This blog covers everything except sports and gardening, unless we find a really good link about using dead professional bowlers for mulch. The author is a StarTribune columnist, has been passing off fiction and hyperbole as insight since 1997, has run his own website since the Jurassic era of AOL, and was online when today’s college sophomores were a year away from being born. So get off his lawn.
If you have trouble with this, you’re no fun. You’re a wet-blanket and a prude who denies the reality of today’s vernacular. Or so some think. Said the mayor of LA after the USA win:
“There are two rules in politics: they say never ever be pictured with a drink in your hand and never swear, but this is a big f—in’ day; way to go guys!” he said while holding what appeared to be an aluminum Bud Light bottle. A post on the official Twitter account for the mayor’s office reflected Garcetti’s comments: “There are a few rules in politics, one is never swear, but this is a #BFD”.
Well, it reflected them, but it didn’t repeat them. Almost as if the Official Twitter Account thought hmmm, standards for public discourse, right? So, initials. Totally scientific poll on the CBS website:
MOVIES Teller, of Penn and renown, defends “The Towering Inferno.” (Source: The Dissolve.) He thinks it’s well-written and compelling. There are times I almost agree and times I think no, it’s a flaming pile of shag that ends with a billion gallons of water dumping down on Fred Astaire and Red Buttons, but then you think: well, Steve McQueen is good. True. The theme is interesting; one of John Williams’ lesser efforts, but it’ll do. Google it if you're curious.
Related: why isn’t Steven Seagal in the Expendables? Follow-up question: why does anyone think he should be?
YUCK Terry Richardson’s work gives off a skeezy, pervy smell, and even if you didn’t know the stories detailed in the recent New York magazine cover you’d suspect something was ooky about the guy. Jezebel writes about the problems with the cover story’s premise, which should be obvious to anyone: “Is Terry Richardson an artist or a predator?” it asks, as if the two are mutually exclusive. As if the latter somehow excuses the former.
At one point, Wallace notes that there are now many "culturally engaged people, many of them young, who reject the sophisticated titillation that once greeted Richardson's work, seeing predation instead of transgression." He writes that this "is perplexing to the photographer, who finds himself maligned as repugnant for being the same person who was once broadly celebrated." This is a pretty damn specious way of looking at public rejection of Richardson's work: people aren't changing their views on the "sophisticated titillation" of his photos. They're learning that some of the women in them didn't consent to it.
True, but: it would also be good if people stopped applauding “transgression” because it made them feel naughty and modern and iconoclastic, when it’s the most boring default position available today.
The piece is here, and contains graphic descriptions of Richardson’s behavior, so don’t click if you’re offended.
URBANISM David Brauer sticks up for the suburbs in the SW Journal, and reminds people that the compact, walkable urban core wasn’t the result of a small-is-beautiful / anti-car philosophy. The piece is titled “Let’s stop the Suburb Shaming,” and good for him. BTW, as long as we’re on stopping things, let us ease off on the word “shaming.” It’s becoming a moral stance about people taking a moral stance about a moral stance. You should be ashamed for shaming.
SCIENCE! They’ve identified the most abundant mineral on the planet, and what they’ve called it might surprise you! Although the chances of that are quite low, since you have no preconceptions about mineral nomenclature one way or the other, and are just as likely to accept “plonkenite” as “manganorsterite.
LIT To commemorate the immient release of “Grand Budapest Hotel” on DVD, a look at Stefan Zweig:
Zweig, who left behind an almost absurdly various and voluminous body of work, saw himself, at 60, as someone who belonged irrevocably to the past. He decided to stay there, and to those who seek him he can still be found, in an atmosphere of hedonistic refinement and intellectual passion, haunting the cafes and strolling the boulevards of a vanished city.
And with that said, I’d like to link or embed some music from the imaginary past, in the form of the “Grand Budapest Hotel” soundtrack. But it’s probably not authorized, and hence pirated . . . which is a BFD.
The F is for “Fargin’!” Roman Maroni, a great American.
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