Flickr has a weakness: it allows photographers to title their own photos. This is often a bad thing. Let me demonstrate:
Exhibit 1: a lovely photo. Simply great. It’s got a wonderful balance of color, some excellent use of depth of field, and really nice composition. Title: “Enchantment.” Now I’m forced to experience intrusive images from bad fantasy novels when I see the picture. Not even good fantasy; bad fantasy.
Here’s another one. Not as stunning as the first, but still, interesting point of view, nice visual lines, etc. And then a title that wrenches my mind toward bad 1990s Lifetime Network movies: “Follow Your Own Path.” Plus, in the description the artist says s/he “literally kissed the sun” in that spot. No, you did not. Back to my original point, the title is not good.
This one I really like, too. Great plant shot. While you’re enjoying the juicy green, look at the title. LOOK AT IT! Now wash your eyes out at the hazmat station for a minimum of five minutes. Follow workplace standards for contamination with caustic substances.
It goes on and on. Titles like “Freedom,” “Faerie-House,” “True Enigma” (these are invariably self-portraits), “Indescribably Luscious,” “Ultimate Escape,” etc. etc. etc. (got tired of sifting through the bad titles). And I’m not even talking about the pictures people take of their pets and children. No, these are good pictures, art-wise (IMHO), that have horrendous titles. I breathe sighs of relief when I see titles like “Jan 27, 2008″ or “IMG_2452″ or the ever-appropriate “untitled.”
People should maybe think of hiring someone else to do their titles. Also, Flickr should let me browse title-optional. Yes, I crave no-title browsing. Because this hurts my brain.
…NO! Did I write a one-word-per-line villanelle about anhedonia? Yes! Yes, I did!
*
WAH
by me, bobbyfiend, the Great Villanelle-Writing Poet Guy
Bleah.
Whine.
Wah.
Yeah;
I’m
blah.
Ska
line?
Wah.
Slaw
time?
Bleah.
Bra
line!
wha…?
Nah.
I’m
blah.
(Wah)
~
Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I’ll be here all week.
(p.s. In case you’re wondering, I’m really not in a rotten mood; it was all about the juicy rhymes. This is variously called “Poetic Licentiousness,” “Terminal No-talent-itis,” or sometimes “lame-a&& hip hop”)
The web, she is a harsh mistress. This week, she has hurt me and tickled me and hurt me again. She is not a nice girl.
1. As I have said all along (and as young Catherine Vogt has just learned), associating oneself with a candidate who talks about diversity and tolerance doesn’t mean one actually has a clue about what those words mean.
2. Vanity Fair has written a snarky little piece about Thomas Kinkaide’s involvement in what sounds like the most horrendous movie ever made. It’s a movie based on a Thomas Kinkaide painting!!! The VF article is titled “Thomas Kinkaide’s 16 Guidelines for Making Stuff Suck.” :D
3. Andy Borowitz, a humor writer with the Huffington Post (or “HuffPo,” as some people call it… the people who are still upset that they never mastered the slang of the moment back in high school) has written about President-Elect Obama’s controversial and confusing use of complete sentences.
4. Richard Renaldi is a Canadian photographer with a strangely moving series of photos in which he asks complete strangers to touch each other while posing for the shot. “Giovanni and Deborah” is my favorite.
5. Second to last: This is absolutely without doubt a classic example of that “road to hell paved with good intentions” idea. This is Orwell’s 1984 in embryo. It is a very, very horrible idea. Just read the last sentence in the Globe and Mail article. Ick. Ick. Ick.
6. Last, but oh no siree bob definitely not least, you HAVE TO SEE THIS VIDEO. Especially if you like Rock Band/Guitar Hero. :D
The cat, not the update, is the unexpected part. He’s at the vet now, until tomorrow. He is a he. His face is indeed messed up. The tissue covering his lower jaw was almost completely torn away. One vet guy said it might have been an old wound, while another said it could have just gotten infected very quickly (it’s pus-infested and reeks to high heaven). He is only running a slight fever (as assessed by the usual uncomfortable method), and one vet said this is a fairly common kind of wound. I note he didn’t say it’s easy to fix.
