Well, I tried to give Microsoft the benefit of the doubt. While writing my story on the keynote address by MS's August de los Toros for today's WhatTheyThink, I had wanted to include a link to a very cool video that Microsoft Surface had put together showcasing all the futuristicky things they were working on in the area of ubiquitous interactive touchscreen and flexible displays. No dice. It wasn't that I couldn't find the video--I couldn't even get onto the Surface site.
I am on a Mac, naturally, and use Safari as my default browser. When I went to the main Surface site, I was told I needed to install Silverlight (Microsoft's Flash-like animation and video environment)--to basically see anything. Since installing software is always tons of fun, and when I'm on deadline is one thing I adore getting sidetracked with, I thought, "Sure, why not?" Since I was on the GoA pressroom WiFi, it was a tad slow, so it took about 15 minutes to download. Fortunately, I needed to take a restroom break and socialize a bit, so I let it do its thing.
I came back, it was done, and I again tried to launch the Surface site. This time I got the Silverlight logo that spun a bit and eventually stalled without doing anything. Great.
So then I tried Firefox, my other default browser when a site doesn't like Safari. This time, I got the spinning Silverlight logo again, as well as a countdown, which stopped at 30 and went no further. Great.
Okay, Plan C. I actually have Internet Explorer on my Mac. It has been years since Microsoft had a version of IE for the Mac, but I have carefully preserved this one in a hermetically-sealed folder on my hard drive on those rare occasions when a site I need to access won't work with anything else. (For example, I once did a lot of writing for a publishing company that configured their independent contractors' online billing site to only work with IE--which they only did after MS discontinued IE for the Mac and probably knowing full well that 90% of their contributors are on a Mac and won't be able to use IE. It wouldn't surprise me if that was their not-so-subtle way of preventing their freelancers from billing them.)
Anyway, IE crashed within seconds of accessing Surface. Great.
Strike 3.
So, I really wanted to link to that video, but never got that far. It does make me wonder what the future depicted in that video would look like if Microsoft actually were the ones to develop all these products. I had to be nice in my WTT article, but all I could think was, if it all ends up anything like Office or Windows, I'm going to want to take one of those glass displays, smash it, and slit my wrists with the shards. A fatal error has occurred, indeed.
There was one brief debate in one of the sessions I attended yesterday where the topic of whether Flash or some other online video/animation environment would prevail, and I don't really care either way--as long as it's something that works fairly transparently and consistently. I have never had a problem getting Flash to function, and I'm sure if I looked, I would find that there are even better solutions out there. But to be the one that prevails, it's going to have to be the one that is most easly available, is most stable and functional, and causes the least amount of grief to use. That's a tall order for any software company, but the reward is the conquering of the universe.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Feed the Bird
I have attempted to consolidate all my myriad social media activities into one place, so using Twitterfeed I am attempting to set up a feed so that things I post here at Blogito Ergo Sum automatically feed to Twitter and Facebook. This post is an attempt to see if it works.
Rippit
Here's an idea that combines one of the most disturbing memories of high school biology class with hand-knitted craftsmanship. Via Boing Boing, we give you: a hand-knitted dissected frog. Perfect for grandma.
Hold That Ghost
So I checked into The Marseilles Hotel yesterday, and although it's not the nicest hotel in the room (your typical South Beach flea trap), I was more than a little bemused to see this Post-It Note attached to a little purportedly inspirational poem on the wall:
I don't know what picture they are talking about, but I detected no ghost activity--not even actress Alice Ghostley. (The next door room's closet is behind the [thin] wall behind the bed, and it's easy to hear hangers clinking about in the morning. Perhaps the ghosts offer a valet service.) Fortunately, there has never been any definitive evidence that there are such things as ghosts. But even if there were, there certainly, as far as I know, has never been a reliably documented incident of someone being killed or injured by a ghost. So there's not much to be scared of.
I do have a question about ghosts, though. Even if we grant the premise that there is some kind of energy that comprises the soul and that it can linger on Earth after we shuffle off this mortal coil, and even if we assume that it can take the physical form of the person who died, why, oh why, is it wearing clothes? Ghosts always seem to be "seen" wearing Victorian garb, or fancy dresses (never flip-flops and tank tops, thankfully), or whatever. What would the mechanism for that be?
And another thing. Those silly ghost-hunting shows...they always seem to be using infrared cameras to capture "heat traces" or whatever, which is supposed to be evidence for ghostness. As Ken A. explained to me (as he has used infrared cameras), in order to pick up anything, you need to calibrate an infrared camera using a coefficient that has been determined for the surface generating the heat (which is what infrared radiation is). How do you calibrate an infrared camera to take into account the surface of a ghost? Because unless you do this properly, whatever you pick up on the camera could be anything and not especially reliable.
I don't know what picture they are talking about, but I detected no ghost activity--not even actress Alice Ghostley. (The next door room's closet is behind the [thin] wall behind the bed, and it's easy to hear hangers clinking about in the morning. Perhaps the ghosts offer a valet service.) Fortunately, there has never been any definitive evidence that there are such things as ghosts. But even if there were, there certainly, as far as I know, has never been a reliably documented incident of someone being killed or injured by a ghost. So there's not much to be scared of.I do have a question about ghosts, though. Even if we grant the premise that there is some kind of energy that comprises the soul and that it can linger on Earth after we shuffle off this mortal coil, and even if we assume that it can take the physical form of the person who died, why, oh why, is it wearing clothes? Ghosts always seem to be "seen" wearing Victorian garb, or fancy dresses (never flip-flops and tank tops, thankfully), or whatever. What would the mechanism for that be?
And another thing. Those silly ghost-hunting shows...they always seem to be using infrared cameras to capture "heat traces" or whatever, which is supposed to be evidence for ghostness. As Ken A. explained to me (as he has used infrared cameras), in order to pick up anything, you need to calibrate an infrared camera using a coefficient that has been determined for the surface generating the heat (which is what infrared radiation is). How do you calibrate an infrared camera to take into account the surface of a ghost? Because unless you do this properly, whatever you pick up on the camera could be anything and not especially reliable.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Boxing Day
So, anyway, last weekend, if you have read below or followed my Facebook/ Twitter/ TweetDeck/ Etc. updates, you know was the 33rd annual American Crossword Puzzle Tournament, held at the Brooklyn Bridge Marriott in beautiful downtown Brooklyn, NY. It's located right across the street from the Supreme Court Building, and rumor has it that the hotel was constructed for the primary purpose of sequestering juries, although I'm told that may be apocryphal.
Anyway, the event drew about 650 contestants (and many other non-competing guests) and worked like this. For most contenders, there were seven puzzles, which ranged in difficulty from pretty easy to "queen bitch" difficulty (Will Shortz's term). Everyone gathers in the main banquet hall, and yellow folders help ensure that one's eyes stay on one's own puzzle:
A puzzle is passed out, Will Shortz says, "Ready, set, go," and a clock ticks down the time allotted for a given puzzle--15 minutes, 20 minutes, etc. When you are done, you raise your hand, a proctor picks up your paper, marks the time, and you are released to go out to the lobby and commiserate with others--"what the heck was 19 down?" "did you get the theme of that?" "I have shamed the family," "I paid money to do this," and so forth.
It's interesting how the puzzle scoring and tracking has evolved, and it's a somewhat sophisticated process now. Every contestant is given a Contestant Number, and a sheet of bar-code labels that you stick on the back of each puzzle. (How fortuitous that a crossword puzzle grid can be easily used as a bar code!) These all varied by contestant:
The puzzle is graded by hand; judges verify manually that each square is filled correctly, and deduct points for wrong letters and blank squares (I am happy to say that in seven puzzles, I got no wrong answers or left any blanks). Points are then awarded by how quickly the puzzle was completed. The marked puzzles are then scanned and uploaded to the contest Web site, and you can log in with your contestant nunber to see the scanned puzzles, and track the standings (which are also posted in hard copy on the wall near the banquet hall). I would say that at least half of the contestants had iPhones and BlackBerrys or at least laptops. There were computers in the lobby of the hotel, as well.
There are a bunch of different contestant categories, based on skill, age, and geography. The A category is the best of the bunch--these are the power solvers who are more like human laser printers and can fill in an entire grid faster than I can write a single letter. (There are all sorts of tricks they use, only some which I have any aptitude for.)
At the end, there is an eighth puzzle that is used for the playoffs. If you've seen the movie Wordplay, you know how this works. There is a stage on which is a set of three large puzzle grids mounted on easels. The three contestants stand at their easels (they are angled such that they can't see each others' grids), they are given sound-proof headphones, and then solve the final, really hard puzzle while 700+ people watch--and Neil Conant of NPR and puzzle constructor Merl Reagle do play-by-play commentary. It's pretty intense, but a lot of fun.
You do meet interesting people from all walks of life--some of them are rather silly walks:
This is Jim Jenista, who apparently always comes to this event in some bizarre costume or other. He's kind of a celebrity.
It was a fun time, and I look forward to next year's tournament. I must work on my speed.
Anyway, the event drew about 650 contestants (and many other non-competing guests) and worked like this. For most contenders, there were seven puzzles, which ranged in difficulty from pretty easy to "queen bitch" difficulty (Will Shortz's term). Everyone gathers in the main banquet hall, and yellow folders help ensure that one's eyes stay on one's own puzzle:
A puzzle is passed out, Will Shortz says, "Ready, set, go," and a clock ticks down the time allotted for a given puzzle--15 minutes, 20 minutes, etc. When you are done, you raise your hand, a proctor picks up your paper, marks the time, and you are released to go out to the lobby and commiserate with others--"what the heck was 19 down?" "did you get the theme of that?" "I have shamed the family," "I paid money to do this," and so forth.It's interesting how the puzzle scoring and tracking has evolved, and it's a somewhat sophisticated process now. Every contestant is given a Contestant Number, and a sheet of bar-code labels that you stick on the back of each puzzle. (How fortuitous that a crossword puzzle grid can be easily used as a bar code!) These all varied by contestant:
The puzzle is graded by hand; judges verify manually that each square is filled correctly, and deduct points for wrong letters and blank squares (I am happy to say that in seven puzzles, I got no wrong answers or left any blanks). Points are then awarded by how quickly the puzzle was completed. The marked puzzles are then scanned and uploaded to the contest Web site, and you can log in with your contestant nunber to see the scanned puzzles, and track the standings (which are also posted in hard copy on the wall near the banquet hall). I would say that at least half of the contestants had iPhones and BlackBerrys or at least laptops. There were computers in the lobby of the hotel, as well.There are a bunch of different contestant categories, based on skill, age, and geography. The A category is the best of the bunch--these are the power solvers who are more like human laser printers and can fill in an entire grid faster than I can write a single letter. (There are all sorts of tricks they use, only some which I have any aptitude for.)
At the end, there is an eighth puzzle that is used for the playoffs. If you've seen the movie Wordplay, you know how this works. There is a stage on which is a set of three large puzzle grids mounted on easels. The three contestants stand at their easels (they are angled such that they can't see each others' grids), they are given sound-proof headphones, and then solve the final, really hard puzzle while 700+ people watch--and Neil Conant of NPR and puzzle constructor Merl Reagle do play-by-play commentary. It's pretty intense, but a lot of fun.
