Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Consider: Blago represents only himself.


New cliches are minted hourly. Journalists strive for superlatives in describing Illinois as corrupt. Television newsreaders suggest that Blago is the face of the Democratic Party in the United States. Bobby Rush doubly invokes language of past, racially-inspired murders: "I would ask you not to hang or lynch the appointee as you try to castigate the appointor. Separate, if you will, the appointee from the appointor. Roland Burris is worthy." Blagojevich's public play for an insanity plea cannot end too soon. [Graphic: ABC News.]

Thursday, December 25, 2008

"Cancer Cells," by Harold Pinter (2002)


The black cells will dry up and die
Or sing with joy and have their way
They breed so quietly night and day,
You never know, they never say.


Pinter was 78.

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

The Proof is in the off-putting: The NYT's new booze blog

The Times calls it Proof, and it's their blog about drinking, or wanting to drink despite behind sober for months and years. It's an odd cocktail. Here's a sentiment, from David Kramer's "Buybacks": "One thing I miss about drinking is hanging out in bars. Mm, okay. Let's sample Jim Atkinson's "It’s the Holidays. How About Just One?": "I had my last drink nearly 16 years ago, so you’d think I would have assimilated pretty much every bit of unpleasantness associated with clean and sober life in a society that remains thoroughly sodden with alcohol. But I still can’t quite handle the holidays. It’s not that I’m driven to drink; just to a certain uncomfortable distraction that doesn’t leave until the holiday season thankfully does. And it’s not just that the holidays seem to have been invented for the express purpose of promoting—no, necessitating—irresponsible alcoholic consumption." Cheer-filled! How about David Kramer's "Self-Inflicted Prophecy "? "Years ago, I had had a run of terrible luck in my life. My career was going nowhere. I thought about going to see a shrink, but I was totally broke and I didn’t want to get myself involved in anything that was going to cost me lots of time and money. So I went to see a psychic. In my mind, it was just like seeing a shrink, only instead of wasting all that time mulling over my past, I could set some totally arbitrary goals and navigate my life through them, moving forward." Got anything stronger? How 'bout Susan Cheever's "Drunkenfreude"? "As dessert ended, the woman in the red dress got up and stumbled toward the bathroom. Her husband, whose head had been sinking toward the bûche de Noël, put a clumsily lecherous arm around the reluctant hostess. As coffee splashed into porcelain demitasse cups, the woman in the red dress returned, sank sloppily into her chair and reached for the Courvoisier. Someone gently moved the bottle away. “Are you shaying I’m drunk?” she demanded. Even in the candlelight I noticed that the lipstick she had reapplied was slightly to the left of her lips. Her husband, suddenly bellicose, sprang from his chair to defend his wife’s honor. But on the way across the room he slipped and went down like a tray of dishes. “Frank! Are you hurt?” she screamed. Somehow she had gotten hold of the brandy. “S’nothing,” he replied, “just lay down for a little nap. Can I bum a smoke?” Bartender! What he's having! And make it a double!

Monday, December 22, 2008

Rockcrit: Matthew Perpetua on Tim Kinsella

Writing at Fluxblog, Matthew Perpetua considers the case of Joan of Arc's “Ne Mosquitos Pass”: "Tim Kinsella is not the easiest singer to appreciate. In fact, he’s probably the worst singer whose music I actively enjoy. But here’s the thing: Whereas all too many crappy indie vocalists hedge their bets and sing with timidity and a flat affect, Kinsella emotes and pushes his thin, frail voice to occasionally excruciating limits, often with gutting results. Even still, his style would come off horribly in most musical contexts, and so it’s pretty crucial that it’s in contrast with delicate, imaginative arrangements that balance out gorgeous, graceful instrumentation with uglier textures and unorthodox rhythms. “Ne Mosquitos Pass,” a Joan of Arc gem dating back to 2001, never fails to move me with its gently floating arpeggios, somber piano chords, and absolutely unhinged conclusion. The beat is steady, but it seems to stagger all along the way, as if it can barely hold itself erect, especially when the song gets around to its bitter, ironically anthemic chorus." Not only a nice paragraph, but it suits the song.

