2010

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These cancer researchers will soon have Bachelor Jake and Vienna back in the fold. (Image by Quintote.)

Despite seeming to be two of the more useless sacks of shit on the planet, Bachelor Jake and Vienna have been secretly using their well-hidden intelligence for several years to try to find a cure for cancer. Many in the medical-research field were worried that the pair’s bitter public breakup might cause them to abruptly halt their joint research, but that appears to not be the case. Even though Bachelor Jake has accused Vienna of trying to undermine and embarrass him and Vienna has insinuated that her former boyfriend is a fame whore who gets all woo-hoo in the underpants whenever a handsome guy walks by, the duo knows that they must continue their work for the good of humanity.

Assume the position, Mr. Beano.

“I’m so disgusted with Vienna,” acknowledges Jake. “She sold me out to a tabloid. But those bald, unattractive people really need us. I don’t feel like loving on Vienna anymore, but I will cure cancer with her.”

Once the duo has licked this scourge of an illness, they plan on getting more attention any way they can, perhaps by fucking a horse in public.

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A company called SPFX Masks makes realistic imitation faces that are creepy and have been used by criminals to commit robberies (though the company undoubtedly does not endorse this behavior). Your definition of “handsome” may vary–wildly!–but it is impressive-looking work in its own bizarre way. (Thanks to Boing Boing for pointing me toward this video.)

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Eat me.

Dang, That Billboard Sure Smells Good!” is the title of an AP article that tells the odd story of a grocery chain that has gone the extra mile to advertise a new line of beef. The company has put up a billboard in Mooresville, North Carolina, that uses fragrance oil and fans to spread the smell of beef to passing cars. Vegans will be pleased. An excerpt:

“It’s not just the picture of beef on a new billboard in North Carolina that tries to catch drivers’ attention, it’s the aroma coming from the sign.

The billboard on N.C. 150 in central North Carolina emits the smell of black pepper and charcoal to promote a new line of beef available at the Bloom grocery chain. Bloom is part of the Salisbury, N.C.-based Food Lion chain.”

Hellcat will stab you in the head.

According to this asinine article in the July 6. 1894 edition of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, Old Timey women were using their umbrellas to beat the snot out of one another. An excerpt:

“Two or three umbrella duels have occurred in this vicinity of late. Women were the duelists and there were no fatalities. Jealousy and hatred were the inspiring causes of these conflicts and a good deal of skill was exhibited in the use of weapons. We have always believed that when the new woman entered the field of honor she would import into that gory reservation something worthy of her own sweet self. And she has.

Men may cling to the pistol, the rapier, the saber, the poignard, the Kentucky shot gun, the bowie of Mizzoura, the bolas of the Argentines, the putty blowers of Paris and the cowhide boots of New England. But woman has a more effective instrument in the umbrella. That is, it is more effective when directed against another woman. A bullet merely kills and often does not hurt much. An umbrella on the contrary does not often kill, but it does worse, it scratches and disfigures and with it the appearance of a rival bonnet may be utterly ruined. Every steel rib is devised to catch a ribbon or a piece of lace, or even to impair the bloom on the cheek of innocence or insurance agents. One woman is known to have made a terrible threat of putting her umbrella down the throat of a certain person and opening it, from the outside. Compared with this possibility of punishment the sports of Romans with the early Christians must be regarded as mere amateur cruelties.

Weapons of mass destruction.

Still, the umbrella has a good deal to commend itself, as opposed to the pistol. In the first place the pistol is monotonous. The people have tired of it as an implement of the novel and the drama and will be glad to welcome something different. Again, the startling noise that accompanies the use of firearms is avoided by the use of umbrellas. Instead of reports there are only screams and whacks.

