away, that I might not get to act on this crush.
After I wrote a check (do I normally carry around a checkbook? No, I do not) we put the painting in Barry's car and went back to their apartment to eat nachos and watch dumb home decorating shows and play with their dogs. And all the time there I tried to engineer some buyer's remorse, wanting to check in with myself and see how I felt. Was that a weird rush, where I just bought something expensive in the heat of the moment without really thinking about it and now I would feel stupid, having this big painting as a reminder of that dumb afternoon?
No.
I was happy when we got back in the car and I could look at it again. And I moved some prints around in my living room, to give the painting a good spot. Now when I come home, walk through the kitchen, and into the living room BAM there they are, those two guys dancing.
Just because something starts out as a crush doesn't mean it won't blossom into love.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
In Toronto for the week. Alex has spent the last 3 Canadian Thanksgivings (early October) in Chicago so I'm spending one in Toronto.
They spend a lot of money here on public service advertisements. In the subway there are beautifully art-directed signs encouraging me to visit an elderly person, discouraging me from spanking a child, and challenging me to find an alternative to pesticides for my lawn.
I may have blogged about this topic before but whatever. You know how Americans often advertise gasoline prices not by saying "Gas," but with the word "Unleaded"? Even though you couldn't find any leaded gas if you wanted some. Well, in Toronto they do a similar thing with milk; they refer to the fact that it is homogonized even though, as long as I've been alive, all milk is homogonized.
The thing is, they abbreviate it when they are advertising the price. So convenience stores boast, "$2 Homo!"
We saw the new Harry Potter movie last night with Alex's cousin. There is a Burger King as one of the movie theater's concessions. The B.K. serves a Canadian snack favorite, Poutine, which is french fries covered in beef gravy and sprinkled with cheese curds. I didn't have any Poutine but Alex and his cousin seemed to enjoy theirs.
They spend a lot of money here on public service advertisements. In the subway there are beautifully art-directed signs encouraging me to visit an elderly person, discouraging me from spanking a child, and challenging me to find an alternative to pesticides for my lawn.
I may have blogged about this topic before but whatever. You know how Americans often advertise gasoline prices not by saying "Gas," but with the word "Unleaded"? Even though you couldn't find any leaded gas if you wanted some. Well, in Toronto they do a similar thing with milk; they refer to the fact that it is homogonized even though, as long as I've been alive, all milk is homogonized.
The thing is, they abbreviate it when they are advertising the price. So convenience stores boast, "$2 Homo!"
We saw the new Harry Potter movie last night with Alex's cousin. There is a Burger King as one of the movie theater's concessions. The B.K. serves a Canadian snack favorite, Poutine, which is french fries covered in beef gravy and sprinkled with cheese curds. I didn't have any Poutine but Alex and his cousin seemed to enjoy theirs.
Saturday, November 12, 2005
In studying journalism I've learned this: to write about a trend, you need three examples and an expert to talk about it. Thusfar I only have two examples and no expert but this is a blog and not real journalism anyway.
Here's my observation: Words that begin with "Metro-" and end in "-al" are bad news. After "Metrosexual" I have now come across "Metrospiritual."
A definition:
Metrospirituality is the mainstreaming of Taoist, Buddhist, and Hindu values, among others, into an easily digestible, buyable form.
I'm hoping, based on the passage below, that the writer is ultimately snickering at Metrospirituality rather than embracing it.
One of the first things to catch the eye is a waist-high white Buddha-like sculpture. Not knowing quite what it was, I asked a sales associate, who didn’t immediately know the answer, but was extremely pleasant about it. We consulted a book on Buddhas, and when that didn’t help, asked another associate, who proclaimed it Ganesh, the elephant god, being held by his mother. Whether or not this is ultimately right, does it matter? It’s Indian, it’s expensive, and a lot of people have believed in it for a very long time, probably with very good reason.
Here's my observation: Words that begin with "Metro-" and end in "-al" are bad news. After "Metrosexual" I have now come across "Metrospiritual."
A definition:
Metrospirituality is the mainstreaming of Taoist, Buddhist, and Hindu values, among others, into an easily digestible, buyable form.
I'm hoping, based on the passage below, that the writer is ultimately snickering at Metrospirituality rather than embracing it.
One of the first things to catch the eye is a waist-high white Buddha-like sculpture. Not knowing quite what it was, I asked a sales associate, who didn’t immediately know the answer, but was extremely pleasant about it. We consulted a book on Buddhas, and when that didn’t help, asked another associate, who proclaimed it Ganesh, the elephant god, being held by his mother. Whether or not this is ultimately right, does it matter? It’s Indian, it’s expensive, and a lot of people have believed in it for a very long time, probably with very good reason.
Friday, October 28, 2005
When I start up my internet at home, it defaults to the Netscape homepage. This is different from my own homepage (which I DO know how to re-set, thanks) and it's covered with all sorts of headlines, including the one about Sulu. So I totally missed the more interesting Sheryl Swoopes coming out story.
A big news period here what with the ChiWhiSox winning the world series, the withdrawing of Harriet Miers, the pending indictments in the CIA leak case and Mr. Sulu, George Takai, is gay.
Notes the coming out story:
You come to realize, “This is who I am. And by gum, I’m not going to let it be a constraint!”
I guess that going public at age 68 means that you end up saying things like "by gum."
As a side note, apparently it wasn't a total secret. Takai is a long-time member of a L.A. branch of the gay running club Front Runners. I take it then that there isn't all that much overlap between Star Trek enthusiasts and runners???
Notes the coming out story:
You come to realize, “This is who I am. And by gum, I’m not going to let it be a constraint!”
I guess that going public at age 68 means that you end up saying things like "by gum."
As a side note, apparently it wasn't a total secret. Takai is a long-time member of a L.A. branch of the gay running club Front Runners. I take it then that there isn't all that much overlap between Star Trek enthusiasts and runners???
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