2010

You are currently browsing the yearly archive for 2010.

The thinkers at IBM tend to be optimistic when conjuring the near future. In 2006, the company released a set of prognostications for 2010 that saw widespread real-time speech translation and the use of sensors to allow for the remote monitoring of patients’ health care. Not quite yet, huh?

Now the company has released five predictions for 2015 that seem just as ambitious. My favorite one is the idea that heat from data centers can be recycled and repurposed to provide heat and air conditioning for cities, conserving energy and lowering power costs. But those holographic cell phones also seem pretty great. The following video from IBM Labs shares the quintet of innovations that may be on our doorstep.


Jean Genet: Great writer, complete a-hole.

It’s not to say that the playwright and novelist Jean Genet was an utter poseur when it came to being an outlaw, but it’s difficult to untangle what of his biography was real and what was his own creation. Genet identified himself as an orphan, a child neglected by foster parents, a homeless thief, a hustler and a jailbird–but it seems like a fair amount of the “facts” were fiction.

Regardless, the 53-year-old writer was an international sensation for his novel, The Thief’s Journal, and for his plays, including The Balcony and The Blacks, by the time he sat down for an interview with Playboy in April 1964. Genet discussed his life and antisocial attitude. And he was asked a bizarre line of questioning about the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, which had occurred the previous November. He unsurprisingly provided an equally bizarre answer. An excerpt:

Playboy: How do you feel about crimes such as that of which Lee Harvey Oswald has been accused? Did you find him boring–or subtle and sensitive?

Jean Genet: I have a feeling of fellowship with Oswald. Not that I was hostile to President Kennedy. I simply wasn’t interested in him. But I feel that I’m with the lone individual who opposes such a highly organized society as American society or Western society or any society in the world that damns evil. I sympathize with him–just as I do with a great artist who takes a stand against a whole society: neither more nor less. I’m with any lone man. But even though I’m—how shall I put it?—morally with a man who is alone, men who are alone remain alone. Even though I may be with Oswald when he commits his crime—if he did commit it—he was alone. Even though I’m with Rembrandt when he paints his pictures, he, too, is alone.”

Tags:

Lorene Yarnell was living in Norway with her fourth husband when she died.

Michael Jackson evolved many moves he borrowed from James Brown, but as unlikely as it seems, he may have cribbed just as many Off the Wall and Thriller gyrations from mime duo Robert Shields and Lorene Yarnell. For a brief, shining moment in the late ’70s (while Jackson was in his formative years), the mime couple, billed as Shields and Yarnell, became a television staple, dazzling audiences with a skill that is usually more of a punchline than a showstopper. Their body control was stunning, and it’s not surprising that Shields had studied with Marcel Marceau and Yarnell was a trained dancer.

Shields and Yarnell were married and then they weren’t, but they remained wedded professionally until Yarnell passed away this year at 66 from a cerebral aneurysm. The Times Magazine has a really well-written remembrance of her (and the Shields and Yarnell tandem) by Elizabeth McCracken in its annual “The Lives They Lived” issue. An excerpt:

Shields and Yarnell practiced hours of nostril and eyebrow exercises in order to be believably mechanical. As the Clinkers, they are virtuosic and upsetting, human beings who can pass as robots, playing robots who wish to pass as human. It’s a parody marriage. The Clinkers know they’re supposed to embrace, but they can’t figure out how; they just carom off each other.

The robots, being robots, endure. Michael Jackson was a fan; he apparently modeled not only dance moves but also some of his many-buttoned military costumes on Robert Shields. Hip-hop dancers studied the Clinkers’ automatonics, setting them to music, and the Robot became one of the most lasting of all break-dancing moves. On city corners across the world, you can see street performers, spray-painted white and silver and brass, who for a quarter will ’bot for you, each a monument to Shields and Yarnell.”

Below is a clip, replete with a horrifyingly inauthentic laugh track, of Shields and Yarnell as the Clinkers.