Again, the pistol duel is sometimes conclusive after a single shot; whereas the umbrella duel is a truer test of sincerity in the attacking parties. A person who is convinced that she has right on her side can do prodigies of skill and daring with an umbrella, while, if a pistol had been used, a lucky or unlucky chance might have settled the battle before it had begun. It is hoped that the new woman will continue to employ the umbrella when she has a cause of war with a neighbor. We hope this because if she should take to using pistols it would be the innocent man in the back yard next door but two who would be hurt.”

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Ted Nugent: Tough guy who loves guns, requested a draft deferment during Vietnam. (Image by Lenny Francioni.)

Ted Nugent: I’ve been 61 years clean and sober, celebrating the American Dream, simply of being the best that you can be.

Decoder: The best I can be is an immature, miserable jackass. I know, not great, right?

Ted Nugent: Everybody I hang with–the ranchers, the farmers, the cops, the teachers, the plumbers…

Decoder: I’d like to establish my working-class bona fides.

Ted Nugent: …everybody I hang with, they got an alarm clock…

Decoder: Or they’d be late for functions. Although some people have an internal alarm clock. It’s kind of spooky.

Ted Nugent: …they put their heart and soul into being the very best that they can be, they want to be an asset to their families, their neighborhoods, they want to be productive members of society.

Decoder: I’m romanticizing people who agree with me on issues, artificially empowering my arguments. Most people have good and bad sides.

Ted Nugent: And then they see an Administration that is spitting on the U.S. Constitution, the Bill of Rights, the Ten Commandments, the Golden Rule.

Decoder: Of course, I may be judging this President with some prejudice since in 2007 I said, “Obama, he’s a piece of shit, and I told him to suck on my machine gun.”

Dr. Martin Luther King: If you own a crossbow, do not quote me. (Image by Dick MeMarsico.)

Ted Nugent: I’m going to quote my hero, Dr. Martin Luther King: “We who engage in non-violent direct action are not the cause of tension but rather bringing to the surface a tension that already exists.”

Decoder: I want to criticize the first African-American President broadly and unfairly, so I’m going to claim Martin Luther King as my hero to preempt any suspicion that I’m motivated by racism. It’s an especially curious move since I’ve been a guest on the pro-white radio program, The Political Cesspool.

Ted Nugent: We, the Tea Partiers, we are the people who are speaking up.

Decoder: We’ve been speaking up ever since an African-American guy got to be President. We were strangely silent about corruption in Washington before then.

Ted Nugent: The government works for us, they’re absolutely out of control. The Tea Party and what you stand for, Sean, and what I stand for is one big “A” word–accountability. That’s our money. At least be honest with us.

Decoder: Except if you’re going to honestly point out that I enjoyed being a 13-year-old boy so much that I stayed there the rest of my life. I can’t handle that kind of honesty.

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The 1889 Brooklyn Bridegrooms led the American Association in fancy-looking mustaches.

According to Baseball-Reference.com. Surviving teams are linked to their modern incarnations.

  • Boston Beaneaters
  • Brooklyn Bridegrooms
  • Cleveland Blues
  • Detroit Wolverines
  • Hartford Dark Blues
  • Kansas City Cowboys
  • Louisville Colonels
  • St. Louis Maroons
  • Troy Trojans
  • Worcester Ruby Legs

What's that thing? Ken doesn't have one of those.

Adult Talking Toy Doll Flasher – $5 (Coop City)

“Watch Me Grow ” Adult Talking Toy Doll Flasher

The Very Dirty Willy

The “Watch Me Grow ” doll is a sound activated adult toy. It is 9″ inches tall and requires 3 “AA” batteries (not included). When Willy detects sound, he opens up his trench coat, exposes himself, and speaks any one of five possible comments. Comments include:

  • “Oh yeah, I’m hot. I’m ready”
  • “Hey, Hey Hey, I’ve got this big rod”
  • “Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha”
  • “Yeah, super, superman does not need viagra”
  • “That’s why I’m dirty berdy, ha, ha,ha,ha”

Makes a great gag gift or conversation starter.