You do meet interesting people from all walks of life--some of them are rather silly walks:
This is Jim Jenista, who apparently always comes to this event in some bizarre costume or other. He's kind of a celebrity.It was a fun time, and I look forward to next year's tournament. I must work on my speed.
Case Closed
Why do I get the sense that if I ever used this impressive toothbrush holder, I would never make it through airport security? (Via Boing Boing)
Power Point of Know Return
An oldie but a goodie, via Boing Boing today--comedian Don McMillan's "How Not to Use PowerPoint" routine. So true, so true...
Sunday, February 21, 2010
How You Doing, Bernie?
Sitting in a TGIFriday's in Penn Station, I finally, for the first time, am hearing the original of a 1999 Weird Al parody. "Pretty Fly for a White Guy" that Shazam tells me is by The Offspring. What a wretched song. I much prefer Weird Al's "Pretty Fly for a Rabbi."
What are Words For
For those who have not been following my Twitter and/or Facebook updates, I finished the American Crossword Puzzle Tournament at 75th out of 644. I shall blog more about it (and post pictures) when I get home to my proper computer--God and Amtrak willing...
Friday, February 19, 2010
There Goes Paradise
I have really been enjoying the new SyFy (jeez, I hate that spelling) Channel show Caprica, a prequel to the new Battlestar Galactica, which I also liked a great deal. And I can watch it even though I don't have cable, or know what night it is on. SyFy, like a number of other networks, makes their shows available online, which means they can be watched any time one wants. I can connect my laptop directly to my TV, and some networks (like ABC) have online video quality that even exceeds that of what comes over my cable provider! This is how I watch Lost each week--and I recently discovered a show called FlashForward, which I also like a lot. And what I really like about watching programs online is that there are far far far fewer commercials. There are the usual commercial breaks (shows are actually written with "act breaks" and develop dramatically between commercials), but only last about 30 seconds (not enough time for a bathroom break, though) and typically include only one sponsor. In the case of FlashForward, some episodes offered the option of playing a 90-second introductory "infomercial" and then being able to watch the show without any commercials. Yes! Hulu.com is also a good site to watch old and new shows with a minimum of interruption.
This is how TV began, after all--a single sponsor footing the bill for a show, and commercial breaks were kept to a minimum and you didn't get the constant clutter of a zillion ads per 2- or 3-minute break (which even individual sponsors hate). If you think commercials are taking up more programming time these days, you're right. If you watch old and new series on DVD, you can see this quite dramatically; in the 1960s and 70s, a one-hour drama like Star Trek or The Wild Wild West clocked in about 52 minutes per episode. A half-hour sitcom like M*A*S*H or The Bob Newhart Show was about 26 minutes. Today, a "one-hour" drama like Lost is 42 minutes; a half-hour sitcom about 21 minutes. And, to be honest, I remember the single sponsor's ads better than a zillion (generally loathsome and tasteless) ads clustered in one block.
Being able to watch shows online with a minimum of commercials is far preferable (yes, someone has to pay for them, but there has to be a better way)--but it may be changing. Unfortunately. Says Ad Age:
This is how TV began, after all--a single sponsor footing the bill for a show, and commercial breaks were kept to a minimum and you didn't get the constant clutter of a zillion ads per 2- or 3-minute break (which even individual sponsors hate). If you think commercials are taking up more programming time these days, you're right. If you watch old and new series on DVD, you can see this quite dramatically; in the 1960s and 70s, a one-hour drama like Star Trek or The Wild Wild West clocked in about 52 minutes per episode. A half-hour sitcom like M*A*S*H or The Bob Newhart Show was about 26 minutes. Today, a "one-hour" drama like Lost is 42 minutes; a half-hour sitcom about 21 minutes. And, to be honest, I remember the single sponsor's ads better than a zillion (generally loathsome and tasteless) ads clustered in one block.
Being able to watch shows online with a minimum of commercials is far preferable (yes, someone has to pay for them, but there has to be a better way)--but it may be changing. Unfortunately. Says Ad Age:
Starting this fall, Nielsen intends to start making available data that take into account viewing of commercials that run in a particular show, no matter whether they are seen online or on TV. The data will be made available for evaluation starting this September and are intended to become the basis for ad negotiations in February 2011.Oh, well, It was nice while it lasted. Guess I'll go back to reading books and watching DVDs.
But here's the catch: For Nielsen to be able to provide the commercial rating, shows seen online will have to have the same group of commercials that run on TV. If this system were adopted en masse -- and it's not clear that it would be -- online viewing might be crammed just as full of commercials as the more traditional TV-watching experience.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Back to NYC
Off for the weekend to the American Crossword Puzzle Tournament in beautiful downtown Brooklyn. This is the first year I have been able to attend since I first went in March 2007. (It has tended to conflict with Graphics of the Americas.)
Speaking of Graphics of the Americas, I jet off to Miami Beach on Wednesday...so I should start drinking now to be in the right frame of mind to get on a plane.
Funny--The Beatles could fly non-stop from Miami Beach to the U.S.S.R., but I have to transfer in Atlanta. That Georgia's always on my itinerary, let alone my mind.
Expect blizzards, as I have to fly back Friday night--we have basketball tickets for Syracuse vs. Villanova in Syracuse on Saturday!
Speaking of Graphics of the Americas, I jet off to Miami Beach on Wednesday...so I should start drinking now to be in the right frame of mind to get on a plane.
Funny--The Beatles could fly non-stop from Miami Beach to the U.S.S.R., but I have to transfer in Atlanta. That Georgia's always on my itinerary, let alone my mind.
Expect blizzards, as I have to fly back Friday night--we have basketball tickets for Syracuse vs. Villanova in Syracuse on Saturday!
Speaking of Social Media
I have recently discovered--thanks to WTT's Cary Sherburne--TweetDeck, a social media management application that puts all one's Twitter, Facebook, and LinkedIn updates in one place, and lets you write once and publish posts in all three places simultaneously. So while I have not been blogging here all that much lately, I have been trying to master the art of the terse over at Twitter et al.
The simultaneous plus and minus of TweetDeck is that updates pop up automatically on-screen--which is good for staying involved in virtual conversations, but bad when some people don't know when to stop!
The simultaneous plus and minus of TweetDeck is that updates pop up automatically on-screen--which is good for staying involved in virtual conversations, but bad when some people don't know when to stop!
Antisocial Media
Over at PrintCEO Blog, I babble on and on about social media and eventually get around to mentioning my latest WhatTheyThink special report, “Social Media for Graphic Communications: A WhatTheyThink Strategy Summary Report—The Hows and Whys of Social Media.”
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Voice Wreck Ignition
From New Scientist magazine's Feedback:
OUR colleague Jim Giles subscribes to Google Voice, the Google service which, among other things, transcribes incoming telephone messages and sends them to you as an email. Jim forwards on to Feedback a transcript of a call from the owners of the apartment he rents in London. The message was to enquire about some work being carried out there. It is, he suggests, evidence that computerised dictation has not reached maximum verisimilitude quite yet.
"Good Morning to you on Michael for French forces area so will you go out. Workman in your flight 046 44 life. Pace, Elco we must install a new phone working. I'm coming to tell the cats. I could please celebrate the contract. It's not working. M A D late. Thank you. If you can leave me. Another [phone number]. Thank you."
As you can imagine, Jim was particularly pleased that the cats were being kept in the loop.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
We're Not Kansas Anymore
Via Boing Boing, the Muppets Studio YouTube channel features Beaker performing "Dust in the Wind" whilst being attacked by nasty commenters. Oh, also check out the Muppet version of "Bohemian Rhapsody."
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
Oyota
I heard this repeated on NPR this morning and thought it was pretty funny:
Happily, my own Toyota Camry is not involved in this whole mess, or at least that's what they tell me. Although, I wonder how effective an excuse it would be to get out of a speeding ticket.
...the President and CEO of Toyota apologized to his customers for causing them so much worry.I'm sure there's a legitimate reason that he wasn't driving his own company's car, but still.... And after apologizing for the acceleration problems, appropriately, he couldn't get out of there fast enough.
"I am deeply sorry," said Akio Toyoda.... After the interview he was seen leaving in a black Audi.
Happily, my own Toyota Camry is not involved in this whole mess, or at least that's what they tell me. Although, I wonder how effective an excuse it would be to get out of a speeding ticket.
Monday, February 08, 2010
Monday Afternoon Quarterbacking
Yes, I did watch the Superbowl last night; a friend of mine had some people over so we gathered round for one of the only remaining communal activities left in a fragmented media culture. I should point out that his fiancée's dog was a bit more entertaining.
Anyway, some random thoughts.
It was actually a fairly good game, which the Superbowl usually isn't. It was nice to see an onside kick actually work, which it usually doesn't. I wasn't particularly for or against either the Colts or the Saints, but given that the Saints have never been to a Superbowl before, much less won one, it was nice to see the underdog win. And Peyton Manning does seem like a bit of a dink.
Am I the only one who sees that floating overhead camera above the field and thinks of Nomad, the killer probe from "The Changeling" episode of Star Trek? (Don't answer that.) And am I the only one who wished that Nomad would eliminate Phil Simms?
Sports announcers are almost always insufferable (hint: TV is by definition a visual medium; we don't need their constant nattering every nanosecond), but Simms seemed to have been even more so, with comments that ranged from the blindingly obvious ("This team wants to win this game!") to the overly self-important ("I told the coach of the Saints not to do that and he did it anyway!" Gasp!) Still, he's not as bad as John Maddening. Seen live, sporting events have the barest minimum of announcing and it's still really easy to figure out what is happening (more so, since no one is talking about a bus trip they went on with some coach 30 years ago, while failing to explain why a play is under review). Why do we need these people? I think some organ music like they have at baseball or hockey games would be far preferable. Or, barring that, the constant scraping of nails on a blackboard. (Whenever I am forced, Clockwork Orange-like, to listen to Bill Raftery call a college basketball game I react like that woman back in the 90s who had seizures whenever she heard Mary Hart's voice on Entertainment Tonight. And don't get me started on Dick "For the love of God, don't call a 3-point shot a trifecta!" Vitale.)
But I digress.
Oh, and we couldn't help wonder who dressed all the on-air people? Purple striped shirts with pink paisley ties? And other even more garish combinations? Their mothers let them go out dressed like that? I'm surprised HD sets across the country didn't explode like popcorn. It kind of reminded me of the green and purple make up they needed to use back in the 1940s to get people to show up properly in the very earliest days of TV broadcasting. Maybe they thought that everyone still had black-and-white sets. Maybe CBS Sports hired color blind people as wardrobe supervisors. Maybe next year they'll all get clown suits.
Speaking of HD, The Who in HD is not a pretty sight. And they were, um, disappointing, but then Entwistle was always my favorite. I guess I liked the CSI theme medley. Anyway, 'nuff said.
As for the commercials, they were loathsome, of course, but not as obnoxious as they usually are. There may be something good about the recession, if it meant that many companies took a pass on the Superbowl this year. What always annoys me about Superbowl commercials is that they are all basically the same, and always seem to revolve around really stupid people doing really stupid things to obtain really bad products. I guess I wonder if companies really do think that their target customer has a sub-moronic IQ. Kind of makes me want to run right out, wallet in hand.
The Doritos commercials that all seemed to have the common theme of violent revenge also were colossally unappealing. But then, so are Doritos.