The vet (Dr. Garza, in Edinburg; I’ve visited him before, and he seems to do a fine job) said that they would probably use something like stainless-steel wire to sew the flesh that used to cover his chin back where it should be, anchored in place by wrapping it around his lower fangs. Weird, and Franken-cool. I’m massively relieved that something is being done by someone who knows what to do. I guess he’s my cat for about 2 weeks, while his face attempts to heal (no word on how likely that is). I’m actively seeking another owner. He’s not my cat. I keep repeating that, like a mantra.
After many months, I just received word from my first grad school advisor (my relationship with whom has never been untroubled anyway) that the article I wrote and sent him is not suitable for publication. He cites several reasons, some of which I agree with, and some I don’t, and I still want to think that the work that went into this can be salvaged somehow, but his name is on the manuscript next to mine, and I can’t really just cut him out of the process. Plus, he’s a very good professional resource, and he still indicates he’s willing to collaborate or help out in other ways, which is nice…
So, that’s flat-out-rejection #2. I know rejections come with the territory, but they’re highly demoralizing. When other researchers talk about developing “rhino skin” from all the critical comments, I think they refer to articles that are potentially accepted, if the criticisms are fixed. So far, my batting average is .000
Over at Mother Jones, there’s a highly informative article revisiting 18 of the more egregious inconsistencies and blunders the mainstream media in the U.S. have been responsible for, since the start of this whole “war on terror” thing1.
I freely admit that my views of the U.S. political machinery and the war itself have changed, as things have gone along. But the Mother Jones article was a wake-up call, nevertheless. How quickly we forget the weasely words of the people in the magic box.
Second favorite:
The day before the invasion, Bill O’Reilly said, “If the Americans go in and overthrow Saddam Hussein and it’s clean, he has nothing, I will apologize to the nation; I will not trust the Bush administration again, all right?”
As if we needed more evidence that Bill O’Reilly was an especially heinous, right-wing-ratings puppet. And, though it’s more of a mockery of the media, rather than a media blunder, per se, here’s my favorite:
Stephen Colbert’s routine at the White House Correspondents’ Association dinner in April 2006 is remembered for the in-his-face mockery of President Bush—but he also spanked the press, perhaps one reason his mainstream reviews were mixed at best. Addressing the correspondents directly, Colbert said, “Let’s review the rules. The president makes decisions; he’s the decider. The press secretary announces those decisions, and you people of the press type those decisions down. Make, announce, type. Put them through a spell-check and go home. Get to know your family again. Make love to your wife. Write that novel you got kicking around in your head. You know, the one about the intrepid Washington reporter with the courage to stand up to the administration. You know—fiction.”
Yeah.
The democratic machinery of the nation, by its very nature, is always “broken” to some extent, but there are functional measures of how much it’s broken. Currently, I think a strong case can be made that it’s more broken than it’s been in ages. Mainstream media organizations have often been the Bush Administration’s willing minions in this process.
It will take a long time to fix what we’ve broken in the past couple of decades (especially the last 7 years). Assuming we ever get around to fixing things.
It just occurred to me… is a “War on Terror” pretty much the same as “Attacking the Darkness?” Surely someone else has seen this parallel of meaningless abstraction in nomenclature before now [↩]
Looks like Kubrik’s monolith, don’t it?1 And we are the monkeys dancing at its base :). It’s half of what I considered to be a wonderful — and even powerful — piece in the same park as the Chicago Mirror Bean. This was set at one end of a tiled plaza about fifty meters long, with a matching one facing it from the other end. I’m sure there’s an artist’s statement somewhere about what it’s supposed to represent, but I just enjoyed standing between two huge faces. I was surprised at how much of a visceral impact I felt when I stepped between them. The faces changed every few minutes, and each face shifted expressions every so often. After the jump, a few more pictures, including a close-up of the surface, which looks like bazillions of LEDs behind glass brick. Continue reading →
That’s the Mirror Bean, a sculpture at the South end of the “Magnificent Mile” of Michigan Avenue in Chicago. Amanda says it’s a butt. I find it very cool1. More pics after the cut.