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James Dean: Who's that tough chick with all the algebra homework?

It’s 1958 and Sarah’s parents are worried because their teen daughter prefers doing high school math homework to hanging out with her dopey peers. The other kids think she’s stuck-up. But Sara doesn’t care because she’s a rebel–a rebel without a cause! The thing I like about this 13-minute time-warp mental hygiene film is that the James Dean role is played by a girl. And she’ll will beat your ass if you ask her to dance. It wasn’t intended as a movie about a feminist awakening, but that’s how it plays in retrospect.

Sarah is played by Vera Stough, who is excellent as the distaff Dean. It was directed by Herk Harvey, who four years later made the horror classic Carnival of Souls. Watch “The Snob” here.

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"Cousin Lizzie" was acquitted of murdering her parents in 1893.

What if you’re a neuroscientist who’s been studying the brains of violent psychopaths for 20 years and then you find out your brain and genetics are just like theirs? That’s the situation UC Irvine professor Jim Fallon found himself in after an offhand remark made by a great-grandmother led him to look into his own family’s historical predisposition for violence. Even spookier than finding out that he is a relative of Lizzie Borden, Fallon discovered that his brain activity and genes are identical to that of vicious criminals. Only a happy, loving childhood may have saved him from his natural tendencies.

Fallon’s story is told by Barbara Bradley Hagerty in “A Neuroscientist Uncovers a Dark Secret,” part of an NPR series about brain science and criminology. (Thanks to A&L Daily for pointing me in the direction of this piece.) An excerpt:

“Jim Fallon says he had a terrific childhood; he was doted on by his parents and had loving relationships with his brothers and sisters and entire extended family. Significantly, he says this journey through his brain has changed the way he thinks about nature and nurture. He once believed that genes and brain function could determine everything about us. But now he thinks his childhood may have made all the difference.

‘We’ll never know, but the way these patterns are looking in general population, had I been abused, we might not be sitting here today,’ he says.”

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Stop fishing through the garbage for books about con artists, stupid Afflictor.

I gleaned a really nice book this morning just two brownstones away from my apartment. It’s a copy of The Big Con by David W. Mauer. The author was a linguist and academic with a taste for the raffish. In this book, originally published in 1940, he catalogued the lexicon of cons spoken by Americans with names like Slobbering Bob, The Hash House Kid and Lilly the Roper.

The classic, which was reissued in 1999, had somehow gone out of print for quite a while. The great Luc Sante wrote an intro for the new edition, in which he pointed out that Mauer studied “carnies, junkies, safe-crackers, forgers, pot smokers, faro-bank players, shell-game hustlers, race-track touts, pickpockets, moonshiners, prostitutes, and pimps, but his interest in the language of confidence men was a case apart.”

I think con men get too much of the glory. You can’t run a proper confidence game without a good pigeon. So I present an excerpt from a chapter called “The Mark”:

“People who read of good con touches in the newspaper are often wont to remark: ‘That bird must be stupid to fall for a game like that. Why, anybody should have known better than to do what he did…’ In other words, there is a widespread feeling among legitimate folk that anyone who is the victim of a confidence game is a numskull.

But it should not be assumed that the victims of confidence games are all blockheads. Very much to the contrary, the higher a mark’s intelligence, the quicker he sees through the deal to his own advantage. To expect a mark to enter into a con game, take the bait, and then, by sheer reason, analyze the situation and see it as a swindle is simply asking too much. The mark is thrown into an unreal world which very closely resembles real life, like the spectator regarding the life groups in a museum of natural history, he cannot tell where the real scene merges into the background.”

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Uncle Sam: Wanna feel my muscular thighs? Go ahead--give 'em a squeeze.

Saying the Pledge of Allegiance in 1899.

Sea Captain William Driver was the first to nickname his flag "Old Glory."

Patriotic women, who had emigrated to America, work on the flag in 1919.

Hates commies, loves face paint. (Image by Ragesoss.)

