Showing posts with label artsy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label artsy. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Even Jesus Was Questioned More Than Barack


But Thomas, one of the twelve, called Didymus, was not with them when Jesus came.

25 The other disciples therefore said unto him, We have seen the LORD. But he said unto them, Except I shall see in his hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, and thrust my hand into his side, I will not believe (John 20:24-25)

And it’s not like I’m comparing Barack Obama to Jesus Christ, but

Here’s Dan Balz (hehe) of the Washington Post’s take

The focus will be on Hillary Clinton tonight when she and Barack Obama meet here for their last debate before next week's primaries in Ohio and Texas. But should it be Obama who comes under closer questioning?

The political community and the press are consumed, understandably, by the horse race. Obama is at worst tied with Clinton in Texas and, while he still trails in Ohio, he has narrowed Clinton's once-hefty margin.

Two new national polls out Tuesday morning show Obama now leading Clinton among Democrats by double digits for the first time in this long nomination battle (though some other national polls show Obama and Clinton running much closer).

Pollsters know that if those national numbers are moving rapidly away from Clinton, Ohio is not far behind. In past general elections, the Buckeye State has come close to mirroring the final outcome, and it's likely that Democrats here reflect overall national trends as well.

All this spells big trouble for Clinton, whose advisers know the consequences of losing both states next week. If that were to happen, there would be a rising chorus within the Democratic establishment for her to end her candidacy and embrace Obama for the good of the party. Even a split decision may not be enough to prevent a groundswell for shutting down the Democratic contest. Certainly Bill Clinton believes that.

Pre-debate talk has been consumed with the question of which Clinton will show up here in Cleveland -- the magnanimous candidate from last week's Texas debate or the angry Clinton who demanded on Saturday that Obama meet her to answer questions about his conduct during the primaries and caucuses.

Much, obviously, rides on her performance, but rarely has a debate truly changed the state of the race. The clear exception was the Philadelphia debate in late October, when Clinton stumbled over the issue of driver's licenses for illegal immigrants and opened herself up to attacks from her rivals that ultimately helped Obama. What Clinton needs may be less a stellar performance on her own part and more one by Obama that raises, in dramatic fashion, questions about his fitness to be president or his positions on important issues.

In what could be a decisive week in the Democratic campaign, the rising candidate is receiving accolades for big crowds, the enthusiasm of his supporters, his apparent ability to inspire a new generation to become active in politics and his facility to have captured the desire for change after eight years of the Bush presidency and more than a decade of polarized politics.

Those are not insignificant accomplishments, but more than that will be required to actually win the presidency in November and then to govern this still-divided country. Which is why Obama ought to face rigorous questioning in these final days before Ohio and Texas.

Can he truly be the candidate of MoveOn.org and red-state politicians alike? Have those at different ends of the Democratic political spectrum attributed to him positions -- on issues ranging from Iraq to health care to the economy -- that are compatible with their own views, but not with the other's?

Is there any major issue upon which he parts company with the big labor unions, or has he adopted their agenda in totality? More broadly, where has he shown a willingness to take on some of his own party's constituencies, and if he's not willing to do so, how can he suggest that he can bring Republicans and independents into a governing coalition?

Does his anti-NAFTA rhetoric of the past few weeks reflect his true feelings about trade, or has this been a mostly tactical exercise to attack Clinton? Is he turning his back on what has been a general consensus on trade issues and turning toward a significantly more protectionist stance for the United States?

What are his real priorities were he to become president? Ending the war, certainly, but exactly how? Health care for all Americans within his first term, though with how much compromise with the Republicans to get it done? Beyond that, where will he focus his attention in his first year in office?

When would he take on the entitlement challenges of Social Security and Medicare? What does he really think about budget deficits and fiscal discipline? What would he give up to lower the deficit, or does he not think that that matters? What taxes would he raise, other than rolling back the Bush tax cuts for the wealthy, which would largely be eaten up paying for health care?

If President Bush failed to change the tone in Washington, in part because he sought to govern as a conservative, would a President Obama be prepared not to govern as the liberal he has been in the Illinois and U.S. senates in order to change politics in Washington, as he has promised?

Obama's success against Clinton to date speaks to his considerable gifts as a politician, but that success does not wash away hard questions that he, or anyone else who seeks to lead the country, should face at such a challenging time.


A really good article all around but I’m surprised the Obamacans haven’t denounced Balz yet. I mean this article is indicative of a pre-Barack political mindset- who needs to actually have the presidential frontrunner answer questions about, y'know issues when he speaks so pretty? it's that kind of dissent that should not be tolerated in this New America.
To question Barack is to question Hope and Progress and the Future itself.
Plus every time you do question Barack a kitten dies- you're not a kitten killer, are you?

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Friday, February 22, 2008

Random Wikipedia Knowledge Break

On Wikipedia they have these nifty little navigation tool where you can get a totally random article, something that I had never noticed before because I was never that bad.
Well I guess at some point in the past few days either I couldn't sleep or was just maddeningly bored and so
I stumbled upon this entry

Bacchus discovering Ariane in Naxos is a painting by the Le Nain brothers, dating approximately 1630, that is part of the collection of French paintings in Orleans's museum of Beaux-Arts. It is a 102*152cm oil on canvass.