Tags: , , , ,

Let’s murder nature and replace it with plastic crap.

"One hen is getting 'pick' on by the others." (Image by Thegreenj.)

exotic chicken needs a new home (bayridge,brooklyn)

we have a few hens all healthy n doingwell but one hen is getting pick on by the others so need to find a new home for a beautiful feathered hen brown gold an bloke feathered a real beauty’s for free.

The average beady-eyed Afflictor reader. (Image by Jim Kenefick.)

Some search engine keyphrases bringing traffic to Afflictor this week:

Afflictor: Wishing everyone happy holidays since 2009. (Image by Huhu Uet.)

With a pair of novels, 1967’s Rosemary’s Baby and 1972’s The Stepford Wives, the late Bronx-born writer Ira Levin tapped into the pulse of the women’s movement, just as Sleeping Beauty was awakening from her slumber without the aid of a prince’s kiss. Playing on the dreams of some insecure men who wished she would return to unconsciousness and the nightmares of some wary women who feared that such a relapse just might be possible, Levin crafted a pointed pair of paranoid satires, each of which received an excellent screen adaptation.

In the Stepford Wives, directed by Bryan Forbes, lawyer Walter Eberhart (Peter Masterson) talks his reluctant wife, aspiring Manhattan photographer Joanna (Katherine Ross), into moving their family to an idyllic town in the Connecticut ‘burbs. Leafy Stepford seems excellent: good schools, safe streets, low taxes. Walter loves it, quickly joining a local all-men’s club. (“They seem like a nice bunch of guys…they have a nice thing going here.”) But Joanna notices something peculiar about the women–they’re mostly obedient automatons who live to serve their husbands and boost their egos. And when less-docile local ladies go away for weekends with their spouses, they return as similarly happy, hollow homebodies.

Joanna realizes there’s likely some sort of attitude adjustment coming her way that she’d rather not stick around for, but the town seems almost designed to prevent her departure. “Isn’t it funny the things you do when you’re in love?” she says wistfully early in the film, thinking about an old flame. But funnier still are the things people will do when they’re threatened.•

Tags: , ,

Santa Claus: Nobody's bitch anymore. (Photo by Mathew Brady/ Levin Handy.)

There’s no Christmas this year because Santa Claus got a job at Goldman Sachs and is involved in all sorts of dishonest shit. It was time for him to look out for number one, and now he’s insanely wealthy. The only snow he’ll see this season will be the lines of coke he does off a ho ho ho’s belly. You’re not getting gifts from him, so fuck your needy kids and your filthy fucking chimney.

Don't cry, Abigail. You would have gotten tired of that new dollie after a few years anyway. Oh, and did I mention that Grandma passed? (Image by Sharon Pruitt.)

Tags:

Without pioneering photojournalist Mathew Brady, the Civil War era would have a name but not a face. There were other notable photographers of that tumultuous period, but it’s mostly Brady’s work that truly captures the visages burdened by the fate of a nation. And the notable 19th-century figures in his pictures went far beyond the American battlefield, ranging from Nathaniel Hawthorne to P.T. Barnum to Mark Twain. While Brady was rich in life experience, his relentless attempt to record the Civil War with the expensive daguerreotype process essentially bankrupted him financially. He died penniless in the charity ward of New York’s Presbyterian Hospital in 1896. An article from the March 19, 1894 Brooklyn Daily Eagle chronicles how Brady’s money troubles cost him his photo gallery in Washington D.C. An excerpt:

“One by one the old landmarks in Washington are passing away. Recently the historical photograph gallery, run for years by Mathew B. Brady, the man who daguerreotyped Mrs. Alexander Hamilton, Miss Madison, General Jackson, Edgar Allan Poe, Taylor’s cabinet and the elder Booth, was converted into a billiard parlor. Business has been bad with Brady for some time. Younger and more enterprising photographers have practically driven him out of the field, and now his famous gallery is a thing of the past. Brady was born in 1823 in Warren county, N.Y. When a young man, William Page, the artist who painted Venus, took an interest in him and gave him some crayons to copy. He knew Morse well, and it was the latter who told him about the remarkable discovery his friend Daguerre had made in France.