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"If a city doesn't have sufficient density, as in L.A., then strange things happen." (Image by Fred von Lohmann.)

The Wall Street Journal brings us “A Talking Head Dreams of a Perfect City,” an article in which the well-traveled and though-provoking singer-songwriter David Byrne (who also has his own cool web presence) describes the features he appreciates (and doesn’t) in an urban center. It’s a fun read. An excerpt about a seldom-discussed benefit of a good-sized city:

“A city can’t be too small. Size guarantees anonymity—if you make an embarrassing mistake in a large city, and it’s not on the cover of the Post, you can probably try again. The generous attitude towards failure that big cities afford is invaluable—it’s how things get created. In a small town everyone knows about your failures, so you are more careful about what you might attempt. Every time I visit San Francisco I ask out loud ‘Why don’t I live here? Why do I choose to live in a place that is harder, tougher and, well, not as beautiful?’ The locals often reply, “You don’t want to live here. It looks like a city, but it’s really a small village. Everyone knows what you’re doing.’ Oh, OK. If you say so. It’s still beautiful.”

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Afflictor: Making self-portraits of French painter Joseph Ducreux yawn since 2009.

"The news of the egg boiling spread quickly."

In the same year that the first New York resident died by electric chair, a much more sanguine use of voltage was displayed: A Manhattan electric supply company boiled an egg with electricity for (perhaps) the first time in NYC history. Wow! A story about this amazing march of scientific progress ran in the July 13, 1890 edition of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle. An excerpt:

“The novel experiment of boiling eggs by electricity was tried recently in the office of the electric supply company, Cincinnati, in the masonic temple, on Third street. Of course they were boiled in water, but electricity was the heating agent. Luke Lilley, the city’s assistant electrician, was chief cook. Charley Marshall, the underwriter’s agent, ate the first egg boiled by the agency of the subtle current. It required six amperes (quantity of electricity) and ninety-six volts (pressure or force) to accomplish the operation with about two quarts of water in a huge tin cup, the electric current being connected through the handle of the cup. The news of the egg boiling spread quickly, and as it was about lunch time, brokers, bulls and bears, bankers, insurance men and lawyers crowded the office. About thirteen dozen eggs were consumed, the only disappointment being that a drink did not go with each egg.”

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Jay Leno: Someone wants my autograph, Mavis.

Autograph Collection (World leaders, Celebrities, Sports, Politics)

For the past many years I have been collecting autographs and have had correspondence with some of the most famous people in the world. I have amassed a collection of around 200 items:

Some of my favorites include:

Fidel Castro
Gerald Ford
Three Doors Down
Arnold Palmer
Jack Nikolaus (Personal Page long letter)
Danica Patrick
All US Governors (Besides 4)
Most Current US Senators
Hamid Karzai
Sandra Day O’Connor (Signed Photo + personal page long letter)
Bob Barker
Barbra Streisand
Jay Leno

I have kept all autographs in protective sleeves. Please email me for pictures of the collection.

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Keyboards, karate, crappy sci-fi costumes and male pattern baldness have never been combined so powerfully as in this brilliant 1980s music clip. Thank you to the ever-funny and demented Robert Popper for posting this craziness.

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Harry Reid: Nevadans were desperate to vote me out of office. Thanks for saving my ass, GOP.

Sharron Angle: People are really looking toward those Second Amendment remedies and saying, “My goodness what can we do to turn this country around?” And I’ll tell you the first thing we need to do is take Harry Reid out.

Decoder: Since the Second Amendment allows for the right to bear arms, it appears that I’ve just suggested that someone should murder Harry Reid.

Sharron Angle: We have 14% unemployment in the state of Nevada, the highest foreclosure rate in the nation, and the highest rate of bankruptcy in Nevada. That is where people must hold Harry Reid accountable, because Harry Reid doesn’t care about their jobs. He doesn’t care that they are having trouble staying in their homes and that’s why Harry Reid needs to be fired.