The first was just phenomenally awesome. The soundtrack was composed of old, misogynistic radio and TV ads, a Bing Crosby piece (maybe?), and something jazzy and awesome that sounded like Django Rinehart on guitar. The dancers (all female), using spinning stools as props and dressed in identical polka-dot short dresses, created a highly kinetic melange of war-era pinup poses, glamor-girl smiles, burlesque moves and what I thought were more abstracted references to female gender roles. As the piece progressed, there were increasingly visible indications of the shallowness of the facades, such as the dancers lifting and posing each other like dolls or mannequins. Oh, and there was lots and lots of sultry cigarette smoking, with some serious coughing at the end. Also they sometimes flew around, airplane style, on their stools :)
The second piece was set to the Titanic theme, and involved some fairly predictable and derivative–but sweet and romantic–choreography. There seems to be a gender-change operation in there somewhere, as well as a lesbian love affair, but I suspect (given the nature of the rest of the piece) that these are not what the choreographer was going for.
The third piece (the one of resistance, you know) was my friend Melinda Blomquist’s MFA choreography work. I saw it in an earlier form last Spring, and now it’s even more awesome. Traditional hymns with a lot of vocals, an a capella Lila Downs piece, and some other touching music with gorgeous allegorical dance involving women with a white sash. The white sash begins around their waists, and they all struggle (sometimes violently) to get it off. Lots of repeated themes: jerky struggling-type motions, progressions of one hand up the other arm (sort of reminiscent of David Byrne in his “Once in a Lifetime” period), women lifting each other up and falling back down, and too many more to remember or mention. One by one, the dancers remove the sash, and the tone of the dancing shifts from tortured to jubilant. The themes of trials, mutual support, faith, and overcoming are powerful. I get all verklemt just thinking about it. Continue reading →
But first, a gratuitous picture of my sweetie at Garden of the Gods:
So Dorothea Lange and Ansel Adams got together in a dark bar one night…
First Excellent Thing:BLDGBLOG has a wonderful, wonderful, delicious article about Michael Cook, a guy in Toronto who is an urban explorer, with an emphasis on subterranean exploring (especially Toronto and Hamilton). This means drains and sewers, largely. There are some sa-weet photos here, which you simply must see to appreciate. The article links to his blog (which has apparently crashed from the newfound publicity), and to sites of other underground urban explorers. Seriously, if I didn’t suddenly have a heightened sense of my own mortality (since, say, June 3 of last year), this is the kind of thing I’d be really, really tempted to do. It tickles my fancy in particular ways. Actually, I’m not saying I won’t do a little of it. The not-very-dangerous kind. Here’s a sample photo (click for larger size, as usual):
Toronto drain pic
Second Excellent Thing: Berkeley Breathed, author of the original Bloom County strip, has continued (with much less fanfare) to create Opus. Recent strips about Lola Granola jumping on the “Radical Islamist” bandwagon in her peripatetic spiritual journeying were immediately pulled from many national newspapers for fear of offending people. Pfft. I love Berk Breathed. He’s been shooting sacred cows on a regular basis since I was too young to understand political sarcasm. And we need to people like him to continue to help us see the absurdity inherent in the world around us. [click for the full comic]
Opus Islamic Fundamentalist strip
(note: I found out about this by way of boing boing, and also through Salon.com, who has not pulled the strip).
So, you know about light writing? Well, it has lots of names. You go to a dark place and you open your camera shutter for a few seconds (or a few minutes) and write things in the air with flashlights, candles, etc. Here are some examples of light writing that I had fun with a few years ago, after getting my Canon Rebel SLR (film version).
ritual thumbnail
cornhenge thumbnail
So, I have loved this kind of magical stuff for a while. And then I found this excellent project (link: blog – higher resolution) from some guy calling himself pikapika (hee hee). Thousands upon thousands of light-writing images, stitched together into a stop-motion movie. Joy! (the link below is the lower-resolution YouTube version).