And what was with the misogyny? It was even worse this year than ever. It was rather amusing, and ironic in a way, that CBS refused to run a commercial from a gay dating site but all the commercials they did allow seemed to be about how men really hate women (unless they have beer--and bad beer at that, but I kid Bud Lite...). It just seemed more upsetting than it usually does. It kind of makes you wish that PBS would carry the Superbowl. At least then we could get some nifty totebags. As for the Tim Tebow commercial, well, not everyone grows up to become a football star, you know. But the obvious joke of course is to combine the two "controversial spots" and have Tebow's mom say, "So please, give birth to your child, so he can grow up to be a man...and find love at ManCrunch.com."
Though, that is a rather unappealing name for a Web site, isn't it?
Anyway, thank the great maker that it's over for another year and we can get back to real sports: college basketball--after yesterday's win over Cincinnati, Syracuse is now 23-1 and ranked #2!). We have our SU-Villanova tickets for February 27...I think...I hope...
Anyway, some random thoughts.
It was actually a fairly good game, which the Superbowl usually isn't. It was nice to see an onside kick actually work, which it usually doesn't. I wasn't particularly for or against either the Colts or the Saints, but given that the Saints have never been to a Superbowl before, much less won one, it was nice to see the underdog win. And Peyton Manning does seem like a bit of a dink.
Am I the only one who sees that floating overhead camera above the field and thinks of Nomad, the killer probe from "The Changeling" episode of Star Trek? (Don't answer that.) And am I the only one who wished that Nomad would eliminate Phil Simms?
Sports announcers are almost always insufferable (hint: TV is by definition a visual medium; we don't need their constant nattering every nanosecond), but Simms seemed to have been even more so, with comments that ranged from the blindingly obvious ("This team wants to win this game!") to the overly self-important ("I told the coach of the Saints not to do that and he did it anyway!" Gasp!) Still, he's not as bad as John Maddening. Seen live, sporting events have the barest minimum of announcing and it's still really easy to figure out what is happening (more so, since no one is talking about a bus trip they went on with some coach 30 years ago, while failing to explain why a play is under review). Why do we need these people? I think some organ music like they have at baseball or hockey games would be far preferable. Or, barring that, the constant scraping of nails on a blackboard. (Whenever I am forced, Clockwork Orange-like, to listen to Bill Raftery call a college basketball game I react like that woman back in the 90s who had seizures whenever she heard Mary Hart's voice on Entertainment Tonight. And don't get me started on Dick "For the love of God, don't call a 3-point shot a trifecta!" Vitale.)
But I digress.
Oh, and we couldn't help wonder who dressed all the on-air people? Purple striped shirts with pink paisley ties? And other even more garish combinations? Their mothers let them go out dressed like that? I'm surprised HD sets across the country didn't explode like popcorn. It kind of reminded me of the green and purple make up they needed to use back in the 1940s to get people to show up properly in the very earliest days of TV broadcasting. Maybe they thought that everyone still had black-and-white sets. Maybe CBS Sports hired color blind people as wardrobe supervisors. Maybe next year they'll all get clown suits.
Speaking of HD, The Who in HD is not a pretty sight. And they were, um, disappointing, but then Entwistle was always my favorite. I guess I liked the CSI theme medley. Anyway, 'nuff said.
As for the commercials, they were loathsome, of course, but not as obnoxious as they usually are. There may be something good about the recession, if it meant that many companies took a pass on the Superbowl this year. What always annoys me about Superbowl commercials is that they are all basically the same, and always seem to revolve around really stupid people doing really stupid things to obtain really bad products. I guess I wonder if companies really do think that their target customer has a sub-moronic IQ. Kind of makes me want to run right out, wallet in hand.
The Doritos commercials that all seemed to have the common theme of violent revenge also were colossally unappealing. But then, so are Doritos.
And what was with the misogyny? It was even worse this year than ever. It was rather amusing, and ironic in a way, that CBS refused to run a commercial from a gay dating site but all the commercials they did allow seemed to be about how men really hate women (unless they have beer--and bad beer at that, but I kid Bud Lite...). It just seemed more upsetting than it usually does. It kind of makes you wish that PBS would carry the Superbowl. At least then we could get some nifty totebags. As for the Tim Tebow commercial, well, not everyone grows up to become a football star, you know. But the obvious joke of course is to combine the two "controversial spots" and have Tebow's mom say, "So please, give birth to your child, so he can grow up to be a man...and find love at ManCrunch.com."
Though, that is a rather unappealing name for a Web site, isn't it?
Anyway, thank the great maker that it's over for another year and we can get back to real sports: college basketball--after yesterday's win over Cincinnati, Syracuse is now 23-1 and ranked #2!). We have our SU-Villanova tickets for February 27...I think...I hope...
Poetry in Motion
Or, perhaps, ba-a-a-ad poetry:
A North East writer has been given a grant of £2,000 to use sheep to create random poems, which also utilise the deepest workings of the universe.So if you start seeing people wearing sweaters with random words written across the back, now you know where the wool came from.
...
Each of the animals has a word from a poem written on their backs and as they wander about the words take a new poetic form each time they come to rest.
But the exercise is not just an attempt to create living poems, it is also, according to the poet, an exercise in quantum mechanics.
Saturday, February 06, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Boy, Crazy Boy
An eye-catching headline from Yahoo! News:
NJ boy, 8, on terrorism watch listIf he's the one who sat behind me on one flight from London and kept kicking the seat for six hours, I concur completely.
One More Minute
Well, looks like Doomsday was postponed. I guess I'll have to go grocery shopping after all.
The Doomsday Clock has been set back 1 minute for the first time in its 63-year history. In moving the clock from 5 minutes before midnight to 6 minutes before midnight, scientists expressed optimism for humanity's future.
This end-of-the-world clock, set up in 1947, is meant to convey how close we are to the end of the world via catastrophe caused by nuclear weapons or climate change, among other factors.
And Justice Fur All
Here's a story that gave me paws. No one escapes jury duty (would he need an escape claws?). This would make a good Law and Order episode.
(h/t Dr. Joe)
Duty calls for an East Boston resident.A jury of one's purrs? It'll make voire dire an interesting process, at any rate. Although, I bet Michael Vick's lawyers wouldn't have minded having Sal on his jury!
Someone is getting called for jury duty...but it's no human.
A family is trying to figure out how their pet cat was summonsed for jury duty.
“I said, Sal, what’s this? You know, I don’t believe it I was shocked,” said Guy Esposito, Sal’s owner.
Sal’s owners, Guy and Anna Esposito, think they may know the source of the mix up: Sal really is a member of the family, so on the last Census form, Anna Esposito listed him under “pets”.
“I just wrote ‘Sal Esposito’, scratched out the ‘dog,’ and wrote, ‘cat,’” said Anna.
Anna filed for Sal’s disqualification of service. However, the jury commissioner was unmoved and denied the request.
Sal’s service date at Suffolk Superior Court is set for March 23. Anna said that if the issue isn’t cleared up by then, she will simply have to bring the cat to court.
(h/t Dr. Joe)
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Bless the Beasts and the BlackBerrys
Okay, I think I know why the hands of the Doomsday Clock are set to change, as this is yet another sign of the impending apocalypse:
The Rev. Canon David Parrott blessed a symbolic heap of laptops and smart phones on the altar of London's 17th-century St. Lawrence Jewry church Monday. An effort, he said, to remind the capital's busy office workers that God's grace can reach them in many ways.Still, I bet Rev. Parrott was only repeating what someone else said.
"It's the technology that is our daily working tool, and it's a technology we should bless," Parrott said.
The short blessing capped Monday's services at the Christopher Wren-designed building — the official church of the Corporation of the City of London, which runs the capital's bustling financial district.
Parishioners took out cell phones as Parrott recited a blessing over them and their electronic devices. A few held their phones up in the air as he ran through the prayer.
Doom and Doomer
If you're into this sort of thing, tune in Thursday:
The minute hand of the famous Doomsday Clock is set to move this Thursday, and for the first time, anyone with Internet access can watch. Which way the hand will move and by how much have not been made public.No word on whether Iron Maiden will be rewriting and rerecording their 1984 song "Two Minutes to Midnight."
The event will take place at 10 a.m. EST (1500 GMT) on Jan. 14 at the New York Academy of Sciences Building in New York City. While the actual clock is housed at the Bulletin of Atomic Sciences offices in Chicago, Ill., a representation of the clock will be changed at Thursday's news conference. (You can watch the live Web feed at www.TurnBackTheClock.org.)
The last time the Doomsday Clock minute hand moved was in January 2007, when it was pushed forward by two minutes, from seven to five minutes before midnight. The change was meant to reflect two major sources of potential catastrophe that could bring us closer to "doomsday," according to the board of "The Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists," a magazine focused on warning the world of the dangers that the invention of the atomic bomb helped to unleash.
...
In December 1945, University of Chicago scientists who had helped to develop the first atomic weapons in the Manhattan Project created "The Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists." The Bulletin's board of directors then in 1947 came up with the idea of a Doomsday Clock to symbolize these threats. The message is that humans are "a few minutes to midnight," where midnight represents destruction by nuclear weapons, climate change and emerging technologies in the life sciences.
...
When the Doomsday Clock debuted in 1947, the Cold War between the United States and the Soviet Union was occurring, with the time showing seven minutes to midnight. The time has since changed 18 times.
The closest approach to Doomsday occurred in 1953, when the clock was changed to two minutes to midnight after the United States and the Soviet Union each tested thermonuclear devices within nine months of one another.
The Golden Age of Wireless
Great jumping snails!* It's hard to imagine, but radio as we know it is only 100 years old--and its anniversary is today, January 12.
American inventor Lee De Forest was born in 1873 in Council Bluffs, IA, where his parents often said that they couldn't see De Forest for the trees, although it was unknown if young Lee was skilled at hide-and-seek. He went to Yale and, as an inveterate tinkerer, tapped into the school's electrical system and blacked out the campus. He was, needless to say, suspended. So they would have to wait for many more years before getting a college radio station. They eventually relented and let him back in, and De Forest earned his Ph.D. in 1899 with a dissertation on radio waves.
De Forest invented the audion, an electronic amplifier, followed by an improved wireless telegraph receiver. De Forest's subsequent triode was three-electrode vacuum tube that could be used as an amplifier of electrical signals, such as radio reception. It would much later be used in computers, as well.
Wikipedia takes up the story:
Anyway, what is claimed to be the first "true" public radio broadcast was made on January 12 (and 13), 1910, when De Forest broadcast part of a live performance of Puccini's opera Tosca --featuring Italian tenor Enrico Caruso--from New York's Metropolitan Opera House. (Odd; there is no record of any intellectual property disputes or disclaimers that the broadcast was owned by the Metropolitan Opera Company.) De Forest used two mono microphones and a 500-watt transmitter. Of course, not too many people had radio sets at the time and the quality of the sound left much to be desired. Still, you have to imagine that to suddenly hear voices coming out of a box in your home had to be akin to receiving messages from space. (Which they kind of were...)
By the way, the first actual wireless transmissions dated from four years earlier. Reginald Fessenden had invented a continuous-wave voice transmitter 1905 and made a voice broadcast over the North Atlantic on Christmas Eve 1906. It was only heard by the wireless operators on banana boats owned by the United Fruit Company. There's a demographic that broadcasters lost over the years...