Decoder: This might have been the average campaign rhetoric if I hadn’t also said this: “As your U.S. Senator, I [won’t be] in the business of creating jobs. People ask me what I’m going to do to develop jobs in my state. Well that’s not my job as U.S. Senator.”

Sharron Angle: [I oppose abortion for victims of rape and incest] because I’m a Christian, and I believe that God has a plan and purpose for each one of our lives and that he can intercede in all kinds of situations and we need to have a little faith in many things.

Decoder: Treating victims of horrific sex crimes to moronic platitudes is my idea of Christianity.

Sharron Angle: The separation of church and state is a doctrine meant to protect the church.

Decoder: It’s actually meant to protect that state from religious nuts like me who want to force my idiotic beliefs on others.

Sharron Angle's lemonade stand.

Sharron Angle: [We should bury the nation’s most radioactive waste 90 miles outside of Las Vegas to create jobs] because we need to make lemonade out of lemons.

Decoder: Why won’t anyone ever drink the lemonade I make? It’s so tangy and refreshing. They think it’s radioactive, don’t they?

Sharron Angle: They keep extending unemployment benefits to the point where people are afraid to go out and get a job because the job doesn’t pay as much as the benefit. There are jobs that do exist. We have [created] so much entitlement that we have spoiled our citizenry that they don’t want the jobs that are available. You can make more money on unemployment than you can make by going down and getting one of those jobs that are honest jobs. What we really need to have them do is take those jobs that are entry-level jobs, build up their seniority.

Decoder: When I lose the race for Senator, I am going to go get a minimum-wage job in the fast-food industry. I will gradually work my way up to running the french-fry machine by myself. Even for this, I will be underqualified.

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Harper Lee reunites with Boo Radley in 2007. (Image by Eric Draper.)

With the 50th anniversary of the publication of To Kill a Mockingbird upon us, some brainiac from the Daily Mail thought it was a good idea to show up unannounced and bother novelist Harper Lee for an interview, even though Lee hasn’t been interested in doing that kind of thing for more than 45 years. The reporter was politely rebuffed. Good for Lee. Back when she was open to discussing her work, Lee  sat down with Roy Newquist in 1964 and covered many topics, including the then-state of contemporary writing. An excerpt:

“Roy Newquist: When you look at American writing today, perhaps American theatre too, what do you find that you most admire? And, conversely, what do you most deplore?

Harper Lee: Let me see if I can take that backward and work into it. I think the thing that I most deplore about American writing, and especially in the American theatre, is a lack of craftsmanship. It comes right down to this—the lack of absolute love for language, the lack of sitting down and working a good idea into a gem of an idea. It takes time and patience and effort to turn out a work of art, and few people seem willing to go all the way.

I see a great deal of sloppiness and I deplore it. I suppose the reason I’m so down on it is because I see tendencies in myself to be sloppy, to be satisfied with something that’s not quite good enough. I think writers today are too easily pleased with their work. This is sad. I think the sloppiness and haste carry over into painting. The search, such as it is, is on canvas, not in the mind.

But back to writing. There’s no substitute for the love of language, for the beauty of an English sentence. There’s no substitute for struggling, if a struggle is needed, to make an English sentence as beautiful as it should be.

Mockingbird: I don't care for the title. (Image by Eurico Zimbres.)

Now, as to what I think is good about writing. I think that right now, especially in the United States, we’re having a renaissance of the novel. I think that the novel has come into its own, that it has been pushed into its own by American writers. They have widened the scope of the art form. They have more or less opened it up.

Our writers, Faulkner, for instance, turned the novel into something Wolfe was trying to do. (They were contemporaries in a way, but Faulkner really carried out the mission.) It was a vision of enlargement, of using the novel form to encompass something much broader than our friends across the sea have done. I think this is something that’s been handed to us by Faulkner, Wolfe, and possibly (strangely enough) Theodore Dreiser.