Ulysses S. Grant, uniformed in 1864. (Image by Mathew Brady.)

In 1842 Brady had a studio on the corner of Broadway and Fulton street. Here he remained for fifteen years until the verge of the Civil War when he opened a gallery in Washington. The old man tells me that from the first he regarded himself as under an obligation to his country to preserve the faces of its historic men and women. In 1851 he visited Europe and took pictures of Cardinal Wiseman, Lamartine and Louis Napoleon. He also took Fannie Ellsler, he took Jefferson Davis when he was a senator, and Mrs. Alexander Hamilton was 93 years old when she sat for him. Brady delights to talk of his experiences and is to-day one of the most interesting characters of the capital. His series of war pictures brought him into contact with military men from all over the country.”

Tags: , ,

Lots of cool crap for the home that people in the ’50s thought that we would have today. The table-top dishwasher is excellent and very unnecessary.

"This is for a Christmas gift."

WANTED: Big Mac Sauce (Brooklyn)

Hello there. I’m looking for a box or jar of Authentic Big Mac sauce. Im willing to pay…whatever is fair. I know this sounds somewhat odd but this is for a Christmas gift and is highly neccesary. If anyone could procure and supply this to me it would be greatly appreciated. name your price!

New York gave America Christmas, and Chicago gave us this creepy sidewalk Santa in 1902. He would murder you and your children while you slept. (Image by "Chicago Daily News.")

We know that New York City gave America the Thanksgiving holiday, but it was responsible for Christmas as well. An excerpt from the “1783-1843” section of Edwin G. Burrows and Mike Wallace’s amazing Gotham:

“Wealthy New Yorkers didn’t invent the new cult of domesticity, which was a characteristic of emerging bourgeois culture throughout the Atlantic world. They did, however, give it Christmas–a holiday that became synonymous with genteel family life and a quintessential expression of its central values.

For 150-odd years, probably since the English conquest, the favorite winter holiday of the city’s propertied classes was New Year’s Day (as distinct from the night before, which was the occasion for revelry and mischief among common folk). Families exchanged small gifts, and gentlemen went around the town to call on friends and relations, nibbling cookies and drinking raspberry brandy served by the women of the house. Sadly, according to John Pintard, the city’s physical expansion after 1800 rendered this ‘joyous older fashion’ so impractical that it was rapidly dying out.

"Washington Irving had identified Nicholas as the patron saint of New Amsterdam, describing him as a jolly old Dutchman, nicknamed Sancte Claus." (Image by John Wesley Jarvis.)

As an alternative, Pintard proposed St. Nicholas Day, December 6, as a family-oriented winter holiday for polite society. In Knickerbocker’s History, Pintard’s good friend Washington Irving had identified Nicholas as the patron saint of New Amsterdam, describing him as a jolly old Dutchman, nicknamed Sancte Claus, who parked his wagon on rooftops and slid down chimneys with gifts for sleeping children on his feast day. It was Salmagundi-style fun, of course; although seventeenth-century Netherlanders had celebrated St. Nicholas Day, the earliest evidence of anyone doing so on Manhattan dates from 1773, when a group of ‘descendants of the ancient Dutch families’ celebrated the sixth of December ‘with great joy and festivity.’ Certainly nothing remotely like the Sancte Claus portrayed by Irving had ever been known on either side of the Atlantic.