So when everyone told Lee De Forest that he was bananas for trying to create radio, they could very well have been right.
And then video killed the radio star, The Buggles joined Yes, and it was all downhill from there.
So let's turn on the radio, get appalled at how it has devolved since its heyday, turn it off again almost immediately, then go find an old radio drama on MP3.
*An actual exclamation from a character on an episode of Dimension X, a great radio science-fiction series from the 1950s.
American inventor Lee De Forest was born in 1873 in Council Bluffs, IA, where his parents often said that they couldn't see De Forest for the trees, although it was unknown if young Lee was skilled at hide-and-seek. He went to Yale and, as an inveterate tinkerer, tapped into the school's electrical system and blacked out the campus. He was, needless to say, suspended. So they would have to wait for many more years before getting a college radio station. They eventually relented and let him back in, and De Forest earned his Ph.D. in 1899 with a dissertation on radio waves.
De Forest invented the audion, an electronic amplifier, followed by an improved wireless telegraph receiver. De Forest's subsequent triode was three-electrode vacuum tube that could be used as an amplifier of electrical signals, such as radio reception. It would much later be used in computers, as well.
Wikipedia takes up the story:
On July 18, 1907, De Forest broadcast the first ship-to-shore message from the steam yacht Thelma. The communication provided quick, accurate race results of the Annual Inter-Lakes Yachting Association (I-LYA) Regatta. The message was received by his assistant, Frank E. Butler of Monroeville, Ohio, in the Pavilion at Fox's Dock located on South Bass Island on Lake Erie.DeForest apparently hated the term "wireless" and preferred instead "radio." It might catch on.
Anyway, what is claimed to be the first "true" public radio broadcast was made on January 12 (and 13), 1910, when De Forest broadcast part of a live performance of Puccini's opera Tosca --featuring Italian tenor Enrico Caruso--from New York's Metropolitan Opera House. (Odd; there is no record of any intellectual property disputes or disclaimers that the broadcast was owned by the Metropolitan Opera Company.) De Forest used two mono microphones and a 500-watt transmitter. Of course, not too many people had radio sets at the time and the quality of the sound left much to be desired. Still, you have to imagine that to suddenly hear voices coming out of a box in your home had to be akin to receiving messages from space. (Which they kind of were...)
By the way, the first actual wireless transmissions dated from four years earlier. Reginald Fessenden had invented a continuous-wave voice transmitter 1905 and made a voice broadcast over the North Atlantic on Christmas Eve 1906. It was only heard by the wireless operators on banana boats owned by the United Fruit Company. There's a demographic that broadcasters lost over the years...
So when everyone told Lee De Forest that he was bananas for trying to create radio, they could very well have been right.
And then video killed the radio star, The Buggles joined Yes, and it was all downhill from there.
So let's turn on the radio, get appalled at how it has devolved since its heyday, turn it off again almost immediately, then go find an old radio drama on MP3.
*An actual exclamation from a character on an episode of Dimension X, a great radio science-fiction series from the 1950s.
A Naught-y Decade
Over at PrintCEO Blog, via a 6th-century monk and a 20th-century biologist, reasons why we should declare the "2000s" over—especially if you're in the printing industry.
Monday, January 04, 2010
Chicken General
Many of us who do crossword puzzles or eat Chinese food (or both, sometimes simultaneously) have long been curious about a certain General Tso. Was he a real person, much less a real general, or was he fictional, like Uncle Ben or Betty Crocker? Or was he more like a Chinese Colonel Sanders, not a real military Colonel? And why name a chicken dish after him? Was it sort of a damning with faint praise sort of thing?
Whilst I could very easily have looked him up of my own accord, hunan nature being what it is (ahem) I would rather--like the dish--have it delivered to me rather than go and pick it up.
Ergo, the answer finally did indeed present itself in, of all places, yesterday's New York Times Crossword Puzzle blog.
It probably doesn't surprise anyone that General Tso's chicken (like much of American Chinese cuisine, or much ethnic cuisine we get in this country) doesn't really exist in China itself. But:
Having further questions about Tso (is he a poultry excuse for a general?) I thought I would turn to our old friend Wikipedia. Tso (or, latterly, Zuo) lived from November 10, 1812 to September 5, 1885 (I shall have to mark November 10 on my calendar and celebrate each year with a delivery from the nearby Peking Chinese Restaurant, whose delivery menu describes the dish as "Finely chunks of chicken quickly fried until crispy, sauteed with exotic target, Hunan sauce." Not sure what "target Hunan sauce" is, but it is rather good.) But I digress...
Early in his career, Zuo "decided to abandon his plans to become a civil servant and returned to his home by the Xiang River in Hunan to farm silkworms, read and drink tea." Now there's an idea. I rather like that as a career move... There is no truth to the rumor that the original General Tso's chicken was made with silkworms.
When Zuo was 38 (in 1850), the Taiping Rebellion broke out, and he was hired as an advisor by the staff of the governor of Hunan. "In 1856, he was formally offered a position in the provincial government of Hunan."
A distinguished military figure to be sure, and yet, as we now know, was unlikely to have ever eaten the dish named for him. His loss, really.
Whilst I could very easily have looked him up of my own accord, hunan nature being what it is (ahem) I would rather--like the dish--have it delivered to me rather than go and pick it up.
Ergo, the answer finally did indeed present itself in, of all places, yesterday's New York Times Crossword Puzzle blog.
It probably doesn't surprise anyone that General Tso's chicken (like much of American Chinese cuisine, or much ethnic cuisine we get in this country) doesn't really exist in China itself. But:
General Tso’s chicken is named for Tso Tsung-t’ang (now usually transliterated as Zuo Zongtang), a formidable 19th-century general who is said to have enjoyed eating it. The Hunanese have a strong military tradition, and Tso is one of their best-known historical figures. But although many Chinese dishes are named after famous personages, there is no record of any dish named after Tso.The article goes on to say that Peng invented the dish known as General Tso's chicken some time in the 1950s. In 1973, Peng moved to New York City and opened a restaurant near the United Nations. Hunan cuisine was virtually unknown in the States in the early 1970s, and Peng's restaurant became a favorite with U.N. officials--and with then-Secretary of State Henry Kissinger.
The real roots of the recipe lie in the chaotic aftermath of the Chinese civil war, when the leadership of the defeated Nationalist Party fled to the island of Taiwan. They took with them many talented people, including a number of notable chefs, and foremost among them was Peng Chang-kuei. Born in 1919 into a poverty-stricken household in the Hunanese capital, Changsha, Peng was the apprentice to Cao Jingchen, one of the most outstanding cooks of his generation. By the end of World War II, Peng was in charge of Nationalist government banquets, and when the party met its humiliating defeat at the hands of Mao Zedong’s Communists in 1949, he fled with them to Taiwan. There, he continued to cater for official functions, inventing many new dishes.
“Kissinger visited us every time he was in New York,” Peng said, “and we became great friends. It was he who brought Hunanese food to public notice.”The Chinese don't have much of a sweet tooth, and if you've ever had traditional Chinese desserts, they are not particularly sweet at all (but still very tasty). So needless to say, a main course would scarcely be sweet. As a result,
“The original General Tso’s chicken was Hunanese in taste and made without sugar,” he said. “But when I began cooking for non-Hunanese people in the United States, I altered the recipe.” (Though others have since laid claim to it.)Peng eventaully moved back to Taiwan and General Tso's chicken became one of the staples of American Chinese food. One final irony, though:
General Tso’s chicken is now being adopted as a “traditional” dish by some influential chefs and food writers in Hunan.Hmm...kind of like how Scotty "invented" transparent aluminum in Star Trek IV. (Yeah, like this post wasn't geeky enough to begin with!) There is also another irony in that the "traditional" Hunan dish is actually a product of exiled Nationalist Taiwan, which has to sting on some level.
Having further questions about Tso (is he a poultry excuse for a general?) I thought I would turn to our old friend Wikipedia. Tso (or, latterly, Zuo) lived from November 10, 1812 to September 5, 1885 (I shall have to mark November 10 on my calendar and celebrate each year with a delivery from the nearby Peking Chinese Restaurant, whose delivery menu describes the dish as "Finely chunks of chicken quickly fried until crispy, sauteed with exotic target, Hunan sauce." Not sure what "target Hunan sauce" is, but it is rather good.) But I digress...
Early in his career, Zuo "decided to abandon his plans to become a civil servant and returned to his home by the Xiang River in Hunan to farm silkworms, read and drink tea." Now there's an idea. I rather like that as a career move... There is no truth to the rumor that the original General Tso's chicken was made with silkworms.
When Zuo was 38 (in 1850), the Taiping Rebellion broke out, and he was hired as an advisor by the staff of the governor of Hunan. "In 1856, he was formally offered a position in the provincial government of Hunan."
In 1860, Zuo was given command of a force of 5,000 volunteers (later known as "Chu Army"), and by September of that year he drove the Taiping rebels out of Hunan and Guangxi provinces, into coastal Zhejiang.There is no truth to the rumor that he later won an important military campaign by firing chunks of crispy fried chicken at the enemy, although that Hunan sauce made a good target.
Zuo captured the city of Shaoxing, and from there pushed south into Fujian and Guangdong provinces, where the revolt had first begun. In 1863, Zuo was appointed Governor of Zhejiang and an Undersecretary of War.
In August 1864, Zuo, together with Zeng Guofan, dethroned the Taiping teenage king, Hong Tianguifu, and brought an end to the rebellion. He was created Earl Kejing of the 1st Class for his part in suppressing the rebellion. He, Zeng Guofan and Li Hongzhang were called Zeng, Zuo, Li, the leaders in suppressing the rebellion.
In 1865, Zuo was appointed Viceroy and Governor-General of Fujian and Zhejiang. As Commissioner of Naval Industries, Zuo founded China's first modern shipyard and naval academy in Fuzhou the following year.
[I]n his seventies, Zuo was appointed to the Grand Council, the cabinet of the Qing Empire at the time, in 1880. Uneasy with bureaucratic politics, Zuo asked to be relieved of his duties and was appointed Viceroy of Liangjiang in 1881. In 1884, upon the outbreak of the Sino-French War, Zuo received his fourth and last commission as commander-in-chief and Imperial Commissioner of the Army and Inspector General overseeing coastal defense in Fujian. He died shortly after a truce was signed between the two nations, in Fuzhou (Foo-chow), 1885.He was buried on a bed of rice....
A distinguished military figure to be sure, and yet, as we now know, was unlikely to have ever eaten the dish named for him. His loss, really.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Checks Mix
The UK is phasing out paper checks:
After more than three centuries, the humble check is set to become a historic relic after British banks voted to phase it out in favor of more modern payment methods.I'm sure the U.S. will be following suit; Bank of America just needs to figure out what fees to charge. But then again, it may be a moot point because I doubt anyone will have any money left by 2018 anyway.
The board of the UK Payments Council, the body for setting payment strategy in Britain, agreed on Wednesday to set a target date of October 31, 2018 for winding up the check clearing system.
Not March, Just Madness
The Washington Post is doing its own "bracketology" to come up with the most influential person of the 2000s. Man, what an incredibly wretched decade this has been. I think in about 10 or 20 years there will be a VH1 series called I Really Loathed the 2000s.