Dreiser is a forgotten man, almost, but if you go back you can see what he was trying to do with the novel. He didn’t succeed because I think he imposed his own limitations.

All this is something that has been handed to us as writers today. We don’t have to fight for it, work for it; we have this wonderful literary heritage, and when I say “we” I speak in terms of my contemporaries.

There’s probably no better writer in this country today than Truman Capote. He is growing all the time. The next thing coming from Capote is not a novel—it’s a long piece of reportage, and I think it is going to make him bust loose as a novelist. He’s going to have even deeper dimension to his work. Capote, I think, is the greatest craftsman we have going.

Of course, there’s Mary McCarthy. You may not like her work, but she knows how to write. She knows how to put a novel together. Then there’s John Cheever—his Wapshot novels are absolutely first-rate. And in the southern family there’s Flannery O’Connor.

You can’t leave out John Updike—he’s so happily gifted in that he can create living human beings. At the same time he has a great respect for his language, for the tongue that gives him voice. And Peter De Vries, as far as I’m concerned, is the Evelyn Waugh of our time. I can’t pay anybody a greater compliment because Waugh is the living master, the baron of style.

These writers, these great ones, are doing something fresh and wonderful and powerful: they are exploring character in ways in which character has never been explored. They are not structured in the old patterns of hanging characters on a plot. Characters make their own plot. The dimensions of the characters determine the action of the novel.”

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Obetrol: "Use with caution in individuals with anorexia."

According to Nicholas Rasmussen’s book, On Speed: The Many Lives of Amphetamine, the meth-laced diet pills Obetrol were Andy Warhol’s weight-loss tablet of choice. The medication was produced by a Brooklyn drug manufacturer, but meth’s usage as a diet aid waned during the 1980s. This 1970 ad features an illustration in which a ski instructor mocks a student whose obesity is causing him to sink. The instructor barks: “Either lose 45 pounds or wait for six more inches of snow!” The ad contains the following precautions:

“Use with caution in individuals with anorexia, insomnia, asthma, psychopathic personality, a history of homicidal or suicidal tendencies, or emotionally unstable individuals who are known to be susceptible to drug abuse.”

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Inscription on back of Robert Cornelius photo: "First light picture ever taken."

Thanks to the great Kottke.org for pointing me in the direction of a really fun feature on Oobject, which curates an amazing portfolio of historic firsts from the annals of photography. That includes the initial photo of a human face from 1838 (Robert Cornelius, pictured above, who was chosen for his utter handsomeness) to the first color photograph in 1861 to the first complete image of a molecule in 2009. Have a look at all the cool images.

By the way: Cornelius, a chemist born to Dutch immigrants, worked with fellow scientist Paul Beck Goddard to perfect the daguerreotype. He  took the photo of himself outside of his family’s Philadelphia lighting store. It was only in 1975 that evidence emerged that proved the original date of Cornelius’ self-portrait. The picture was off-center but not bad for the first photo of a face ever. Cornelius may have also been a ventriloquist. An excerpt about him from Godey’s Lady’s Book of 1840:

Take our photo. (Image by Sgomatham.)

“There is a young gentleman of this city, by the name of Robert Cornelius, one of the firm of the well known house of Cornelius, Son & Co., who has more genius than he yet supposes himself to possess. As a designer in the way of his profession, he has no equal; as a ventriloquist—but here we are getting into private life—as a Daguerreotypist his specimens are the best that have yet been seen in this country, and we speak this with a full knowledge of the specimens shown here by Mr. Gouraud, purporting to be, and no doubt truly, by Daguerre himself. We have seen many specimens by young Cornelius, and we pronounce them unsurpassable—they must be seen to be appreciated.