The painting shows a young Bacchus discovering Ariane on the island of Naxos, after she was abandoned by the Greek hero Theseus. The painting was first attributed to Louis Le Nain, yet specialists still wonder if the author may not be Mathieu Le Nain.

The idyll between Bacchus and Ariane has inspired many artists, particularly Richard Strauss who wrote the famous Opera Ariadne auf Naxos.


Here is the painting from Musee des Beaux-Arts, Orleans, France


the more you know

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Wednesday, February 20, 2008

The World is Freezing

The Great Freeze of '08 continues

Y'know that original ImprovEverywhere masterpiece of a Frozen Grand Central?
if you don’t (or are too lazy to click on that link) you can watch it here


Well it seems to be catching on as the cold storm heads South affecting these Virginia Tech students fall under the spell of the Freeze

and now it can be seen as the Great Freeze spread across the Pond reaching this London square


Now that you mention it I have been bundling up for the last few days...
But seriously can people “freezing” combat global warming?
Art can change the world!
Someone should look into this.

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Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Paris can take a joke

Alternately titled Paris Hilton is the new Mona Lisa; I can’t grasp completely what’s behind her smile- she’s like a sphinx!

Irony may not be dead but some people just don’t get it
A lot of people read this picture with the caption (from Faded Youth)
"actress Paris Hilton attends a screening of The Hottie & The Nottie at The Brenden Theatres in The Palms Casino Resort in Las Vegas on Sunday" as being a sign of her obliviousness and also her abject failure

but to me that smirk on her face, as enigmatic as it is, makes it seem like she knows what you’re thinking, that your looking at this as her at an empty screening that she gets that no one saw her film and has staged this photo in this setting as a sign of total awareness. I mean the concession stand cups in the row behind her and her position in the image makes it seem like it’s totally be set exactly like a director or artist would want it to be.

Or maybe I just don’t get it and she’s that clueless

(p.s. yeah this photo was taken after the screening,says this guy who was there in case you were wondering)

And just a quick question kinda sorta related:
Is every female celebrity in Hollywood either pregnant, in rehab or Britney right now?
Because it sure seems that way

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Sunday, February 17, 2008

Cool and Unusual Campaign Posters

The New York Times "Campaign Stop" blog had an interesting enough post about unique campaign posters that go beyond the tried and true "red white and blue"
And when I saw it is interesting enough just keep in mind this girl wants to go on one of these wonky cruises (though I wouldn't speak to Ralph Nader either)
Anyway from the post

Poster designs for political campaigns are usually laden with patriotic clichés — red, white and blue, stars, stripes, eagles — which given their turgid redundancy have a numbing rather than rousing effect.

The reason for this design rut is simple: conventional campaign imagery is usually produced by mainstream advertising agencies slavishly following old formulas lest they make a truly novel statement that might offend a single voter.

Indeed, artists have been inspired by particular candidates for years and have designed posters that break the mold not only in terms of color and style but also in message and tone. These posters are memorable because they reject bland tropes while making novel graphic statements that reflect the times in which their candidates are running

Take a 1968 poster for Eugene McCarthy by Ben Shahn, [Ed. Note: which I really really like] rendered in his signature loose linear style. Instead of a ham-fisted patriotic message, it exudes an image of hope — of change.

the poster that Andy Warhol produced in 1972: an impressionistic image, based on an official portrait of Richard Nixon under which Warhol roughly scrawled “Vote McGovern.” It was the height of irony in a campaign that later became known for its dirty tricks.

In 1984, vice presidential candidate Geraldine Ferraro was depicted as Lady Liberty in a convincing send-up of Eugène Delacroix’s 1830 painting “Liberty Leading the People.”

In 1996 Peter Max, who gave signed copies of his Statue of Liberty prints to whichever president was in office, created a poster for Bill Clinton and Al Gore’s re-election campaign. Mr. Max’s post-psychedelic poster was a welcome alternative

It probably should be pointed out that besides Clinton/Gore who were the incumbents, none of those other really cool posters produced or aided a competitive candidate.
Outsider art inside the Beltway

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Thursday, February 14, 2008

Eros and Psyche

EROS--the Greek god of love; son of Aphrodite. His Roman cognate is CUPID.
APHRODITE--the Greek goddess of love. Her Roman cognate is VENUS.
PSYCHE--a mortal princess whose beauty aroused the jealous wrath of Aphrodite, but who was chosen by Eros to be his bride.
Despite evident differences in the two stories, the popular fairytale "Beauty and the Beast" is actually a late folk version of a Greek myth, the story of Eros and Psyche.


Aphrodite, the goddess of love, was jealous and angry because a mortal princess named Psyche had become so famous for her beauty that mere mortals were beginning to say that she was even more lovely than Aphrodite herself.

Aphrodite sent her son Eros, the god of love, to shoot Psyche with one of his arrows, to make her fall in love with the most hideous monster he could find. But the girl's exquisite beauty so enchanted him that he could not bring himself to carry out his mother's command.

Meanwhile, the oracle of Apollo at Delphi had warned Psyche's father that she would never be the bride of an ordinary man, but rather would marry a being who flies through the night like a winged serpent, one whose power was so great that even Zeus, the king of the gods, could not withstand it. The king was told to take his daughter to the mountaintop and leave her there, and the wind would transport her to the abode of her husband.