A couple of nights ago, my friend Brad and I had a discussion. It got me thinking, as I often do, about mipatria (the United States), its role in the world, and its future on the international stage. This morning, while trying to find a citation for homicide rates as (lousy) indicators of overall crime rates, I ran into a 2005 article titled “The next 50 years: Unfolding trends,” in what appears to be a good peer-reviewed academic journal.
The article has a section titled “America’s Retreat.” He predicts the end of U.S. international dominance by about 2050, with clear signs starting a few decades ago, and becoming more apparent very soon. He cites a lot of economic indicators, such as national debt, increasingly weak currency, and huge (and increasing) trade imbalances. He has graphs (pretty ones) and apparently rigorous data analysis. Some nifty excerpts from the article, after the jump. Continue reading →
So I finally got off my butt and took a real bike ride. I went up the mountain to the Fortino’s in Ancaster and back, on Brad’s bike, Bella. Bike: light and fast. Me: not so much. I can’t keep up with those fast Italian women. Who am I kidding? I did pass a couple of commuters on the way up the hill, but overall, it was a hard climb. I was inching along. By the top, my lungs and legs were asking me for severance pay.
Going up was an ordeal. Coming back down was an adventure. First, I got passed, before the serious descent, by a guy on a Trek mountain bike. With knobbies. Sheesh. Then, I got passed by a couple more people, but they were on expensive road bikes. At the light just before the Rousseaux St. intersection, the right-hand lane was turn-only, so I politely placed myself between lanes, on the right of the going-straight lane. When the light changed, a guy in a Buick or something on my right decided he was going to go straight instead of right (as he ought), and cut in front of the guy on my left, and very nearly hit me (which would have smacked me into the middle of a fairly busy street). Excuse me, can you tell me where your lane is at… a**hole?!
At the Rousseaux St. intersection, some lady raced in front of the oncoming lanes to turn left, a few seconds after our light turned green to go straight. There was honking, and some yelling on my part. And more honking as she nearly hit another car on Rousseaux St.
The hill was fun. Single speed = my feet can’t go fast enough. I coasted a lot, and passed the time exercising my perceptual-motor system and telling myself I can totally trust Brad’s bicycle maintenance habits. That’s interesting. That engages your attention. I can’t imagine fixed-gear on something like that hill.
Now I’m home, my knee is on ice, the cat is being homicidally entertained by random inanimate objects, and Alex is at Mac, rehearsing for her play. Cool breeze from the window, the light is starting to get golden, and there are lawnmowers growling pleasantly in the neighborhood. Nope, I still don’t miss Winter. Give it another few years.
The Virgina Tech shooter did something horrible. That’s his fault. But he existed in an environment in which he knew with a certainty that he would become famous for it. That’s the news media’s fault. That’s our fault. All of us.
The news media’s predictable vulture-like picking at the corpses of the victims is sickening. The most revolting thing about this, however, is the fact that the media are giving the killer everything he ever wanted. And, of course, this is because they’re giving us what we want. So, in the end, we are the problem. Continue reading →
On my way to work today, I passed a Lotus in the visitors’ parking area. Yes, a Lotus. At least it was in the visitors’ area, not in the administrators’ parking spots. I think the car was one of the models here (the Exige or the Elise). What’s this car doing in our parking lot? We’re a university. Actually, now that I thik about it, perhaps it belongs to some wealthy person giving a donation to the school. That would be acceptable. If there must be huge income inequalities in the world, some of the filthy lucre should trickle down to the educational system. You know, for the students’ increased learning outcomes. And my paycheck.
On the other hand, I looked up the prices on these things, and it looks like the Elise only (heh) costs between about $40,000 and $50,000, while the Exige goes for approximately $50,000 to $60,000. If I’m not mistaken, you can buy an SUV for the same price. OK, so that’s not exactly a ringing endorsement; it’s still luxury car pricing (a la Acura or Lexus), but despite the extremely sexy looks of this Lotus, it’s not in the price range of a quarter-million-dollar Lamborghini or Ferrari, or the million-plus McLaren F1. So I guess conspicuous consumption has fine gradations of magnitude.
Discussion of British cars (like Lotus) Reminds me of a bumper sticker I saw on an MG once: “The parts observed falling from this car are made with the finest British craftsmanship.”