Catching a shadow is a thing no more to be laughed at. Mr. Cornelius, in one matter, has outstripped the great master of the art, a thing, by the way, peculiar to our countrymen; he has succeeded in etching his designs onto the plate, from which they cannot be removed by any effort. A few more experiments in this way, and we shall do without engravers—those very expensive gentlemen.”

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“La Jetée” famously inspired “12 Monkeys.”

A nameless man on a futureless planet, the protagonist in Chris Marker’s perfect 28-minute film about post-apocalyptic Paris is held captive in a warren beneath the City of Lights, which has been reduced to radiated rubble during WWIII. The Man (Davos Hanich) defeatedly assents to be a lab rat for his captors, who want to attempt a time-travel experiment and send him back to the past to attain the materials that will make a future on the planet possible. But returned to a time and place he recalls from his childhood, the Man meets a Woman (Hélène Chatelain) who seems familiar–or perhaps she doesn’t. The pair struggle to grow closer inside what feels like a frustration dream, but just as they near an understanding, they face an end they didn’t see coming.

Rudely awakened from the experiment, the Man finds out that the past was merely a test run and it’s the future where he must go to find the elixir for the scorched Earth. But even if he is able to locate the antidote to apocalypse a thousand years hence, there will be no cure for him. After all, what good is tomorrow to someone who’s been poisoned with sweet dreams of perfecting yesterday?

Apart from one very brief passage, Marker uses no moving images in this film, just stark black-and-white still photographs, a chilling score and a measured voiceover narration. While he does more with less than any sci-fi director ever has, Marker is merely using the conventions of a genre picture to go where Proust and Resnais went: inside those temporal shifts that beat us about like waves at high tide.•

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These creeps really have a high opinion of themselves. It makes me so angry. This clip was apparently part of some sort of Mormon educational film and comes to us from the very twisted geniuses at Found Footage Festival.

Michael Silverblatt: “Joan, please pardon me if I cry during this interview." (Image by David Shankbone.)

Michael Silverblatt, host of KCRW’s Bookworm program, is interviewed in the latest issue of The Believer about the many writers he’s conversed with over the years. It’s a fun read. A couple of excerpts follow.

•••••

Michael Silverblatt: I was really, really afraid of Joan Didion, simply because she’s a no-nonsense type. She has a mind that aggressively finds the flaws in an argument and the places where you’re trying to burnish your weakness with pretty words. And her attitude is “Everybody’s lying and life is the story we’re telling ourselves in order to stay alive. And an artist sees through the story. Sees through the fakeness of the story to the very bare and difficult impossibilities of the coping mechanism functioning in a true situation of devastation.” I was very scared, and that fear did not lessen, as it usually does with subsequent interviews. In fact, when The Year of Magical Thinking came out, about her husband’s death—that was a really hard interview to do! To talk to someone about the book about the death of her husband just after her daughter had died as well? And she had been talking about it all around the country, giving public readings. I’m in the position of someone extending meaningless condolence. If I don’t extend it, I seem like a jerk, but if I ask tough questions I also seem like a jerk. How was I going to do this interview? I was scared of her subject. Also of having at that time my own parents dealing with illnesses. I said to her, “Joan, please pardon me if I cry during this interview. And I’m very nervous about being unable to speak, because this is a subject that you’ve been handling that I don’t handle very well.” And she took my hand and she said, “I’ll get you through it.”

•••••

The Believer: Do you ever become friends with your guests?

Michael Silverblatt: Kurt [Vonnegut] didn’t sign books, he didn’t stay on, he was escorted into a car immediately through a back door, but he said, “Give me your book,” and drew a picture of himself and a bubble coming out of his mouth saying, “Would you be my friend?” and gave me his phone number and he looked at me and said, “I’m so lonely.” I had started reading him before he was discovered, around the time of Mother Night. He meant a lot to me. I had a hunger verging on addiction to enjoy how funny and inventive he was. He wasn’t Pynchon, he wasn’t Barth, he wasn’t Barthelme, he wasn’t the writers he was grouped with, but he had his finger on an American zaniness that hadn’t really been seen since Mark Twain. We began a phone relationship and saw each other several more times before his death.