The next morning, Psyche, her father and mother, and her two sisters made their way sadly to the top of the mountain. Tearfully they bade each other farewell, and then her family returned to the palace, leaving the frightened girl alone on the mountaintop.

As soon as she was quite alone, Psyche felt herself lifted by a gentle breeze, which carried her far away to a beautiful palace built of marble and richly decorated with gold, silver, and precious gems. When she went inside, she found that an elaborate wedding feast had been prepared, but she saw no guests. Invisible servants began to wait on her, and in soft voices they assured her that she was mistress of the palace, and that everything in it was hers.

That night her new husband came to her, but the palace was so completely dark that she could not see him. Still, he was kind and gentle, and his words were loving and sweet. She soon fell in love with him. He promised that he would give her anything she wanted, but warned her that she must never try to see his face. If ever she should look upon his face, they would have to part, and she would then live in loneliness and misery.

For many months Psyche was content to live with the husband she had come to love so dearly, but she never stopped missing her sisters. She began to plead with him to bring them to visit her. He warned her that

they would cause trouble, but in the end he could not refuse his bride's request.

The next day, when Psyche's sisters went to the mountaintop, as they did every day, to weep over their lost sister, the wind lifted them and carried them to Psyche's new home. When they were set down before the gorgeous palace, the sisters felt amazed at such wealth. They were even more astonished when their lost sister ran out of the palace to greet them. She explained that the palace belonged to her new husband--and now, of course, to her as well.

Psyche's sisters could not help feeling jealous of Psyche's good fortune. They began to pry and probe, and to ask questions about her husband. Although she did not want to admit that she had never seen her husband's face, Psyche became confused and flustered under their relentless interrogation. In response to one question, she described him as having golden hair, as bright as the sun, but an hour later, she mentioned that his hair was as dark as night. These and other contradictory answers aroused her sisters' suspicion. They pounced on her errors, crying out, "Why, you have never even seen him, have you?"

When she finally admitted the truth, her sisters reminded her of Apollo's prophecy. It didn't take long for them to persuade the confused girl that her husband must be a terrible monster who would kill her as soon as he tired of her. They concocted a plan. Handing her an oil lamp and a dagger, they told her to wait until he was asleep, and then to light the lamp and steal a look at him. If he was, as they assumed, a terrible monster, then she would have to take the dagger and kill him.

That night, Psyche took the dagger from beneath her pillow and approached her sleeping husband. She lit the lamp and gazed for the first time on her husband's face, the face of the god of love! Instead of obeying his mother's command and making Psyche fall in love with a hideous monster, Eros had secretly taken her for his own bride. When she beheld the glory of Eros, Psyche was so startled that she allowed a drop of hot oil to land on his shoulder.

Awakened by the drop of oil on his shoulder, the god said sadly, "Where there is no trust there can be no love." Then he arose and left the palace.

Aphrodite soon learned that Eros had disobeyed her. She sought out his abandoned bride, determined to make her suffer. As soon as she found her, Aphrodite dumped a great pile of tiny seeds on the ground in front of the unhappy girl and ordered her to separate them--and to finish the job by sundown!

Looking at the enormous pile of seeds, Psyche knew that the task was impossible. It would take a hundred years to sort and separate so many seeds. But a large colony of ants, beguiled by the girl's beauty, decided to help her. Scurrying back and forth, they soon had the seeds sorted into separate piles. When Aphrodite returned and saw that the task had been completed, she became enraged and promised Psyche that her next task would be even harder.

She commanded Psyche to collect some wool from a herd of fierce man-eating sheep who lived in a thicket of thornbushes near the river. Psyche knew it was certain death to approach the sheep, but as she drew near to the bushes where they lived, a voice told her to wait until evening, when the sheep would leave the thicket. Then she could collect the wool that had stuck to the thorns. Psyche did this, and once again Aphrodite was angry that Psyche had successfully completed a task that was meant to be impossible.

Aphrodite continued to set impossible tasks for Psyche, but somehow the girl kept managing to complete them. What neither Psyche nor Aphrodite realized was that Eros was still watching over Psyche, sending her help when she needed it.

Zeus was well aware of these events. Finally he decided that enough was enough. He decreed that Eros had proved his love for Psyche, and Psyche had proved her devotion, patience, and obedience. He said that since Eros had chosen as his bride a mortal, who could not reside with him on Mt. Olympus, there was only one course of action. Zeus would have to grant her immortality. Once Psyche had drunk the ambrosial nectar of the gods from the cup of immortality she ceased to be mortal. Aphrodite no longer felt jealous of her, for she had only resented the girl because she felt that mortals had no right to rival the gods. At last she bestowed her blessing on the union between her son and the beautiful princess who had become one of the immortals.

Ode To Psyche by John Keats.

O Goddess! hear these tuneless numbers, wrung
By sweet enforcement and remembrance dear,
And pardon that thy secrets should be sung
Even into thine own soft-conched ear:
Surely I dreamt to-day, or did I see
The winged Psyche with awaken'd eyes?
I wander'd in a forest thoughtlessly,
And, on the sudden, fainting with surprise,
Saw two fair creatures, couched side by side
In deepest grass, beneath the whisp'ring roof
Of leaves and trembled blossoms, where there ran
A brooklet, scarce espied:

Mid hush'd, cool-rooted flowers, fragrant-eyed,
Blue, silver-white, and budded Tyrian,
They lay calm-breathing, on the bedded grass;
Their arms embraced, and their pinions too;
Their lips touch'd not, but had not bade adieu,
As if disjoined by soft-handed slumber,
And ready still past kisses to outnumber
At tender eye-dawn of aurorean love:
The winged boy I knew;
But who wast thou, O happy, happy dove?
His Psyche true!

