I know it is an “internet holiday,” so no one is reading this, but I thought I should let all three of you know that I will be delivering a comedic lecture next Tuesday, December 1, at Union Hall in beautiful Park Slope, as part of the Adult Education series. The subject is Death, and my presentation is titled “Everyone Is Trying to Kill You,” which you might recognize as the name of my occasionally neglected True/Slant blog.
More details here. I hope to see all of you there, besides those of you who hate me.
I don’t get the video,they are in striped jackets,and Peter’s playing the piano.I don’t get the choo choo train left out in rain,the day after santa came,or Cherry Delight left in the night and gave up without a fight.
- Jennifer Harris, Grand Blanc, MI
“At the time, Mr. Bloomberg said he was not concerned about the higher rents that the $5.4 billion price would require. “You always feel sorry for those who can’t afford it, but those who can afford it say, ‘What about me?’ ” he said.”—God bless every self-declared liberal who voted for him.
7. He’s kept crime going down without the Mussolini-like police tactics of Giuliani. There have been no mayorally-sanctioned police hate crimes like Diallo, Louima and Dorismond.
Well, as long as Mike didn’t sanction Sean Bell and Michael Mineo, I guess he’s fine. Though retaining Ray Kelly no matter what happens (I know, I know, he gets results, dammit!) seems like a tacit endorsement of whatever shit goes down. Like, you know, refusing to turn over any documents relating to the GOP convention (or was that also ok because it just involved infringing on the rights of dumb hippies who ran red lights?), and all that illegal domestic spying. (did you argue the merits of warrantless-wiretapping?) It should probably be more explicit: a vote for Mike is a vote for having your community policed by a paramilitary counterintelligence agency that operates entirely without mayoral oversight.
This is only the second-most disgraceful thing about Bloomberg, obviously, this pretending to be better than Giuliani while the NYPD continues to do do whatever it wants without consequences. Personally I still find the 40,000 people in shelters thing a little more upsetting.
Why is it so hard to find election results? I mean, I admire that the Times did 531 posts about yesterday’s primary (and only 300 of them were by Sewell Chan), but how hard is it to make a page called ‘Results’ and then, you know, putting numbers in it?
The book chugs along on the fumes of innuendo for 40 pages, until, at last, we arrive at Chapter 2, the piquantly titled “Bitter Half: First Crony Michelle Obama.” The beloved first lady, we learn, “was literally born into the Chicago political corruptocracy.” It is here we start to discern the true intent of our avid narrator “Michelle Malkin”: She is crafting a scathing satire of feminine envy.
In fact, she can’t help casting herself as a kind of doppelgänger. She, too, is a woman of color, a mother of two, a no-nonsense breadwinner. As she sets out damning aspersion after aspersion, the reader starts to catch on: It is “Michelle Malkin” who should be our first lady! Instead, she has been forced to scrap out a living on racial self-hatred and frantic opportunism.
And then Emanuel told Wilson to go home and get his shinebox.
An incensed White House Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel went up to GOP Reps. Roy Blunt (Mo.) and Paul Ryan (Wis.) to complain about the outburst. “No president has ever had that happen,” Emanuel said. “My advice is he apologize immediately. You know my number.” [Milbank]
This is the clearest example I’ve seen of the longevity bias. Health care should not be judged by life expectancy alone.
Um, easy enough. Pick a basket of metrics that you think we should measure it by: the only one we lead on is spending per capita, so it doesn’t really matter how you weight them.
Check out recovery rates for injuries. Check out surival rates for people with cancer. Those are two that I know of.
We could do this all day - the point being the gap in per capita spend is NEVER matched by a gap in performance. We are at best 5-15% better in some categories, but our spending is 30% or more higher than all the countries we narrowly outpace.
I think you’re forgetting that we have the best health care system in the world, Nic. And also 9/11.
1) Critics and reporters are two types of journalists. My MA in Cinema Studies probably doesn’t qualify me to perform either type of journalism, but I’ve managed to fake it as a critic for a few years and it’s going okay so far. I don’t trust criticism when it comes from a reporter with cultivated sources inside “the Hollywood Industrial Complex.” But that’s just me. We all eat food. We should not all be allowed to write about it. I certainly shouldn’t.
Wrong! Every one should write about food! And movies! And fucking! And abortions! And coke habits! And knitting circles! I try to do all of those one a daily basis! The very clever ones get book deals out of it! Have you found a publisher yet?
I both totally love Natasha and am mildly sympathetic to arguments about one not-that-good post she made like ten zillion internet years ago (christ we’ve all made plenty of them) but I think the real problem is that of all the cultural snobs out there in this great nation, only film snobs still have to deal with masses of non-snobs enjoying the cultural product they studied until they grew to hate it, so non-canon-informed discussion makes them all drop their Mon Oncles in horror.
This is a song about how a girl asked Prince if he was gay and he was like “no I just hang out in Uptown where we don’t let society tell us not to wear bikini bottoms instead of pants” and then he takes her to Uptown where everybody—White, Black, Puerto Rican—was just a-freakin’. I don’t think there were that many Puerto Ricans in early-1980s Minneapolis but, you know, poetic license.
There’s not much point in bemoaning the death of Uptown (the neighborhood) as anything but an open-air mall, as that happened 15 years ago, but still: the Uptown is the only tolerable bar left within 3 blocks of Hennepin and Lake, and probably the best of all the tolerable bars in the Harriet/Calhoun/Lake of the Isles area. Also, last time I checked Tommy and Bob Stinson’s mom still worked there.
The developer behind the project, Jeffrey Herman, said a plan is in place to relocate the bar and keep its legacy as a music venue alive.