Mere details were no obstacle to Pintard. On December 6, 1810–one year to the day after the publication of Irving’s History–he launched his revival of St. Nicholas Day with a grand banquet at City Hall for members of the New-York Historical Society. The first toast was to ‘Sancte Claus, good heylig man!’ and Pintard distributed a specially engraved picture that showed Nicholas with two children (one good, one bad) and two stockings hung by the hearth (one full, one empty)–the point being that December 6 was a kind of Judgement Day for the young, with the saint distributing rewards and punishments as required. St. Nicholas day never quite won the support Pintard wanted, and he eventually ran out of enthusiasm for the project. Sancte Claus, on the other hand, took off like a rocket.”


Tags: , , ,

"The Japanese auto industry isn’t likely to carve out a big slice of the U.S. market.” (Image by IFCAR.)

Listverse has compiled a number of embarrassing science, tech and business quotations that have proven very, very incorrect. “Experts” being wrong is always fun because it makes the rest of us feel less stupid. (Thanks Reddit.) Here are a few from the full list:

  • “With over 50 foreign cars already on sale here, the Japanese auto industry isn’t likely to carve out a big slice of the U.S. market.” — Business Week, August 2, 1968.
  • “That virus is a pussycat.” — Dr. Peter Duesberg, molecular-biology professor at U.C. Berkeley, on HIV, 1988.
  • “Within the next few decades, autos will have folding wings that can be spread when on a straight stretch of road so that the machine can take to the air.” — Eddie Rickenbacker, Popular Science, July 1924.
  • ‘The abdomen, the chest and the brain will forever be shut from the intrusion of the wise and humane surgeon.’ – Sir John Eric Ericson, Surgeon to Queen Victoria, 1873.
  • “Airplanes are interesting toys but of no military value.” — Marechal Ferdinand Foch, Professor of Strategy, Ecole Superieure de Guerre.

Back to the stable for more lovin’. (Image by Sebastian Pacquet.)

A firestorm of controversy raged throughout the blogosphere this week because the “Vows” column in Sunday’s New York Times focused on the wedding of a TV news reporter and a business executive who left their spouses to marry one another. Instead of quietly dealing with the painful fallout, the newlyweds decided for some bizarre, narcissistic reason that announcing the sordid details to the world would be good for their ex-spouses and school-age children.

Many people thought the newspaper erred in providing a platform for this taboo-busting twosome, but you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. The Times is pushing the envelope but hard this weekend when they run a “Vows” column about another couple who left their spouses to get married and are now engaged in a three-way with a horse. Part Scarlet Letter and part Mr. Ed, the story is certainly complicated. The couple met Mr. Marbles when he caught the tossed bouquet at the wedding between his teeth. The bride was immediately struck by Mr. Marbles’ exuberance.

“He doesn’t walk in to a room,” she said. “He gallops in.”

When they realized they wanted to have a three-way with a horse, the newlyweds said they remembered crying together. “Why are we being punished?” they wondered. “Why did someone throw him into our path when we can’t have him?” But then they immediately started fucking the horse anyway. This made them cry even more because horse cock is gigantic and can be painful when inserted into human orifices.

“I didn’t believe in the word ‘soulmate’ before, but now I do,” said the groom, as he sat gingerly, polishing his favorite saddle.

“My kids are going to look at me and know that I am flawed and not perfect, but also deeply in love,” said the blushing, limping bride. “We’re going to have a big, noisy, rich life, and there will be hay everywhere.”

When asked why they felt it was important to tell the world of their relations with a horse, the couple said they wanted an honest account of how they entered into bestiality for their sake and their kids’ sakes.

If you don’t like it, I suggest you read some other paper. This isn’t your parents’ New York Times. Unless your parents are fucking a horse.

More Fake Stuff:

"Reporting at Wit's End," a thick paperback collection of great McKelway reportage is currently on sale at Amazon for $7.20.

A New Yorker writer for decades, St. Clair McKelway (1905-1980) had an insatiable appetite for criminals of all kinds–impostors, embezzlers, counterfeiters, etc.–and the law-enforcement personnel who tried to bring them to justice. In recent decades, McKelway has been more of a cult favorite than a legend like Liebling or Mitchell, but hopefully the 2010 paperback collection of his work, Reporting at Wit’s End, will remedy that situation.