O latest born and loveliest vision far
Of all Olympus' faded hierarchy!
Fairer than Phoebe's sapphire-region'd star,
Or Vesper, amorous glow-worm of the sky;
Fairer than these, though temple thou hast none,
Nor altar heap'd with flowers;
Nor virgin-choir to make delicious moan
Upon the midnight hours;
No voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet
From chain-swung censer teeming;
No shrine, no grove, no oracle, no heat
Of pale-mouth'd prophet dreaming.

O brightest! though too late for antique vows,
Too, too late for the fond believing lyre,
When holy were the haunted forest boughs,
Holy the air, the water, and the fire;
Yet even in these days so far retir'd
From happy pieties, thy lucent fans,
Fluttering among the faint Olympians,
I see, and sing, by my own eyes inspir'd.
So let me be thy choir, and make a moan
Upon the midnight hours;
Thy voice, thy lute, thy pipe, thy incense sweet
From swinged censer teeming;
Thy shrine, thy grove, thy oracle, thy heat
Of pale-mouth'd prophet dreaming.

Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane
In some untrodden region of my mind,
Where branched thoughts, new grown with pleasant pain,
Instead of pines shall murmur in the wind:
Far, far around shall those dark-cluster'd trees
Fledge the wild-ridged mountains steep by steep;
And there by zephyrs, streams, and birds, and bees,
The moss-lain Dryads shall be lull'd to sleep;
And in the midst of this wide quietness
A rosy sanctuary will I dress
With the wreath'd trellis of a working brain,
With buds, and bells, and stars without a name,
With all the gardener Fancy e'er could feign,
Who breeding flowers, will never breed the same:
And there shall be for thee all soft delight
That shadowy thought can win,
A bright torch, and a casement ope at night,
To let the warm Love in!

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Tuesday, February 12, 2008

Sebastian: The Queer[ed] Saint

Y’know I have seen the image of St. Sebastian being martyred hundreds of times but I never thought about it like this

The earliest gay icon was Saint Sebastian. The combination of his strong, shirtless physique, the symbolism of the arrows penetrating his body, and the look on his face of rapturous pain have intrigued artists both gay and straight for centuries; and began the first explicitly gay cult in the 19th century.

From the Independent

The only saint who really cuts it as a cover-boy is St Sebastian, that curly-haired Roman youth shot with arrows on the orders of the emperor Diocletian. Sebastian's appeal to gay men seems obvious. He was young, male, apparently unmarried and martyred by the establishment.
What's going on? Well, Sebastian is living proof of the fact that if saints didn't exist, we would have to invent them. Thanks to the arrows, he's the one martyr in art everyone can spot. (Iconography is so unfair. Who now recognises St Stephen's stones or St Lawrence's griddle?) A twinky torso also helps.
(Ed. Note: okay maybe this picture is really gay)
Yet, according to his hagiographer, Ambrose of Milan, Sebastian was a red-blooded captain in the Praetorian Guard, a centurion of middling years: he is the patron saint of soldiers and athletes, not hairdressers. Far from riling Diocletian by proselytising for same-sex love, he was killed for converting Romans to Christianity. And we all know where that led.

But there is worse. Not only was St Sebastian middle-aged and butch, he wasn't killed with arrows. Punctured, yes, but not killed. The perforated martyr was rescued from the stake and nursed back to health by St Irene of Rome – a woman, boys – before unwisely haranguing Diocletian for his paganism as he passed by on a litter. Unmoved by his tenacity, the emperor had Sebastian clubbed to death; his body was then dumped in Rome's sewers.

Piero della Francesca's Misericordia polyptych, painted two centuries earlier, already shows Sebastian as young, willowy and lightly rouged. But why?

In 1348, Europe had been ravaged by the Black Death: up to half of the entire population of the continent died in a torment of bloody flux. In their terror, Romans prayed to Sebastian – he'd survived those arrows, after all – and the epidemic lifted. Willy-nilly, he became the hottest plague saint in Christ-endom. It is incumbent upon plague saints to look as though they haven't got one foot in the grave (or, come to that, in the sewer). So by the end of the 14th century, the middle-aged Sebastian had had a makeover, his beard, wrinkles and actual cause of death neatly airbrushed from the picture.



But even if all that is true what are the Saints really for besides to give us comfort and peace and so...

All of which is to say that the secret of Sebastian's success may lie in his ability to be all things to all men. Along with the famous arrows, the symbol of his martyrdom is the rope that binds his hands; yet the shape-shifting Sebastian just won't be tied down. The novelist and political activist Susan Sontag pointed out that his face never registers the agonies of his body, that his beauty and his pain are eternally divorced from each other. This made him proof against plague in 1348, and, in these ungodly times, it still does.