Herman, whose company, Urban Anthology, helped bring Victoria’s Secret and American Apparel stores to Uptown, said he is among those who would hate to see the neighborhood lose such a landmark. That decision is up to bar owner Frank Toonen, 88, who approached Herman about the retail plan, the developer said.
I hope the old man gets a lot of money for it. I can’t imagine the relocation will come to much. Aside from its legacy, the Uptown wasn’t ever anything more than a decent bar and a decent music venue. Not vital, just solid. Still, Jeffrey Herman can go fuck himself with his middle-brow retail bullshit.
This sucks. Now the only reason to ever set foot in Uptown is to see a movie. Which you can still do here but not here, at the Suburban World Theater, one of America’s last remaining Atmospheric Theatres. After becoming a “Cinema Grill” (ugh) it’s now just some sort of vague “event space.” I’m told the cloud machine still works, though.
Since we’re sort of on the topic of festivals, I see that Waitstock is defunct. We tried a teensy version of this in Brooklyn earlier in the week (sample: at some point — say 4AM — the Charles Mingus soundtrack reminded someone of the Green Lantern — you read that right — theme; Green Lantern was Alan Scott, but one of the attendees thought it was a guy named Brit. And the only Brit he could recall was Brit Hume, so he mumbled something to the effect of “this Brit Hume jazz is really interesting.” Try listening to Mingus sometime and imagine Brit Hume as a late night jazz DJ — or better still, a portly, mercurial bass player. It’s pretty fun. Okay, you had to be there, but that’s the whole point of this exercise). Anyhoo, does anyone have access to a barn and lots of drugs in the next couple weeks? I doubt finding the complete works of Tom will be a challenge in this crowd. Fuck all this T&J noise. Let’s ring in the fall like unemployed aging hepsters.
I’m consistently (nearly 100%) struck by the difference between white British and liberal US perceptions of what we both call “racism” or “racialism.”
I carry with me the anticipation that the former defines this using logic similar to many self-styled “not a racist” white people in the US. Such folks typically remain comfortably convinced that racism is a matter of intent rather than of perception. This attitude would characterize the Felix analogy as racist only if it went something like, “both are black, and both are [pejorative term here].” Using the positive-to-neutral “lucky” in place of a pejorative like “stupid, ignorant, dumb as hell, hopeless” is a gesture sufficient to absolve the “not a racist” writer with the viewpoint.
I check in on the Awl from time to time, mostly for Natasha Vargas-Cooper, who I consider one of the better bloggers around these here interwebs. What turns me off from the Awl is the tone that reflects the cult of personality around the former Gawker writers that post there, like Choire.
The writers and commenters there are a circle jerk of the so-called golden age of Gawker editorial. Blogga please. A good deal of it is simply rewriting other people’s stories and adding in cliche insidery snark and self-absorbed navel gazing that made the Sicha/Gould/Stein era Gawker practically unbearable for awhile.
First, the golden age of Gawker was Coen/Haber. Second, I know it’s like a zillion hours later, but I have long been under the impression that a series of summaries and links (some of which may contain “insidery snark”!) is what’s known as “a blog.”
(Oh, and third, the presence of annoying worshippy commenters is not really the editorial team’s fault, except in that they’re not banning everyone who misses Olde Gawker, which would maybe not be such a terrible idea.)
And then I read this post, which is all about how Choire didn’t read that David Denby review of Inglourious Basterds in the New Yorker. No, I’m not kidding. It’s essentially an excuse for Choire to brag about dismissing Denby after “1/3 of a sentence.” (Probably because Choire is not about to indulge Denby because Denby hates snark and snarkers hate Denby.)
Just FYI, people hate Denby because he’s a jackass and a shitty film critic. And his “war against snark” is a war again bloggers who dislike him for being a jackass and a shitty film critic. And he is also a terrible example to note when you’re bemoaning bloggers who make stuff up or whatever is being complained about here. (I think it is people, being mean, on the internet?) (lol I am part of the problem etc.) One doesn’t “brag” about not reading a Denby review any more than one would “brag” about resisting the temptation to eat dog shit.
Fucking hell. James Luther Dickinson is dead. He produced two of my favorite records of all time and had some hand in about 500 more. Here’s the title track to Alex Chilton’s Dickinson-produced mental breakdown Like Flies on Sherbert.
On the bright side, at least I got to use that Naked Gun animated GIF in a “professional” context.
This is an important public service Maura is performing (and it is 100 times sharper and less credulous than that inane GOSSIPCOP thing that I haven’t looked at since Day 1 when it was made up entirely of boring items followed by routine publicist denials) and also I am ashamed of the internet each day anew. (Except when it produces wonderful animated gifs.)
And Judd Nelson was never our idea of cool. And the term ‘dope’ was never used in your teenage lexicon. To my generation you were the ‘Curley Sue’ guy.
Well, regardless, you should probably acknowledge that both of those movies owe something of a debt to the work Mr. Hughes, especially Can’t Hardly Wait, which is basically straight Hughes pastiche, if I remember it correctly (and who knows if I do, because I always thought it kinda sucked). Our youth-defining ’90s teen comedies are surely more like Clueless and (tragically, for our generation) Rushmore, right?
(And as a card-carrying snot-nosed millennial I have to say it’s disingenuous to call him the Curly Sue guy when I know I’m not the only 20-something who can still quote every line from Home Alone 2: Lost in New York. “A limousine and a pizza! Compliments of the Plaza hotel!”) (That movie is probably the secret, subconscious reason I moved here, actually.)
This is supposed to be a cogent argument against single-payer? It would harm the social status of doctors by making them de facto government employees? The current system is unsustainable but techno-utopian nonsense will swoop in to fix it?