It was the counterfeiter category that gave McKelway the raw material for his most famous article, a 1949 piece entitled, “Mister 880,” about an elderly paperhanger who used a hand cranked printing press to manufacture barely passable duplicates of one dollar bills. Despite being a crappy counterfeiter, Mister 880 frustrated the Feds for a decade and was the unlikely target of a massive manhunt, before a series of flukish events brought him down. An excerpt from the opening of that piece (which was also adapted for film):

“In the late summer of 1938, an elderly widower named Edward Mueller found that he was in need of money for the support of his dog and himself. He was a man of simple tastes, and the dog was an undemanding mongrel terrier. Mr. Mueller had for many years been a superintendent in apartment buildings on the Upper East Side. Living in the basements of these buildings, he and his wife had raised two children, a boy and a girl. By the time Mrs. Mueller died, in 1937, the children had grown up and gone off to homes of their own. The son had a job and was doing well; the daughter had married. After the death of his wife, Mueller moved out of the basement that had been their home together and rented a small, sunny flat on the top floor of the brownstone tenement near Broadway and Ninety-sixth Street. He and the dog took possession of it in the spring of 1938. Feeling that he was too old to be a superintendent any longer, Mueller tried for a while to make a living as a junkman. He was sixty-three at the time and was gentle, sweet-tempered, and strongly independent. Only five feet three inches tall, he had a lean, hard-muscled frame, a healthy pink face. bright blue eyes, a shiny bald dome, a fringe of snowy hair over his ears, a wispy white mustache and hardly any teeth. He bought a pushcart secondhand and, accompanied by his dog, roamed the neighborhood when the weather was good, picking up junk in vacant lots and along the river front under the West Side Highway. He went about his work in a leisurely manner and always looked happy. Sometimes he stopped to talk to strangers who wanted to talk, and at other times he carried on fragmentary, one-sided conversations with the dog that trotted at his heels. He was able to sell some of the odds and ends he picked up to the wholesale junk dealers, but before many months had gone by, he began to realize that he wasn’t making enough to live on, and that if he didn’t do better his savings would soon be gone and he would be destitute.

When his son and daughter visited him, and when he went to see them, Mueller said that he was getting along all right and didn’t need a thing. For a full half century, he had depended only on himself, and he had the flinty pride on an elderly man who had worked hard since he was a boy of thirteen and had never asked helped from anybody. The life he had lived had been a respectable and law-abiding one. Everybody who had ever known Mueller would have said that he was probably the last man in the world to try to make money dishonestly. That was exactly what Mueller did, however. In November, 1938, he became a counterfeiter of one dollar bills.”

Tags: ,

I posted the video of the touch-tone phone being demonstrated at the World’s Fair in Seattle in 1963. It took eight years, but that techonology was finally being sold to the masses in 1971 in this hyperbolic television spot.

"...or crying."

Black Velvet Crying Elvis- $40 (Williamsburg)

Vintage/antique/collectible black velvet crying Elvis “painting” for sale. Wood frame, amazing condition. Great gift for fans of Elvis or crying.

Bedbug-free home.

Tags:

Times Square was the starting point for the Great Auto Race in 1908.

The steam locomotive and internal-combustion engine laid to rest what was left of the pioneer spirit of the Old West, but new transportations demanded new pioneers. Automobiles may have been a novel thing in 1908, but their drivers weren’t a timid breed. On February 12th of that year, six cars representing four nations (America, Germany, Italy and France) lined up in Times Square for the start of a treacherous competition that famously became known as the Great Auto Race.