All White Now
This is quite possibly the least surprising thing I have ever read in my life; from the Syracuse Post-Standard:
If you’re dreaming of a white Christmas, odds are better than 2 to 1 that you’ll find one in Syracuse and Oswego in any given year.White Christmases are nice, but it's the white Memorial Days that are the problem.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Where a Great Many People Have Gone Before
Over at Movie Mis-Treatments-- sacrilege!--the new Star Trek movie.
I really did like this movie. As a Trekker of long standing (35+ years), I thought the creators did an excellent job of capturing the spirit of the original series, casting believable young versions of the classic characters (with some exceptions), and at the same time reinvigorating the Trek universe in a way some of the later series and movies never really did. The effects work is incredible, and the writing, direction, and acting were generally excellent.Oh, and let's not forget a true holiday classic: Santa Claus Conquers the Martians.
But I’m still going to make fun of it nonetheless.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Eat Dreams
Hey, parents, want a great way to traumatize your children? Of course you do! Then why not have them sleep in a bed housed in a dinosaur's mouth. Purchase of this item does not include extended warranty, or years of therapy. (h/t Boing Boing)
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Zapped
Hmm...
Airline passengers flying through storms might have more to worry about than a little turbulence. A new study suggests that if jets pass near lightning discharges or related phenomena known as terrestrial gamma-ray flashes, passengers and crew members could be exposed to harmful levels of radiation, a dose equal to that of 400 chest X-rays.I can see where this is going. Soon airlines will start charging a fee to passengers to avoid being zapped with lethal levels of radiation.
The Pen is Mightier than the Pen
This is an interesting idea, the SmartPen:
The Pulse smartpen records and links audio to what you write, so you never miss a word.It took some digging, but there is apparently a third-party application that allows the handwriting captured by the SmartPen to be converted to an editable text file. If it works, it's very cool, though I think you would probably need to write very slowly and deliberately for it to function effectively--usually the opposite of what we're doing when we're taking notes. Plus, I think my handwriting would make it explode.
...
High-speed infrared camera with Dot Positioning System (DPS) tracks everything you write, tap, or draw on Livescribe Dot Paper. The DPS not only enables printed controls for recording and playback on each page, but also interactive paper-based applications.
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
The Customer is Always Right (Not)
You would think that antiquarian booksellers get a better-heeled clientele than your usual mall store, but perhaps not. The Book Mine, a used and rare book seller, has a blog on which it has compiled some actual stupid conversations with customers (or would-be customers). h/t Boing Boing
We are doomed! These are actual conversations with people, who in theory, should know better. Keep in mind, these people drive cars, vote and might even have jobs.
(phone call)
Do you buy books?
Yes. What do you have?
Reading books.
Reading books?
Yea. Books you read.
Ok. But I am not sure what it is you have.
I just said. Reading books. Do you buy them?
No. Thanks for calling.
******
Phone call:
I just received a book I ordered from you in the mail today and it's covered with syrup.
Hmm. When it left here it was in perfect condition.
Well it's covered in syrup now. I can send it back so you can see.
I'm thinking no. You might want to contact the post office.
I guess I could. Maybe I will just get a rag and wipe it off.
Good plan! Thanks for calling.
******
Older guy comes in...
I'm here for an appraisal.
I charge for appraisals.
No, I don't want to pay for nothing.
What do you have?
A book I wrote. It's about gambling.
Has it been published?
No, that's why I need a (sic) appraisal.
I only deal in old books.
Hey, gambling is old. It's been around a long time.
I don't think I can help you.
Yea I know, you're really wasting my time.
******
phone call...
I have a bunch of old books I want to sell on e-bay. Can you tell me what they are worth?
Why would I want to do that?
My friend said to call you and that you know a lot about books.
You are missing my point. Why should I waste my time helping you?
So I can know what reserve to put on my books.
I charge for appraisals.
Well this isn't an appraisal. I just want to know what they are worth.
Sorry, you will have to call someone else. Good luck!
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
BS
Dear Blue Cross,
I want to say how much I utterly adore having you as my health insurance provider, and I especially thank you for the 17% increase in my premium for 2010. You can't know how appreciative I am of this, and how every day I thank the good Lord that I live in a country where I have the freedom to be gouged by you, all the while having the freedom of being limited to your network of quacks and horse doctors (this is Saratoga after all). I also sleep secure in the knowing that I have the freedom to be dropped like a bad habit if I ever actually file a claim for something.
I do hope this never changes.
I want to say how much I utterly adore having you as my health insurance provider, and I especially thank you for the 17% increase in my premium for 2010. You can't know how appreciative I am of this, and how every day I thank the good Lord that I live in a country where I have the freedom to be gouged by you, all the while having the freedom of being limited to your network of quacks and horse doctors (this is Saratoga after all). I also sleep secure in the knowing that I have the freedom to be dropped like a bad habit if I ever actually file a claim for something.
I do hope this never changes.
Bank Shot
Dear Bank of America,
You would think that with all the billions of dollars of bailout money we have given you, your Web site wouldn't be virtually useless and would actually function when customers tried to use it. A tall order, I realize. Also, it would be helpful if it were, perhaps, an actual online banking site and not simply a medium for delivering ads.
Also, if, as a reward for 10 years of patronage, you are going to start abruptly charging a monthly "maintenance fee," you could actually try to not be less useful as a bank than you had been in the past.
Thank you.
--A Former Customer
You would think that with all the billions of dollars of bailout money we have given you, your Web site wouldn't be virtually useless and would actually function when customers tried to use it. A tall order, I realize. Also, it would be helpful if it were, perhaps, an actual online banking site and not simply a medium for delivering ads.
Also, if, as a reward for 10 years of patronage, you are going to start abruptly charging a monthly "maintenance fee," you could actually try to not be less useful as a bank than you had been in the past.
Thank you.
--A Former Customer
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Rebuild the Wall
Today marks the 30th anniversary of the release of Pink Floyd's The Wall. Celebrate with a day of angst and alienation! (And cast suspicious glances at any flowers you may have around.)
The resulting tour (which played only in New York, Los Angeles, and London, due to the mammoth scope of the show) was one of the great Spinal Tap-ian events in rock history. Would that I could have seen one of them.
Some highlights of a rare videotape of one of the London shows are embedded below. The entire show is available on YouTube here.
Rock on.
It bears mentoning that the question posed by the title of the opening song "In the Flesh?" is answered by the fact that the band on stage was actually a "surrogate band" wearing masks of the actual Pink Floyd bandmembers and miming along to the band playing offstage. The actual Floyd don't appear until song two, "The Thin Ice." Waka waka. Over the course of the first half of the show, workmen built a giant white wall in front of the band. The entire second half of the show was played by the band from behind the wall, although singers and players would occasionally appear in trap doors that opened in the wall and atop the wall. Unfortunately, the days of this kind of show are alas gone.
The resulting tour (which played only in New York, Los Angeles, and London, due to the mammoth scope of the show) was one of the great Spinal Tap-ian events in rock history. Would that I could have seen one of them.
Some highlights of a rare videotape of one of the London shows are embedded below. The entire show is available on YouTube here.
Rock on.
It bears mentoning that the question posed by the title of the opening song "In the Flesh?" is answered by the fact that the band on stage was actually a "surrogate band" wearing masks of the actual Pink Floyd bandmembers and miming along to the band playing offstage. The actual Floyd don't appear until song two, "The Thin Ice." Waka waka. Over the course of the first half of the show, workmen built a giant white wall in front of the band. The entire second half of the show was played by the band from behind the wall, although singers and players would occasionally appear in trap doors that opened in the wall and atop the wall. Unfortunately, the days of this kind of show are alas gone.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
And, Now, Finally, the Last of the Decade-ence
And here ends my countdown of my favorite 26 albums of the past decade:
21–26 are here.
16–20 are here.
11–15 are here.
6–10 are here.
4 and 5 are here.
3 is here.
2 is here.
And now...
Drumroll please...
1. The Decemberists, Picaresque, Kill Rock Stars, 2005
Another find via Magnet magazine, who back in 2005, had a short interview with Colin Meloy, singer, songwriter, and guitarist for Portland, OR’s The Decemberists. They sounded interesting so I went to their Web site, checked out some song samples, liked what I heard, and picked up their then-latest album Picaresque. It has not left my iPod (or often my proper CD player) since, and I have gone on to amass their not-immensely-sizable discography. (They formed in the early 2000s and their first EP and LP came out in 2002.)
The Decemberists answer the age-old question, What if Herman Melville fronted Fairport Convention? The Decemberists are an eclectic five-piece band that draws from a wide variety of styles—folk of various kinds, traditional rock, punk and alternative, sea chanteys, etc.—to create what I like to call “pirate folk music.” That is, the kind of music 17th-century pirates might sing. Colin Meloy’s songs tell tales—often involving doomed lovers, people drowning, doomed lovers drowning—basically, you would not want to go on a cruise with him.
Picaresque—the band’s third full album—opens with a triumphant whoop and charging drums that lead into “The Infanta,” probably the band’s most raucous song, a good rave-up about “The Infanta,” heiress to the16th-century Spanish throne. Well, why not? “Here she comes in her palanquin/On the back of an elephant/On a bed made of linen and sequins and silk.” The whole royal family is there; “Within sight of the Baroness/Seething spite for this lithe largesse/By her side sits the Baron—her barren-ness barbs her.” It’s an unusual way to open a very unusual album. It’s great!
“We Both Go Down Together” mixes the classes together; “You come from parents wanton/A childhood rough and rotten/I come from wealth and beauty/Untouched by work or duty.” Naturally, the narrator’s parents don’t approve of this match, so, “Meet me on my vast veranda/My sweet untouched Miranda” and, well, down they go together. In “Eli, the Barrow Boy,” the titular character “sells coal and marigolds/And he cries out all down the day/Below the tamarack he is crying...” Guitarist Chris Funk is dressed as said tamarack on the cover and in the CD booklet art, which feature photos from a purported community theater staging of plays based on the songs. Eli wishes he could afford a fine gown for his beloved, but the point is moot, as she is dead. Then Eli himself drowns, “But still when the moon is out/With his pushcart he calls down the day.” People don’t stay dead long in Meloy song. Eli should hook up with Lesley Anne Levine from Castaways and Cutouts.
Things lighten up a bit in “The Sporting Life,” a stream of consciousness musing—set to “Lust for Life”-esque drums—of a teen athlete who is not exactly the star of the team. As the season draws to a close, he “had known no humiliation/In front my friends and close relations,” sings Meloy, although the work of “an errant heel” threatens to undo the victories of the season. Why does he play sports? Well, to fulfill all his father’s athletic aspirations, natch, although, “apparently now there’s some complications.” Still, our stalwart narrator will “prove to the crowd that I come out stronger/Though I think I might lie here a little longer.”
The narrator of “The Bagman’s Gambit” works for the government, but fell for an international woman of mystery. “How we kissed so sweetly!/How could I refuse a favor or two/And for a tryst in the greenery/I gave you documents and microfilm, too.” She disappears and reappears over the years, usually in some sort of custody, but still: “They’ll never catch me now,” even when she was “purloined in Petrograd.”
The title “From My Own True Love (Lost at Sea)” pretty much says it all. The “hit single” (not) was “16 Military Wives,” which, as everyone else does, reduces war to numbers. “16 military wives, 32 softly focused, brightly colored eyes/...17 company men, our of which only 12 will make it back again/Sergeant sends a letter to 5 military wives as tears drip down from 10 little eyes.” Meanwhile, “the anchorperson on TV goes la la la la la.” The video is pretty funny.