From the LGBTQ encyclopedia
[Sebastian] was a featured subject of a host of Renaissance and baroque artists (including Tintoretto, Mantegna, Titian, Guido Reni, Giorgione, Botticelli, and "Il Sodoma") whose works inspired an explicitly homosexual cult of Saint Sebastian in the nineteenth century.

Sebastian's broad and long-standing presence in queer artistic production suggests that there is more to his appeal than the good looks with which he is most often rendered. Rather, several coexisting elements of his narrative make him an enduring trope of modern gay fascination.

Renaissance representations of Saint Sebastian--mostly paintings of a tender, loin-clothed youth writhing in the ecstasy of the arrows that pierce him--are perhaps ground zero for his appointment as the patron saint of gay sensuality.

And for seemingly obvious reasons. Sebastian's supple, near-naked body; the wink-wink symbolism of the penetrating arrows; his thrown-back head expressing a mixture of pleasure and pain; and his inviting gaze all readily contribute to his homoerotic appeal. But Sebastian's entry into gay cultures in the first place most certainly involves his origins as an emblem of Christian godliness and martyrdom.

Same-sex desire is often, on many levels, about the crossing of lines, the overturning of sacred norms, the pleasure of the forbidden. Both the story of Sebastian and his subsequent role in modern gay cultures epitomize this subversive impulse: Sebastian revels in the pleasure of his own martyrdom as gay men revel in gazing upon an off-limits emblem of Christian holiness. By all accounts, Sebastian is a very good "bad object choice."

The question of whether Sebastian himself was gay is largely moot. While some historical records suggest a notable affection between the saint and his male superiors, after almost two thousand years Sebastian's sexuality is not only greatly speculative, but also rather inconsequential.

However, while it is doubtful that a buried homosexual existence could justify his current camp popularity, it seems equally doubtful that his homoerotic associations can be explained away as the superficial afterthoughts, revisions, or cross-readings of a willful contemporary gay purview.

Like many personages who are continually reiterated, Sebastian has essentially grown up alongside modern notions of sexuality and the formation of gay consciousness, becoming an accessible touchstone of both gay desire and gay experience in the process.

As Richard A. Kaye aptly notes, "contemporary gay men have seen in Sebastian at once a stunning advertisement for homosexual desire (indeed, a homoerotic ideal), and a prototypical portrait of tortured closet case."

The melancholy tone of Sebastian imagery--to say nothing of Sebastian's accompanying torment--is a ready parallel to the feelings of shame, rejection, inverted desire, and loneliness endured by queer people in a homophobic society.

The coding of these maladies is perhaps all the more effective because it is not easily separable from--indeed, it is rendered by the same means as--Sebastian's come-hither beauty and sexual availability.

In all, Sebastian's narrative complexity, vernacular resonance, and theological origins speak volumes of the queer representational strategies through which he is deployed.


And gay or straight, butch or twink, thrown into the colaca or not Sebastian is what we will make of him.
BTW, if you’re interested, or not here are some of Guido Reni’s St.Sebastians





Inspired by Arrows of desire: How did St Sebastian become an enduring, homo-erotic icon? from The Independent

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Friday, February 1, 2008

Frozen

Improv Everywhere
Grand Central Station
Number of Undercover Agents: 207
The Mission: Freeze in place at the exact same time



That’s really really cool and the way the camera panned made them look like some tableau. That would definitely freak me out though

Tegan & Sara- Frozen (live) [download]
Of Montreal- The Frozen Island [download]

Have you ever looked at the word "Frozen"? it looks fake

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Thursday, January 31, 2008

9:43

at some point in my life I really want to do this



The Louvre in 9:43 from Godard's Bande à part

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Friday, January 25, 2008

The World Turned Upside Down

Federer Loses!!!!!(in straight sets to Novak Djokovic)
I mean whaaa? I don't know what to believe anymore but of course my mind immediately goes to:

Listen to me and you shall hear, news hath not been this thousand year:
Since Herod, Caesar, and many more, you never heard the like before.
Holy-dayes are despis'd, new fashions are devis'd.
Old Christmas is kickt out of Town.
Yet let's be content, and the times lament, you see the world turn'd upside down.

The Djokovics after the match (as depicted by Jan Steen about 348 years ago)

"I've created a monster, so I know I need to always win every tournament," Federer said

Yes, I’ve come to expect nothing less

(John Trumbull painting depicting the surrender at Yorktown of British General Cornwallis to allied Continental and French troops)

If buttercups buzz'd after the bee,
If boats were on land, churches on sea,
If ponies rode men and if grass ate the cows,
And cats should be chased into holes by the mouse,
If the mamas sold their babies
To the gypsies for half a crown;
If summer were spring and the other way round,
Then all the world would be upside down.

(apparently that song wasn’t played in Yorktown when the British surrendered...and other lies my teacher told me)
The World Turned Upside Down [download]


Though perhaps I’m making too big a deal of this- I mean it’s not like he lost to Andy Roddick [oh snap!]

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Friday, December 21, 2007

Things To Do This Week: Weekend Edition

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Thursday, December 20, 2007

Ad Diction: Brava Bravia

Here are some Sony Bravia tv ad and these aren’t really just commercials they’re like filmed records of large scale public art, and they’re all so beautiful

Paint explosions ad


Bouncing Balls (music by Jose Gonzalez-a swede with a latin name.)