Before this race, no car had ever crossed the U.S. during winter. And when the autos reached the end of the course in one continent, they were transported by ship for the next leg overseas. (Only three teams actually completed the transcontinental competition.) The winner was (spoiler alert) the Thomas Flyer crew from the United States. But the real victor was the automobile itself. The event, which was co-sponsored by the New York Times and Le Matin, received international press and cars began to be viewed favorably on a world stage.

I posted recently about Atari co-founder Nolan Bushnell’s passion for driver-less auto-cars. While the technology may be upon us, the dream has apparently been around since at least the 1950s.

Tags:

"The button affixed to the bosom of her dress attracted his attention and she made no opposition when he plucked it away." (Image by Josef Peters.)

Three-year-old Brooklyn lad Thomas Madden told his impoverished parents that he swallowed a button and was in terrible pain. X-rays were inconclusive and doctors began to doubt his story, but the anguish persisted and the Maddens were worried sick. The next few weeks probably seemed like a year to them. Two excerpts from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle below tell the story. (The New York Times was also on the case.)

••••••••••

“Search For A Button Which Young Madden Is Said to Have Swallowed,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (January 18, 1897): “Little Thomas Josef Madden, 3 1/2 years old, whose parents live at 54 State street, will go under the X-ray, at the Hudson street hospital in New York again to-day. He was there yesterday and the father says the ray revealed the motto button, from a package of cigarettes, which the boy claims to have swallowed, lodged in the larger intestine, on the left side of the body, with the pin attached to the button sticking upward. Mr. Madden saw this himself, he says, and the doctors assured that it was so. The ray was not powerful enough, however, and it was decided to make a second examination this afternoon, using more effective apparatus. Meanwhile the child will continue abstinence from solid food and will continue the milk diet which he has had for two weeks since he has swallowed the button.

"The X-ray photograph taken yesterday revealed no indication of the presence of the button in the pyloric region." (Image by Steven Fruitsmaak.)

When the accident occurred he was a chubby little fellow with an exuberance of spirits, which made him the life of the humble household in which he lives. His father, who works along shore, and is a man of slender means, has viewed with increasing anxiety his little son’s rapid loss of flesh and the spasms of pain with which he is seized at home.

Mr. Madden said to-day that he had gone so far as to pawn some of his clothes to secure money with which to have the boy treated, and, he added, that as long as his resources were exhausted he did not know what to do now.

Superintendent Knoll of the Hudson street hospital is represented as having said that the X-ray photograph taken yesterday revealed no indication of the presence of the button in the pyloric region which was examined, but the boy’s father is very positive in the statement that the button was found.

Nobody saw the button swallowed, but all the members of the boy’s family are well satisfied that it is this which has caused all his suffering. Thomas Josef was sitting on the lap of Mrs. McGrath, a neighbor who was visiting the Maddens, and with whom the boy is a great favorite. The button affixed to the bosom of her dress attracted his attention and she made no opposition when he plucked it away. A few minutes later, when he was seated at the dinner table, Thomas was seized with a fit of choking. His father slapped him vigorously on the back and presently the child seemed relieved.

‘He just bolted on a piece of meat, papa,’ suggested Mrs. Madden.

‘Oh, no, mamma,’ spoke up the child, ‘it was that button.’

‘If I had known it was the button,’ said Mr. Madden, ‘I’d have had my finger down his throat in a minute. Now, I don’t know what to do.’

All the neighbors are very much excited over the case. The Maddens live in a tenement section.

••••••••••

"The emblem on it was an Irish flag. "

“Cut Out the Button: Tommy Madden Undergoes Successful Surgery,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle (January 24, 1897): “An interesting operation was performed in Post Graduate hospital in New York yesterday afternoon, when the physicians cut a cigarette button from the throat of little Thomas Madden. The boy swallowed the button a week ago, and it stuck in his throat and all efforts to dislodge it and extract it were until yesterday without effect. The operation yesterday was performed by House Surgeon Bullard and the regular house staff. When the button was cut from the throat it was found to be of the sort now placed in boxes of cigarettes. The emblem on it was an Irish flag. It was thought last night that the boy would recover.