“The Engine Driver” presents a cross-section of society the titular engine driver and the county lineman, to the fiction writer to the wealthy moneylender, all of whom have the same basic need to be loved and wanted by someone else. “On the Bus Mall” chronicles the lives of two aging gay hustlers who, “here in our hovel we fused like a family.”
The album’s centerpiece is the epic “The Mariner’s Revenge Song,” which is set largely in the stomach of a whale, where the narrator finally is able to confront the blackguard who ruined his poor mother’s life many years earlier. “And then you disappeared/Your gambling arrears/The only thing you left behind.” All the while, the narrator is haunted by his mother’s dying words, “Find him, bind him, tie him to a pole/And break his fingers to splinters/Drag him to a hole until he wakes up naked/Clawing at the ceiling of his grave!” Well, mother knows best.
Picaresque was produced by Chris Walla of Death Cab for Cutie and benefits from a much fuller (and lavish) production than their previous two albums. The Decemberists’ albums have been getting progressively less picaresque; if their first three records were collections of short stories, then 2006’s The Crane Wife added a couple of novellas, while 2009’s The Hazards of Love was a full-length novel—an album-length concept album. It was hard to pick only one Decemberists album for this best-of countdown; almost all of them (maybe not Her Majesty) would have appeared on here had I not decided to limit this countdown to one album per single band.
Mi hermano and I have seen them a couple of times in concert and they have been two of the best concerts I have ever seen.
21–26 are here.
16–20 are here.
11–15 are here.
6–10 are here.
4 and 5 are here.
3 is here.
2 is here.
And now...
Drumroll please...
1. The Decemberists, Picaresque, Kill Rock Stars, 2005
Another find via Magnet magazine, who back in 2005, had a short interview with Colin Meloy, singer, songwriter, and guitarist for Portland, OR’s The Decemberists. They sounded interesting so I went to their Web site, checked out some song samples, liked what I heard, and picked up their then-latest album Picaresque. It has not left my iPod (or often my proper CD player) since, and I have gone on to amass their not-immensely-sizable discography. (They formed in the early 2000s and their first EP and LP came out in 2002.)The Decemberists answer the age-old question, What if Herman Melville fronted Fairport Convention? The Decemberists are an eclectic five-piece band that draws from a wide variety of styles—folk of various kinds, traditional rock, punk and alternative, sea chanteys, etc.—to create what I like to call “pirate folk music.” That is, the kind of music 17th-century pirates might sing. Colin Meloy’s songs tell tales—often involving doomed lovers, people drowning, doomed lovers drowning—basically, you would not want to go on a cruise with him.
Picaresque—the band’s third full album—opens with a triumphant whoop and charging drums that lead into “The Infanta,” probably the band’s most raucous song, a good rave-up about “The Infanta,” heiress to the16th-century Spanish throne. Well, why not? “Here she comes in her palanquin/On the back of an elephant/On a bed made of linen and sequins and silk.” The whole royal family is there; “Within sight of the Baroness/Seething spite for this lithe largesse/By her side sits the Baron—her barren-ness barbs her.” It’s an unusual way to open a very unusual album. It’s great!
“We Both Go Down Together” mixes the classes together; “You come from parents wanton/A childhood rough and rotten/I come from wealth and beauty/Untouched by work or duty.” Naturally, the narrator’s parents don’t approve of this match, so, “Meet me on my vast veranda/My sweet untouched Miranda” and, well, down they go together. In “Eli, the Barrow Boy,” the titular character “sells coal and marigolds/And he cries out all down the day/Below the tamarack he is crying...” Guitarist Chris Funk is dressed as said tamarack on the cover and in the CD booklet art, which feature photos from a purported community theater staging of plays based on the songs. Eli wishes he could afford a fine gown for his beloved, but the point is moot, as she is dead. Then Eli himself drowns, “But still when the moon is out/With his pushcart he calls down the day.” People don’t stay dead long in Meloy song. Eli should hook up with Lesley Anne Levine from Castaways and Cutouts.
Things lighten up a bit in “The Sporting Life,” a stream of consciousness musing—set to “Lust for Life”-esque drums—of a teen athlete who is not exactly the star of the team. As the season draws to a close, he “had known no humiliation/In front my friends and close relations,” sings Meloy, although the work of “an errant heel” threatens to undo the victories of the season. Why does he play sports? Well, to fulfill all his father’s athletic aspirations, natch, although, “apparently now there’s some complications.” Still, our stalwart narrator will “prove to the crowd that I come out stronger/Though I think I might lie here a little longer.”
The narrator of “The Bagman’s Gambit” works for the government, but fell for an international woman of mystery. “How we kissed so sweetly!/How could I refuse a favor or two/And for a tryst in the greenery/I gave you documents and microfilm, too.” She disappears and reappears over the years, usually in some sort of custody, but still: “They’ll never catch me now,” even when she was “purloined in Petrograd.”
The title “From My Own True Love (Lost at Sea)” pretty much says it all. The “hit single” (not) was “16 Military Wives,” which, as everyone else does, reduces war to numbers. “16 military wives, 32 softly focused, brightly colored eyes/...17 company men, our of which only 12 will make it back again/Sergeant sends a letter to 5 military wives as tears drip down from 10 little eyes.” Meanwhile, “the anchorperson on TV goes la la la la la.” The video is pretty funny.
“The Engine Driver” presents a cross-section of society the titular engine driver and the county lineman, to the fiction writer to the wealthy moneylender, all of whom have the same basic need to be loved and wanted by someone else. “On the Bus Mall” chronicles the lives of two aging gay hustlers who, “here in our hovel we fused like a family.”
The album’s centerpiece is the epic “The Mariner’s Revenge Song,” which is set largely in the stomach of a whale, where the narrator finally is able to confront the blackguard who ruined his poor mother’s life many years earlier. “And then you disappeared/Your gambling arrears/The only thing you left behind.” All the while, the narrator is haunted by his mother’s dying words, “Find him, bind him, tie him to a pole/And break his fingers to splinters/Drag him to a hole until he wakes up naked/Clawing at the ceiling of his grave!” Well, mother knows best.
Picaresque was produced by Chris Walla of Death Cab for Cutie and benefits from a much fuller (and lavish) production than their previous two albums. The Decemberists’ albums have been getting progressively less picaresque; if their first three records were collections of short stories, then 2006’s The Crane Wife added a couple of novellas, while 2009’s The Hazards of Love was a full-length novel—an album-length concept album. It was hard to pick only one Decemberists album for this best-of countdown; almost all of them (maybe not Her Majesty) would have appeared on here had I not decided to limit this countdown to one album per single band.
Mi hermano and I have seen them a couple of times in concert and they have been two of the best concerts I have ever seen.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Pod People
The staged reading of my play Past and Present Tense last weekend went extremely well, and it was very well-received. I recorded one of the performances on my handy Olympus digital voice recorder and it came out surprisingly well. (I had actually wanted to record both nights and edit together the best bits, but the battery on the recorder died nine minutes in on Friday night. Doh!)
I edited the recording into a six-episode series of weekly podcasts which can be streamed live via the RTG podcast page, or by subscribing via iTunes. A new episode will appear every Saturday, with the final episode being posted on Christmas Eve (a Thursday).
I edited the recording into a six-episode series of weekly podcasts which can be streamed live via the RTG podcast page, or by subscribing via iTunes. A new episode will appear every Saturday, with the final episode being posted on Christmas Eve (a Thursday).
Thursday, November 19, 2009
But And Yet Still Even More Decade-ence
My countdown of my favorite 26 albums of the past decade continues.
21–26 are here.
16–20 are here.
11–15 are here.
6–10 are here.
4 and 5 are here.
3 is here.
2. Andrew Bird, The Mysterious Production of Eggs, Righteous Babe, 2005
Back in 2005, I had read a good review of Andrew Bird’s The Mysterious Production of Eggs in Magnet magazine, back when they used to produce a great bimonthly magazine instead of the utterly useless weekly e-mails they now send out. Anyway, several days afterward, I was in my local Borders, and I noticed they had the album on one of those listening stations (back when they used to have them). I put on the headphones, hit the Play button, and I’m shocked. It’s really lame, boring, 80s-style arena rock. Blecch....Okay, so I had hit the wrong button. Fine. But, as it turns out, the button I wanted to hit was broken and didn’t work. So I went home and went to Bird’s Web site and found samples of all the songs there. (Explain to me again why there is any point in leaving the house?) I liked what I heard so I went to CD Universe and ordered the album. It arrived, I ripped it to MP3, copied it to my iPod, and it became car music for a few short- and long-range errands and while it didn’t immediately grab me, after a few cycles I began to really get into it. Four years later, it has not left my iPod, I listen to it now at least once or twice a month, and I have since acquired the entire Andrew Bird discography and seen him live at least once. I love this record.
Andrew Bird is a multi-instrumentalist known primarily for violin and whistling (he actually won awards for his whistling, which wasn’t something I knew you could win awards for) and was distinguished by being a member of a band called the Squirrel Nut Zippers which flirted with popularity in 1996–1997 with a track called “Hell” during that brief faux-big band revival (I have that album and they had like 500 members, so the chances are pretty good that any given musician was at one time a member of the Squirrel Nut Zippers). Bird’s first three solo albums were done under the rubric of a band called Andrew Bird’s Bowl of Fire, and were very roots-oriented. They were like an artesian well that delved down through all these historical styles of American music, yet it was all leavened by Bird’s strange lyrical preoccupations, which were often odd interpretations of science, and often involved various types of meats and lines like “it wasn’t long ago just before the reign of Nero/We had no concept of zero.” He’s right, you know. His 2003 album Weather Systems went off in a strange new direction, one which culminated two years later with The Mysterious Production of Eggs.
The Mysterious Production of Eggs is hard to describe musically; take a bunch of styles from country to folk to bluegrass to classical to rock and throw them in a blender and you’ve pretty much got the album. Still, I find most of it to be hauntingly beautiful—and the lyrics tend to be more on the surreal side and also tend to be hauntingly beautiful. And you find yourself singing along to the strangest things. The album opens with a short instrumental that uses a trope from Weather Systems of naming songs using weird squiggles, done to flummox iTunes, methinks (which renders it as “/=/”). For the rest of the record, Bird acts as a sort of tour guide through a bizarre dreamworld, and yet one that seems oddly familiar in a way. Bird likes words, and often works them into songs before looking them up. So the first real song on the album is “Sovay” which, Wikipedia tells us, is “a traditional English folk song about a young woman who dresses and arms herself as a highwayman in order to test her suitor.” (Gee, that could actually be a Decemberists song—oops, what a giveaway...) Instead, Bird goes off about “I was getting ready to consider my next plan of attack/I think I’m gonna sack/The whole board of trustees/all those Don Quixotes in their B-17s.” The keyboards, acoustic guitar, plucked violin, and whistling render it a very beautiful song.
“A Nervous Tic Motion of the Head to the Left” begins sensibly enough with a spare acoustic guitar accompaniment: “We had survived to/Turn on the History Channel/And ask our esteemed panel/Why are we alive?/And here’s how they replied/You’re what happens when two substances collide.” Then the whistling, electric guitar, and mutant violin all kick in and Bird sings about being “Stretched out on the tarmac/Six miles South of North Platte/He can’t stand to look back/At sixteen ton of HAZMAT.” It’s a very beautiful song.