Sunday, December 21, 2008

Terminal velocity: how to end the massive Madoff coverage in NY Times

NY Times front-pages the deceptions of Bernard Madoff in the December 21 editions. As written by Diane B. Henriques, the closing grafs offer a keen example of accelerating-cadence prose ending a huge, detail-choked article. "In early December he remarked to one of [his sons] that he was struggling to raise $7 billion to cover redemptions. He seemed tired and drawn, but so was just about everyone else during the turbulent weeks of late November and early December. Then, early on Dec. 10, he shocked [them] by suggesting that the firm pay out several million dollars in bonuses two months ahead of schedule. When pressed by his sons for a reason, he grew agitated and insisted that they all leave the office and continue the conversation at his apartment on East 64th Street. It was there, at midmorning, that he told his sons that his business was “a big lie” and, “basically, a giant Ponzi scheme.” There was nothing left, he told them—and he fully expected to go to jail. The questions have piled up since then: Could Mr. Madoff have sustained this worldwide fraud for so long by himself? Why didn’t regulators, in Washington and abroad, catch him sooner? And will anything be recovered for investors, some of whom have lost every penny? But when the news of his arrest began to spread on Dec. 11, the first thought that struck an old friend who had known him as a pioneer on Wall Street, was, “There must be an error. It must be another Bernie Madoff.” Then he added, “But then, there is no other Bernie Madoff.” [Reported by Henriques, Alex Berenson, Alison Leigh Cowan, Alan Feuer, Zachery Kouwe, Eric Konigsberg, Nelson D. Schwartz, Michael J. de la Merced, Stephanie Strom, Julia Werdigier and Dirk Johnson.]

Saturday, December 20, 2008

Clay Shirky on "vulgarity" on the internet, from CJR


Clay Shirky, who teaches at the Interactive Telecommunications program at New York University and is the author of "Here Comes Everybody, says not to worry about information overload. "You know, “Life was better when I was younger” is always an acceptable narrative. Right? And so for anybody who was brought up genuflecting to the literary culture and the virtues of reading Tolstoy—and essentially Tolstoy is a trope in these things, War and Peace is the longest novel in the sort of Euro-centric canon—you could always make the argument that the present is worse than the past by simply pointing to the virtues of the past. And so, what the Web does is that it does what all amateur increases do, which is it decreases the average quality of what’s available. It is exactly, precisely, the complaint made about the printing press. So, the only thing surprising about the Web, in a way, is that it’s been a long time since we’ve had a medium that increased the amount of production of written material this dramatically... [P]eople made the same complaint about comic books, they made the same complaint about paperbacks, and they made the same complaint about the vulgarity of the printing press. Whenever you let more people in, things get vulgar by definition. And people who benefited under the old system or who dislike or distrust vulgarity as a process always have room to complain. But, the interesting thing is, when you say so many people believe this, in fact almost no one believes this, right? There’s a tiny, tiny slice of the chattering classes for whom “Life was better when I was younger” is an acceptable complaint to make, and they have these little conferences or whatever and agree with one another about that phenomenon. But when you look at the actual use of the Web, it is through the roof. And it has continued in an unbroken growth from the early ’90s until now. So, in fact, almost everybody thinks it’s a good idea because they’re embracing it and they’re experimenting with it and they don’t really care what we think. And when I say “we,” I mean—I am a member of the Chardonnay-swilling East Coast liberal media elite. But I also recognize that anything I might have to say about the utility of the media actually isn’t going to influence whether or not people are going to adopt this. And so once you get out of the idea that basically the previous avatars of the cultural good, and the world that George W.S. Trow chronicled so beautifully 'Within the Context of No Contex't—once you grasp that those people are powerless to that effect, powerless with regard to the adoption curve—the question really becomes, “How do you point out an effect where something has been damaged?” And that’s where I think a lot of this conversation about reading breaks down, because if you assume that reading Tolstoy is an a priori good, your world crumbled in 1970. And it’s hard to point to the Web as responsible for any of that because that was a done deal for some time. If you want to point to more proximate harms, it would be very hard to argue, for example, that innovation, inventiveness, new intellectual discoveries had slowed as a result of the Internet, and so people are left with these kind of mealy-mouth cultural critiques, because nostalgia becomes the only bulwark against change. The actual effects of making more information available to more people have been enormously beneficial to society, yet not to the intellectual gatekeepers in the generation in which that change happened."

Greek protest posters






I've collected Greek political posters for a while and was disappointed this fall to find a lack of the usual startling design work. The provocation that led to the creation of these and the resulting violence is a terrible thing, but terrible times focus the mind. [Via Nassos Kappa.]