The operation was long and tedious and occupied about three quarters of an hour. Before making the incision the surgeon made a careful attempt to remove the button through the mouth by forcing long, curved forceps down the throat. This proved impracticable.

Dr. Lee, who has charge of the ward at the Post Graduate hospital in which the little patient is confined, is very hopeful of Tommy’s ultimate recovery.”

Tags: , , , , , ,

Miles Davis in a 1955 photo by Tom Palumbo.

Trumpet player Miles Davis was already a legend in 1962, when he was interviewed by Alex Haley for Playboy. He was raised in a relatively well-to-do household in Illinois, the son of a dentist. His prodigious musical talent saw that through his ups and down with a vicious heroin addiction, he managed to always maintain financial security. But creature comforts could only go so far in calming the nerves of a person of color who grew up in the Jim Crow era and still lived in a racially divided America. An excerpt from the Q&A:

Playboy: You’re said to be one of the financially best-off popular musicians. Is this correct?

Miles Davis: Well, I don’t have any access to other musicians’ bankbooks. But I never have been what you would call poor. I grew up with an allowance, and I had a big newspaper route. I saved most of what I made except for buying records. But when I first left home as a musician, I used to spend all I made, and when I went on dope, I got in debt. But after I got enough sense to kick the habit, I started to make more than I needed to spend unless I was crazy or something.

Now I got a pretty good portfolio of stock investments, and I got this house–it’s worth into six figures, including everything in it. My four kids are coming up fine. When the boys get in from school, I want you to see them working out on the bags in our gym downstairs. I keep myself in shape and teach the kids how to box. They can handle themselves. Ain’t nothing better that a father can pass along.

Then I got my music, I got Frances, and my Ferrari–and our friends. I got everything a man could want–if it just wasn’t for this prejudice crap. It ain’t that I’m mad at white people, I just see what I see and I know what’s happening. I am going to speak my mind about anything that drags me about this Jim Crow scene. This whole prejudice mess is something you would feel so good if it could just be got rid of, like a big sore eating inside of your belly.”


Tags: ,

“The 300-year search for the power to damn mankind is over,” says the announcer of this schlocky ’70s trailer, and now that that’s taken care of, I can finally relax. The Devil’s Rain was a 1975 screamer starring William Shatner, Ida Lupino, Ernest Borgnine (in some sort of a pig mask, though it may have been his actual face), and other actors who were down on their luck. It also seems to have been John Travolta’s feature debut. The trailer boasts that the movie was made with the participation of Anton LaVey, the American founder and High Priest of the Church of Satan. A proud moment for cinema.


Tags: , , , ,

"Everywhere."

ROACH EXTERMINATOR NEEDED ASAP – $50 (Harlem / Morningside)

We just moved into a new location&the disgusting roaches are everywhere. We need someone who can guarantee results!!

Kottke has an interesting post about a “liquids sculptor” named Shinchi Maruyama, who tosses fluids into the air and then photographs what are stunning and momentary shapes. An excerpt from a Dallas Morning News interview with the artist by Nicole Pasulka:

Dallas Morning News: These images, or sculptures are so exciting, fleeting and unique. How do you determine or control the shape of the water or ink?

Shinchi Maruyama: Just keep throwing the liquids for the sake of it.

Dallas Morning NewsIt seems there’s a definitive moment of performance in your work, though this be said of all painting and sculpture. Are you more aware of the event or moment of your sculpture because the final result is a photograph?

Shinchi Maruyama: I think I am more aware of the moment recently after many years of experimenting with liquids. But no matter how many times I repeat the same process of throwing it in the air, I never achieve the same result. And I am so fascinated by this unexpected interaction of liquids colliding, which happens fairly infrequently, that I am overwhelmed by its beauty.”

Tags: ,

« Older entries § Newer entries »