Honestly, I have no idea what the title “Fake Palindromes” has to do with the actual song, and yet it’s my favorite on the album. Well, one of them. “My dewy-eyed Disney bride/What has tried/Swapping your blood with formaldehyde?/Monsters?” But then “She says ‘I like long walks and sci-fi movies’/You’re six foot tall and East Coast bred/Some lonely night we can get together/And I’m gonna tie your wrists with leather/And drill a tiny hole into your head.” It’s the loudest most raucous song on the album, featuring wild percussion, mutant violins, and fuzztone guitar.
A track later, “Get out your measuring cups and we’ll play a new game/Come to the front of the class and we’ll measure your brain/We’ll give you a complex and we’ll give it a name.” Oh, like high school. “A tale that’s rather grim and gory/Is it just another children’s story that’s been de-clawed?/When the tales of Brothers Grimm and Gorey/Have been outlawed.” At the end, “That’s all for questioning/the case is closed!” It’s a beautiful song. “Banking on a Myth” gets you to sing along to lines like “From Star Search to the Philharmonic/He’ll get you there with Hooked On Phonics.” The squonking guitar and equally squonking violin make you want to “Join his entourage/He’ll give you a foot massage.” And in a reference to a past album, “There stands a handsome bid on the weather systems of the world.”
In “Masterfade,” the “sky is full of zeroes and ones.” Still, “You took my hand and led me down to watch a kewpie doll parade/We let the kittens lick our hair and drink our chalky lemonade.” But “what does it matter/If we’re all matter?” There then follows a whistling solo that makes you understand why he won awards for it. But then “Zeroes make a smiley face as they come floating down from the heavens.” It’s quite a beautiful song.
Then there’s “Opposite Day.” “I got home this morning,” he begins, “with the sun right in my eyes/And there was no warning as it took me by surprise/Hit me like an act of god/Causing my alarm/That I’d not become a cephalopod.” A logical concern, of course. Do you know how many points he gets in my book for using the term “cephalopod”? I often find myself alarmed that I’m not a cephalopod. “Today was s’posed to be the day/Molecules decide to change their form/The laws of physics lose their sway.” And “Youthful indiscretion is suddenly the norm/With the good kids growing horns.” Sounds worth looking forward to.
“Skin Is, My” puts lyrics to an instrumental on Weather Systems. “Waiting for that macramé bird of prey to come down and sing.” But “Let it be printed on every T-shirt in the land on the finest of cotton.” Oh, what a lovely sound. It’s another raucous song that melds plucked violin, electric guitar, loud percussion, and other sounds that defy ready identification.
“The Naming of Things” starts by quoting Groucho Marx, “You remind me of you.” Then Bird goes on about “Memories like mohair sweaters/Stretched and pilled faux distressed letters/Moose’s horns and figure eights/White plastic bags in search of mates/What suffocates the land/Is memory of garbage can.”
It goes on...”MX Missiles” (“Are you made of calcium or are you carbon-based?”) “Tables and Chairs” (“Just don’t let the human factor fail to be a factor”), and “The Happy Birthday Song” round out this remarkable, stunning record. It’s certainly the oddest album I’ve listened to in a while, and I mean that in the nicest possible way because it’s one of the most satisfying. Oh, and once again, great CD booklet graphics. And, hey, the whistling is award-winning.
His follow up, 2007’s Armchair Apocrypha, is probably better (“Fiery Crash” being my usual pre-flight iPod ritual and “Imitosis” being one of the best songs ever) but it’s all about context. His latest record, 2009’s Noble Beast, is also really really good.
Interesting thing about Bird live...his songs live never sound the same as the studio versions, or indeed the same from gig to gig. I read an interview with him where he finds it a weakness as a musician to play a song the same way twice. He often reinterprets songs and makes up new arrangements on the spot. Pretty cool.
To be continued...
21–26 are here.
16–20 are here.
11–15 are here.
6–10 are here.
4 and 5 are here.
3 is here.
2. Andrew Bird, The Mysterious Production of Eggs, Righteous Babe, 2005
Back in 2005, I had read a good review of Andrew Bird’s The Mysterious Production of Eggs in Magnet magazine, back when they used to produce a great bimonthly magazine instead of the utterly useless weekly e-mails they now send out. Anyway, several days afterward, I was in my local Borders, and I noticed they had the album on one of those listening stations (back when they used to have them). I put on the headphones, hit the Play button, and I’m shocked. It’s really lame, boring, 80s-style arena rock. Blecch....Okay, so I had hit the wrong button. Fine. But, as it turns out, the button I wanted to hit was broken and didn’t work. So I went home and went to Bird’s Web site and found samples of all the songs there. (Explain to me again why there is any point in leaving the house?) I liked what I heard so I went to CD Universe and ordered the album. It arrived, I ripped it to MP3, copied it to my iPod, and it became car music for a few short- and long-range errands and while it didn’t immediately grab me, after a few cycles I began to really get into it. Four years later, it has not left my iPod, I listen to it now at least once or twice a month, and I have since acquired the entire Andrew Bird discography and seen him live at least once. I love this record.Andrew Bird is a multi-instrumentalist known primarily for violin and whistling (he actually won awards for his whistling, which wasn’t something I knew you could win awards for) and was distinguished by being a member of a band called the Squirrel Nut Zippers which flirted with popularity in 1996–1997 with a track called “Hell” during that brief faux-big band revival (I have that album and they had like 500 members, so the chances are pretty good that any given musician was at one time a member of the Squirrel Nut Zippers). Bird’s first three solo albums were done under the rubric of a band called Andrew Bird’s Bowl of Fire, and were very roots-oriented. They were like an artesian well that delved down through all these historical styles of American music, yet it was all leavened by Bird’s strange lyrical preoccupations, which were often odd interpretations of science, and often involved various types of meats and lines like “it wasn’t long ago just before the reign of Nero/We had no concept of zero.” He’s right, you know. His 2003 album Weather Systems went off in a strange new direction, one which culminated two years later with The Mysterious Production of Eggs.
The Mysterious Production of Eggs is hard to describe musically; take a bunch of styles from country to folk to bluegrass to classical to rock and throw them in a blender and you’ve pretty much got the album. Still, I find most of it to be hauntingly beautiful—and the lyrics tend to be more on the surreal side and also tend to be hauntingly beautiful. And you find yourself singing along to the strangest things. The album opens with a short instrumental that uses a trope from Weather Systems of naming songs using weird squiggles, done to flummox iTunes, methinks (which renders it as “/=/”). For the rest of the record, Bird acts as a sort of tour guide through a bizarre dreamworld, and yet one that seems oddly familiar in a way. Bird likes words, and often works them into songs before looking them up. So the first real song on the album is “Sovay” which, Wikipedia tells us, is “a traditional English folk song about a young woman who dresses and arms herself as a highwayman in order to test her suitor.” (Gee, that could actually be a Decemberists song—oops, what a giveaway...) Instead, Bird goes off about “I was getting ready to consider my next plan of attack/I think I’m gonna sack/The whole board of trustees/all those Don Quixotes in their B-17s.” The keyboards, acoustic guitar, plucked violin, and whistling render it a very beautiful song.
“A Nervous Tic Motion of the Head to the Left” begins sensibly enough with a spare acoustic guitar accompaniment: “We had survived to/Turn on the History Channel/And ask our esteemed panel/Why are we alive?/And here’s how they replied/You’re what happens when two substances collide.” Then the whistling, electric guitar, and mutant violin all kick in and Bird sings about being “Stretched out on the tarmac/Six miles South of North Platte/He can’t stand to look back/At sixteen ton of HAZMAT.” It’s a very beautiful song.
Honestly, I have no idea what the title “Fake Palindromes” has to do with the actual song, and yet it’s my favorite on the album. Well, one of them. “My dewy-eyed Disney bride/What has tried/Swapping your blood with formaldehyde?/Monsters?” But then “She says ‘I like long walks and sci-fi movies’/You’re six foot tall and East Coast bred/Some lonely night we can get together/And I’m gonna tie your wrists with leather/And drill a tiny hole into your head.” It’s the loudest most raucous song on the album, featuring wild percussion, mutant violins, and fuzztone guitar.
A track later, “Get out your measuring cups and we’ll play a new game/Come to the front of the class and we’ll measure your brain/We’ll give you a complex and we’ll give it a name.” Oh, like high school. “A tale that’s rather grim and gory/Is it just another children’s story that’s been de-clawed?/When the tales of Brothers Grimm and Gorey/Have been outlawed.” At the end, “That’s all for questioning/the case is closed!” It’s a beautiful song. “Banking on a Myth” gets you to sing along to lines like “From Star Search to the Philharmonic/He’ll get you there with Hooked On Phonics.” The squonking guitar and equally squonking violin make you want to “Join his entourage/He’ll give you a foot massage.” And in a reference to a past album, “There stands a handsome bid on the weather systems of the world.”
In “Masterfade,” the “sky is full of zeroes and ones.” Still, “You took my hand and led me down to watch a kewpie doll parade/We let the kittens lick our hair and drink our chalky lemonade.” But “what does it matter/If we’re all matter?” There then follows a whistling solo that makes you understand why he won awards for it. But then “Zeroes make a smiley face as they come floating down from the heavens.” It’s quite a beautiful song.
Then there’s “Opposite Day.” “I got home this morning,” he begins, “with the sun right in my eyes/And there was no warning as it took me by surprise/Hit me like an act of god/Causing my alarm/That I’d not become a cephalopod.” A logical concern, of course. Do you know how many points he gets in my book for using the term “cephalopod”? I often find myself alarmed that I’m not a cephalopod. “Today was s’posed to be the day/Molecules decide to change their form/The laws of physics lose their sway.” And “Youthful indiscretion is suddenly the norm/With the good kids growing horns.” Sounds worth looking forward to.
“Skin Is, My” puts lyrics to an instrumental on Weather Systems. “Waiting for that macramé bird of prey to come down and sing.” But “Let it be printed on every T-shirt in the land on the finest of cotton.” Oh, what a lovely sound. It’s another raucous song that melds plucked violin, electric guitar, loud percussion, and other sounds that defy ready identification.
“The Naming of Things” starts by quoting Groucho Marx, “You remind me of you.” Then Bird goes on about “Memories like mohair sweaters/Stretched and pilled faux distressed letters/Moose’s horns and figure eights/White plastic bags in search of mates/What suffocates the land/Is memory of garbage can.”
It goes on...”MX Missiles” (“Are you made of calcium or are you carbon-based?”) “Tables and Chairs” (“Just don’t let the human factor fail to be a factor”), and “The Happy Birthday Song” round out this remarkable, stunning record. It’s certainly the oddest album I’ve listened to in a while, and I mean that in the nicest possible way because it’s one of the most satisfying. Oh, and once again, great CD booklet graphics. And, hey, the whistling is award-winning.
His follow up, 2007’s Armchair Apocrypha, is probably better (“Fiery Crash” being my usual pre-flight iPod ritual and “Imitosis” being one of the best songs ever) but it’s all about context. His latest record, 2009’s Noble Beast, is also really really good.