[download Heartbeats]

The Pyramid (specially made for Egypt)


March of the colorful clay rabbits


so frickin cool. I really feel compelled to buy one of these Tvs now just to support them so they can keep doing amazing commercials like these

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Monday, December 17, 2007

Things To Do: Monday-Thursday

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Monday, December 10, 2007

Giustizia Mosse Il Mio Alto Fattore

FECEMI LA DIVINA PODESTATE,
LA SOMMA SAPIENZA E 'L PRIMO AMORE

Here's the 2nd part of our little mini trip through Dante's Inferno (because I forgot to do it yesterday.) Here's part 1 Cantos I-XIII if you missed


Canto XIV-XXIV

I saw myriad flocks of naked souls,
All weeping wretchedly, and it appeared
That separate sentences were meted to them.

Flat on their backs, some spread out on the ground;
Some squatted down, all hunched up in a crouch;
And others walked about interminably.

More numerous were those who roamed around;
Fewer were those stretched out for the torture,
But looser were their tongues to tell their hurt.

Over all the sand, large flakes of flame,
Falling slowly, came floating down, wafted
Like snow without a wind up in the mountains.

Just like the flames which Alexander saw
In the torrid regions of India
Swarming to the ground upon his legions,

So that he had his troops tramp down the soil,
The better to put out the flaming flakes
And to prevent them spreading other fires,

So descended the everlasting blaze
By which the sand enkindled, just like tinder
Under sparks from flint — doubling the pain.

Restlessly the dance of wretched hands
Went on and on, on this side and on that,
Beating off the freshly falling flames.



Eyed in this manner by that brotherhood,
I there was recognized by one who grasped me
By the hem — and cried, "How wonderful!"
And I, when he stretched out his arm to me,
So fixed my eyes upon his burnt-out features
Even his crusted face did not prevent me

From apprehending him in my mind’s eye,
And bending down my face to be with his


Canto XVII

And that repugnant picture of pure fraud
Came on, landing his head and his chest first,
But darting his tail out beyond the bank.

His face was the face of a saintly person,
So placid was the surface of the skin,
But his whole trunk was the shape of a snake.

He had two paws, with hair up to his armpits;
His back and breasts and both of his flanks
Were painted gaudily with knots and loops.

Tartars or Turks never wove a cloth
With more colors in background and design,
Nor did Arachne ever loom such webs.
[snip]
He called, "Now, Geryon, get up! Be sure
To make your circles wide and move down slowly:
Remember the strange weight that you now carry."

Just as a rowboat pulls out from its berth
Backwards, backwards, so that beast pushed off,
And when he felt himself all free in space,

There where his chest had been he turned his tail,
Stretching it out and waving it like an eel,
While with his paws he gathered in the air.


After this my teacher said to me,
"Stretch your head forward a little farther
So that your eyes may clearly catch the face

"Of that slatternly and smutty slut
Who scratches herself with shit-blackened nails,
Now squatting and now staggering to her feet.

"She is Thais the whore, who when her lover
Asked, ‘Are you very grateful to me?' answered,
‘Very! Why, extravagantly so!’

"But now our sight has had enough of this."


Up from the mouth of each hole there stuck out
A sinner’s feet and legs up to the calf,
The rest of him remained stuffed down inside.

The soles of both feet blazed all on fire;
The leg-joints wriggled uncontrollably:
They would have snapped any rope or tether.

Just as a flame on anything that’s oily
Spreads only on the object’s outer surface,
So did this fire move from heel to toe.


Canto XXI

With just the same rage and roaring of dogs
When they rush out on some poor passing beggar
Who stops dead in his tracks and starts to beg,

So these devils, from beneath the bridge
Shot out with all their prongs aimed at my guide,
But he shouted, "Stop being savages!

"Before you would impale me with your forks,
One of you step forward to hear me out
And then resolve to grapple me or not."


Alichino could not restrain himself
And, counter to the rest, said, "If you jump,
I wouldn’t come galloping after you;
"Instead, I’ll flap my wings above the pitch-pot!
We’ll leave this ridge and make the bank a shield
To see if all alone you can outsmart us!"

O reader, listen to the latest sport!
Each turned his eyes toward the other shore —
The first one was the fiend who most resisted!

The Navarrese picked his time perfectly,
Fixed both feet on the ground and in a flash
Leaped out and broke free of the fiend-in-charge!


Below that point we found a painted people
Who walked in circles with the slowest steps,
Weeping and worn in looks and overwhelmed.

The cloaks they wore had cowls drawn down low
Over their eyes, made in a similar style
As those that are made for monks in Cluny.

These are so gilded outside that they dazzle,
But inside, solid lead, and so heavy that,
Compared to them, Frederick’s capes were straw.
O mantle of unending weariness!
Once again we turned to the left hand,
Along with those souls rapt in their sad tears.

But with their weights the tired people trod
So slowly that we had fresh company
With every step we took along the way.
Then they said to me, "O Tuscan, you come
To this chapter of the sorry hypocrites:
Do not scorn to tell us who you are."


And there within I saw a repulsive mass
Of serpents in such a horrifying state
That still my blood runs cold when I recall them.