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Gypsy taboo’s & jellousy – $1000000

Hello people,
today’s topic is, taboo’s & jellousy,
there’s so many rules in the Romania that make people do things they shouldn’t,
for instance, say a husband an wife attend a party, and it just so happends his wires x is there,
why is it that the husband is aloud to shake his hand and say let bygons be bygons to prevent trouble,
wile the wife sits there an sez, why is my husband talking to my X? Now all,
the people are gonna think, maybe thier both gonna messaround with her tonight,
now I can’t blame a woman for getting angry at her husband, now he’s braking the (rules)
and it goes the same way vice versa if his x wife was there, were not guyzhey,
cuz guyzhey still keep intouch in devorce, but we can’t do those thing cuz we have a reputation
to protect, so if you do find yourself an a common situation like that,
just make believe that person isn’t there and go on with your night, don’t even make eye
contact, cuz the consequence could be devastating, that’s a taboo.

The sad thing in the Romania is jellousy,
it’s sad for me to say,lots of Roma don’t like to see eachother get ahead in life, they don’t wanna see
you drive a nice car, wear exspensive things, and have a nice place, in romaness thier called
duzhmya, and thier everywhere, even sometimes the people you deal with are your enemy.

"Overrated." (Image by Matt Yohe.)

it doesn’t always have to be the poor people that are jellous on what you got, cuz the people that are less fortunate then you just like what you have,
an I believe it gives them inspiration to achieve some glitz an glam, an may god give us all what we desire, for the rich & poor,
the duzhmya are the people that have alot already, thier just affraid you might catch up with them, and trust me, they don’t want that to happen, that’s why you need to stay away from people like that, here’s a clue! (((The person that sez thier the most happy for you)))
I’m gypsy James, an this is my daily colum, p.s I think the iphone4 is overrated.

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"Disreputable looking but vicious billy goat." (Image by Steve Ford Elliott.)

People did whatever the hell they wanted to do in Brooklyn in 1900. If you felt like being a hermit and keeping a pet goat, sure, why not.  Not surprisingly, these asinine decisions sometimes turned out badly. That was the case with a recluse and his hollow-horned buddy as chronicled in the March 6, 1900 edition of the Brooklyn Daily News. An excerpt:

“William Randall, an aged recluse, was found dying of cold and exhaustion in a squalid hovel at 442 Graham avenue last night. His only companion and protector was a disreputable looking but vicious billy goat, who vigorously resented the intrusion of neighbors who sought to relieve the starving man.

Randall, who is 85 years old, has for the past six months been living the life of a hermit in a little one story frame house, formerly used as a stable. He was seen seldom by neighbors and was generally accompanied by the goat who followed him much after the fashion of a dog. Randall had not been seen for nearly a week and when groans were heard last night neighbors decided to investigate. When the door was forced open there was a sound of rapid hoof beats and the goat with lowered horns charged at the intruders. They retreated and summoned Policeman Melton of the Herbert street station who advanced into the place with drawn club. The goat immediately renewed the attack, but was stunned by a blow from the policeman’s stick. With a pitiful bleat the old man’s defender rolled over on the dirt covered floor. He was made helpless by binding his legs.

The old man was found lying on a heap of mildewed hay in a corner with a board serving as a pillow. His long white hair was matted and covered with dirt, which increased the ghastly appearance of his emaciated features. There was no fire nor food in the place. A call for an ambulance brought Dr. Halpin of the Eastern District Hospital. He said the man was on the verge of starvation and hurriedly conveyed him to St. Catherine’s Hospital. Randall was delirious and muttered continually, ‘Alone and dying. My only friend, Billy.’

At the hospital this morning the physician in charge said the old man had improved greatly. The goat will be cared for until Randall is able to leave the hospital.”

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