No more need Libya boast about the sands
Where chelydri, jaculi, phareae,
And cenchres with amphisbaena breed:

She could not show — with all Ethiopia
Nor the lands that lie surrounding the Red Sea —
So rampant and pestiferous a plague.

Among this cruel and miserable swarm
Were people running stripped and terrified,
With no hope of hiding-hole or heliotrope.

They had hands tied behind their backs by snakes
That thrust out head and tail through their loins
And that coiled then in knots around the front.

And look! A serpent sprang up at one sinner
Upon our strand and it transfixed him there
Where neck and shoulders knotted at the nape.

No o or i was ever written faster
Than that sinner flared up and burst in flames
And, falling down, completely turned to ashes.

And then, as he lay scattered on the ground,
The ashy dust collected by itself
And suddenly returned to its first shape.

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Giotto Was a Hack

A courtier from Pope Benedict IX told Giotto that the Pope wanted to make use of his services and asked him for a drawing which he could send to his holiness.Giotto, who was a man of courteous manners,immediately took a sheet of paper, and with a pen dipped in red, fixing his arm firmly against his side to make a compass of it, with a turn of his hand he made a circle so perfect that it was a marvel to see it Having done it, he turned smiling to the courtier and said, "Here is the drawing.". But he, thinking he was being laughed at, asked, "Am I to have no other drawing than this?" "This is enough and too much," replied Giotto, "send it with the others and see if it will be understood." The messenger, seeing that he could get nothing else, departed ill pleased, not doubting that he had been made a fool of. However, sending the other drawings to the Pope with the names of those who had made them, he sent also Giotto's, relating how he had made the circle without moving his arm and without compasses, which when the Pope and many of his courtiers understood, they saw that Giotto must surpass greatly all the other painters of his time.

-Giorgio Vasari "Life of Giotto"
pssh; I'm no longer impressed. I mean here's "Alexander Overwijk [who] draws a perfect freehand circle 1m in diameter in less than a second."


Here was another video I couldn't help but share just because I thought to myself there's no way it could actually be real. It's called The Machine Girl and it looks like a cross between Rose McGowan from Death Proof/Kill Bill and a fem bot. AKA a teenage boy's fantasy

So far up Tarantino's alley it's resting on his doorstep. A Drill Bra? I'm sensing a soon to be cult classic. But so much blood-Lady Macbeth would throw a fit.

and I really didn't want to post this video but here it is because I really wanted to say something like "I haven't seen this many balls since Fleet Week"-seriously who can resist a joke that easy?

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Things To Do: Monday-Thursday*

*it just makes a lot more sense to do it Monday thru Thursday than Monday through Wednesday

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Wednesday, December 5, 2007

Overheard in L.M.E.- The Origin of the Eternal L.M.E.

(taken from Pre-History and Creating a Society exposed in the earliest days of this site.)


(some names have been changed to protect the LME-orous ;)
a late night conversation in Europe; September 11, 2005)

ev livid e : are you just saying that because you pity me
a dam e : and one thing i know is the heart finds strange ways
a dam e : i pity very few people
a dam e : i'm far too much of a snob
ev livid e : i am too
ev livid e : elitists unite
a dam e : we should start a facebook group
a dam e : entitled what
ev livid e : can we just make it us two. because that would be very very elitist
a dam e : elitist unite
a dam e: or something like that
ev livid e : EU for short
ev livid e : no
ev livid e : thats too european
a dam e : yeah
a dam e : fuck that
ev livid e : hmmm.
ev livid e : lets call it
ev livid e : t.c.f.y.s.f.o.
a dam e : s.f.h.p.
ev livid e : ahah last time i tried to shorten something it looked really wrong
ev livid e : and i won't repeat it, but you know what i was talking about
a dam e : yeah
a dam e : dyk
ev livid e : a professor definitely walked behind me
-------------------------------------------------------------

]ev livid e: ah well ok fine. because you're in the eu aka tcfysfo
a dam e : exactly
a dam e : did you think of something snobby in french?
ev livid eno but i can make up something
a dam e : i wouldn't know the diff
ev livid e: versailles- thats snobby as shit
ev livid e: something relating to nobility
ev livid e: something hunt club
ev livid e : like boca, but french
a dam e : how do you say " better than you" in french?
ev livid e : meilleur que toi
ev livid e : thats too loong and reminds me of grammar
a dam e : Meileur
ev livid e : meilleur?
ev livid e : or pompidou? i like saying pompidou
a dam e : what is pompidou
ev livid e : the pompidou center?
a dam e : never heard of it
ev livid e : modern art, its a ridiculous looking building
ev livid e : ok ixnay that
a dam e : i hate modern art
ev livid e : i do too
ev livid e : ok this is not helping. whats something elite
ev livid e: elite food
a dam e : The Meliour {REDACTED}
a dam e : like a preppy elite {REDACTED} or something
ev livid e : meilleur
ev livid e: ahhh
ev livid e : Le Meilleur {REDACTED}
a dam e : i like something along those lines
ev livid e:i like it too
ev livid e: it should be written in cursive
a dam e : definetly
ev livid e: we should make a seal
a dam e : we should get it embroderied on sweaters>
ev livid e: i would so wear that sweater. what colors
a dam e : so would i
ev livid e: gold and dark red?
a dam e : hmm
ev livid e: or is that too gryffindor
a dam e : a bit too harry potter
ev livid e: gold and dark blue?
ev livid e: or too duke?
ev livid e: man, we need to invent our own colors
a dam e : we should investigate more but we're making progress
ev livid e: yes. at least we have a name, and we know how we're going to market ourselves a la sweaters and knit scarves too please?
a dam e : we don't need to market ourselves
ev livid e: true
a dam e : cuz we're too good to let anyone else buy in
ev livid e : exactly. so no one else can be in it? is this just us two?
ev livid e: if we let too many people in, it wouldn't be elite
ev livid e: it would be le shit school
a dam e : exactly
a dam e : wait check this
ev livid e: so its a secret?
a dam e : we'll wear the sweaters but if people ask
a dam e : we'll say " oh it's not for you too know"
a dam e : all snooty
ev livid e : ahaha!
a dam e : http://www.colourlovers.com
ev livid e: and you have to wave your hand off at them and stick your nose up
a dam e : that i can do
ev livid e: i am also good on stomping
ev livid e: as in making people feel little
ev livid e: i don't know why i typed stomping it made no sense. but its a fun word
a dam e : ev the crusher
ev livid e: we need something to be our mascot
ev livid e: we need something elite
ev livid e: whats elite
a dam e : peacock
ev livid e: a jaguar
a dam e : leopard
ev livid e: hmmm...i like these printed animals
ev livid e: i don't like birds
ev livid e: whats a badass elite animal
a dam e : i don't like ugly birds
ev livid e: me neither
a dam e : a bengal tiger
ev livid e: and nothing dead too like the dodo
a dam e : peacocks are pretty tho
ev livid e: (bythe way have you noticed how ridiclous this conversation is? i love it!)
a dam e : (this is why i love you ev!)
ev livid e: awww! heart! hugs!
ev livid e: actually no, that doesn't sound elite
ev livid e: how do you express such feelings in an elite manner?
a dam e : with reserved emotions and refrain
ev livid e: i tip my peacock embroidred cashmere knit cap at you
a dam e : like in a victorian novel
ev livid e: ic an't read. aha. yes i can. but i've never read a victorian novel
ev livid e: it sounds like too much lace
a dam e : very victorian refined and british
ev livid e: ooooh we don't have to be a {REDACTED}
ev livid e: we can be a chateau
ev livid e: wait that wouldn't relaly make sense. carry on
a dame e : yeah i still like {REDACTED}
ev livid e: maybe we can have diff colored sweaters for diff seasons>
a dam e : different fashions for different seasons
ev livid e: yes!
ev livid e: we should bring back ruffles
a dam e : umm
ev livid e: i don't know how, but i intend to finda way
ev livid e: oooh {REDACTED} thats a lovely lovely blue
ev livid e: we could do that and {REDACTED}
a dam e : that could work
ev livid e : its a very french/pastelly colour yes?
a dam e : which is sorta what we're going for
ev livid e: excellent.
ev livid e: so the sweater will be that color
ev livid e: what color pants?> white?
ev livid e: and in the usmmer
a dam e : what about after labor day?
ev livid e: i don't believe in that rule because we are elite
ev livid e: and we can do whatever we please>
a dam e : our theme is {REDACTED}
ev livid e: yes!
ev livid e: and we have hot swiss chocolate every morning at 10
a dam e : we'll base on fashion choices around that
a dam e : this is fabulous
ev livid e: i love this so much!
ev livid e: and we need a motto you know latin
a dam e : both things we can work on
ev livid e: something really badass snobby
a dam e :yeah, but at least we found a name
ev livid e: l_ m_ e_
ev livid e: can we have a mission statement that is different from a motto
ev livid e: and we need a seal. and a crest.
a dam e : a peacock is good cuz they're really proud animals
ev livid e: male peacock. the female peacock is brown
ev livid e: which clashes with our sweater colour choice
ev livid e: i like the pastel blue and silver a lot
a dam e : i guess peacock is only good for an all boys school
ev livid e: its so pastoral
ev livid e: its ok. it can be a gender confused peacock
a dam e : hahaha
ev livid e: oooh and we need a song
ev livid e: oh so much to do
ev livid e: and we need stationary
a dam e : a song?
ev livid e: hmmm, lets not write the song
a dam e : unless its an alma mater
a dam e : is the stationary going to be more cute or more official
ev livid e: official, the seal /crest will be on top: and it won't be lined
ev livid e: but it will have a watermark and we need business cards too
a dam e : of course
ev livid e: like american psycho
a dam e : hahah
ev livid e: we have a lot to do
ev livid e: and business card holders with our initials engraved. silver of course.
a dam e : we do indeed; i was happy with the sweaters
ev livid e: well i like doing the whole kit 'n kaboodle
a dam e : and i appreciate the vision
ev livid e: so we tell no one about this ok?
ev livid e: no one. not a soul. this is elite.
ev livid e: lite being the key word
a dam e : our lips are sealed
a dam e : no fat
ev livid e: because we are elite
ev livid e: as in elite modeling agency wants us
ev livid e: but we're too elite
a dam e : hahah; exactly
a dam e : our official drink will be a wine
ev livid e: a very old one that dates back to louis 14th
ev livid e: man, i didn't know creating a society would be so much work
a dam e : 'tis
a dam e : we have time
ev livid e: because we CONTROL time

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