Interesting thing about Bird live...his songs live never sound the same as the studio versions, or indeed the same from gig to gig. I read an interview with him where he finds it a weakness as a musician to play a song the same way twice. He often reinterprets songs and makes up new arrangements on the spot. Pretty cool.
To be continued...
Sunday, November 15, 2009
And Yet Still Even More Decade-ence
The countdown of my twenty-six favorite albums of the past 10 years continues.
21–26 are here.
16–20 are here.
11–15 are here.
6–10 are here.
4 and 5 are here.
3. Robyn Hitchcock & the Venus 3, Olé Tarantula, YepRoc, 2006
After about 30 years (his first recordings with The Soft Boys date from 1977, although he had been performing in various guises since the mid 1970s), Robyn Hitchcock has become something of an elder statesman, and is often name-checked by alternative bands old and new (The Decemberists are fans). The three Soft Boys albums released between 1978 and 1980—especially the classic Underwater Moonlight—were important touchstones for 1980s alternative rock (they influenced the likes of R.E.M. and The Replacements, the latter of whom wanted Hitchcock to produce Tim in 1985). His perhaps most fertile period was 1986–1990, when he had formed The Egyptians from several former Soft Boys, and recorded a string of college album chart toppers—Fegmania! (1986), Element of Light (1987), Globe of Frogs (1988—my favorite album of all time), and Queen Elvis (1989). A switch to a major record label resulted in having a slick commercial producer foisted on him, ensuring that anything that made his records distinctive was removed, resulting in the bland Perspex Island (1991). The Egyptians’ swan song Respect (1993) had some high points, but felt more contractual obligation than artistic statement. Hitchcock went into hiding, much as he had in the early 1980s. Back then, he reappeared in 1984 with the all-acoustic masterpiece I Often Dream of Trains, and this time, he reappeared in 1996 with the mostly acoustic and excellent Moss Elixir. A Jonathan Demme-directed concert film (Storefront Hitchcock) was filmed, but scuttled by Miramax, and languished, although it is an excellent document of a typical Hitchcock concert, with the songs introduced by funny, often very surreal stories and commentary.
Since then, Hitchcock has pretty much followed his muse wherever it may lead. A brace of fin de siècle albums (Jewels for Sophia and A Star for Bram, 1999 and 2000, respectively) had high points (“Mexican God,” “The Cheese Alarm,” “I Saw Nick Drake,” an electric version of “1974”) but suffered from its random writing and recording wherever he happened to be and with whomever he happened to be. The all-acoustic I Often Dream of Trains/Eye-like Luxor was self-released in 2003 as a 50th birthday present to himself. A year later he signed to YepRoc Records and released a roots-like but still excellent collaboration with Gillian Welch and David Rawlings Spooked. During this same period he was constantly touring, doing guest appearances at others’ shows, and generally, it seems, enjoying himself.
He finally returned to a full-piece rock band in 2006 by forming the Venus 3, an alternative “supergroup” comprising old friends Peter Buck (R.E.M.), Scott McCaughey (Young Fresh Fellows, The Minus 5), and Bill Rieflin (Ministry). Their first album was Olé Tarantula, probably the most satisfying Hitchcock album since Moss Elixir, and his best rock record since Queen Elvis. It has all the trademarks: chiming rent-a-Byrds guitars, Beatles-esque melodies, and his lyrics that mix the surreal with the poignant and affecting. (All reviews tend to label Hitchcock as “eccentric” but I disagree; I think he’s remarkably grounded and sane, and just has a very vivid imagination and expresses himself using creative and unusual imagery, usually involving insects, fish, marine invertebrates, vegetables, etc. If, for example, his wife’s heart is sweet as sugar, why shouldn’t he avoid the usual cliché and instead sing about an “ant corridor to your heart”?)
Olé Tarantula kicks off with what could very well be The Soft Boys covering “If You Were a Priest”: “Adventure Rocketship,” where he explains, “I’m coming for you someday/As faithful as a mummy/Discovered in a crater.” “Underground Sun” is a eulogy of sorts for a friend of Hitchcock’s who passed away. “You lie so lonely/Listening to the silence of the graves/You don’t belong there/You belong down south among the waves/Underground sun/I miss you.” Celebratory in style, it features beautiful harmonies from Chris Ballew (Presidents of the United States of America), Sean Nelson (Harvey Danger), and Morris Windsor (Soft Boys, Egyptians). Soft Boys guitarist Kimberley Rew also makes a cameo (here, and on “Museum of Sex” and “The Authority Box”). Speaking of “Museum of Sex,” don’t expect it to be too literal: “On this roof I play this riff/Play it till my hands are hollow/You can play to the tomatoes/You can play to the Apollo.” But then: “In the end I’ll be a skull/Through my eyes the eels will wallow/In the end I’ll be a warning/Time is not for us to follow.” Still: “Music is the antidote/To the world of pain and sorrow.” He’s got a point. It is a good riff, with some appropriately grunting saxophones.
“Belltown Ramble” is a bit of a lengthy, well, ramble. “And you wanna know what is/And also what is not/Don’t you, girl?/It’s an independent life/And you want to see your eyes/Reflected in the world.” Well, don’t we all? Shortly, though, “Then you find the Uzbek warlord/You collide with Tamerlane/His teeth are brown.” Then things get faintly apocalyptic:
existence—how some people kind of recoil from it and some people are delighted by it, and some people are just shocked that they exist at all.” “Out in the trees/Old tarantula has got me humming/Out in the desert the cacti are home/Tarantulas cluster in their underground dome/Olé tarantula.” It sounds like everyone had a bit of a good time in studio while recording that one. And how can one resist singing along with “I feel like a three-legged chinchilla/Standing on a table so wide/I can’t see over the side.”
“(A Man’s Gotta Know His Limitations) Briggs” is a long-time live favorite that finally turns up here. “A man’s gotta know his limitations, Briggs/Or he will just explode.”
It kinds of makes you want to watch the Dirty Harry movie Magnum Force. The chiming guitars are probably the most evocative of The Egyptians era. The tender love song on Olé Tarantula is of course titled “Red Locust Frenzy,” and, well, why not? “’Cause It’s Love (Saint Parallelogram)” was written in collaboration with XTC’s Andy Partridge, of which more is supposedly to be coming out.
The album closes with another eulogy of sorts, “N.Y. Doll,” about Arthur Kane, member of the seminal punk band The New York Dolls, and inspired by the movie New York Doll about “Killer” Kane, who after the demise of the band had a religious epiphany, gave up the archetypal rock’n’roll lifestyle, and became a Mormon librarian. He died shortly after the movie came out.
Olé Tarantula is a wonderful record. Like an actual tarantula, it’s frightening and startling at first glance but is actually quite harmless and even quite charming in its own surreal way. I saw The Venus 3 in NYC on this tour and it was a great show. This year, the second Venus 3 album, Goodnight Oslo, came out and it’s not as good but is still worth a listen.
To be continued...
21–26 are here.
16–20 are here.
11–15 are here.
6–10 are here.
4 and 5 are here.
3. Robyn Hitchcock & the Venus 3, Olé Tarantula, YepRoc, 2006
After about 30 years (his first recordings with The Soft Boys date from 1977, although he had been performing in various guises since the mid 1970s), Robyn Hitchcock has become something of an elder statesman, and is often name-checked by alternative bands old and new (The Decemberists are fans). The three Soft Boys albums released between 1978 and 1980—especially the classic Underwater Moonlight—were important touchstones for 1980s alternative rock (they influenced the likes of R.E.M. and The Replacements, the latter of whom wanted Hitchcock to produce Tim in 1985). His perhaps most fertile period was 1986–1990, when he had formed The Egyptians from several former Soft Boys, and recorded a string of college album chart toppers—Fegmania! (1986), Element of Light (1987), Globe of Frogs (1988—my favorite album of all time), and Queen Elvis (1989). A switch to a major record label resulted in having a slick commercial producer foisted on him, ensuring that anything that made his records distinctive was removed, resulting in the bland Perspex Island (1991). The Egyptians’ swan song Respect (1993) had some high points, but felt more contractual obligation than artistic statement. Hitchcock went into hiding, much as he had in the early 1980s. Back then, he reappeared in 1984 with the all-acoustic masterpiece I Often Dream of Trains, and this time, he reappeared in 1996 with the mostly acoustic and excellent Moss Elixir. A Jonathan Demme-directed concert film (Storefront Hitchcock) was filmed, but scuttled by Miramax, and languished, although it is an excellent document of a typical Hitchcock concert, with the songs introduced by funny, often very surreal stories and commentary.Since then, Hitchcock has pretty much followed his muse wherever it may lead. A brace of fin de siècle albums (Jewels for Sophia and A Star for Bram, 1999 and 2000, respectively) had high points (“Mexican God,” “The Cheese Alarm,” “I Saw Nick Drake,” an electric version of “1974”) but suffered from its random writing and recording wherever he happened to be and with whomever he happened to be. The all-acoustic I Often Dream of Trains/Eye-like Luxor was self-released in 2003 as a 50th birthday present to himself. A year later he signed to YepRoc Records and released a roots-like but still excellent collaboration with Gillian Welch and David Rawlings Spooked. During this same period he was constantly touring, doing guest appearances at others’ shows, and generally, it seems, enjoying himself.
He finally returned to a full-piece rock band in 2006 by forming the Venus 3, an alternative “supergroup” comprising old friends Peter Buck (R.E.M.), Scott McCaughey (Young Fresh Fellows, The Minus 5), and Bill Rieflin (Ministry). Their first album was Olé Tarantula, probably the most satisfying Hitchcock album since Moss Elixir, and his best rock record since Queen Elvis. It has all the trademarks: chiming rent-a-Byrds guitars, Beatles-esque melodies, and his lyrics that mix the surreal with the poignant and affecting. (All reviews tend to label Hitchcock as “eccentric” but I disagree; I think he’s remarkably grounded and sane, and just has a very vivid imagination and expresses himself using creative and unusual imagery, usually involving insects, fish, marine invertebrates, vegetables, etc. If, for example, his wife’s heart is sweet as sugar, why shouldn’t he avoid the usual cliché and instead sing about an “ant corridor to your heart”?)
Olé Tarantula kicks off with what could very well be The Soft Boys covering “If You Were a Priest”: “Adventure Rocketship,” where he explains, “I’m coming for you someday/As faithful as a mummy/Discovered in a crater.” “Underground Sun” is a eulogy of sorts for a friend of Hitchcock’s who passed away. “You lie so lonely/Listening to the silence of the graves/You don’t belong there/You belong down south among the waves/Underground sun/I miss you.” Celebratory in style, it features beautiful harmonies from Chris Ballew (Presidents of the United States of America), Sean Nelson (Harvey Danger), and Morris Windsor (Soft Boys, Egyptians). Soft Boys guitarist Kimberley Rew also makes a cameo (here, and on “Museum of Sex” and “The Authority Box”). Speaking of “Museum of Sex,” don’t expect it to be too literal: “On this roof I play this riff/Play it till my hands are hollow/You can play to the tomatoes/You can play to the Apollo.” But then: “In the end I’ll be a skull/Through my eyes the eels will wallow/In the end I’ll be a warning/Time is not for us to follow.” Still: “Music is the antidote/To the world of pain and sorrow.” He’s got a point. It is a good riff, with some appropriately grunting saxophones.
“Belltown Ramble” is a bit of a lengthy, well, ramble. “And you wanna know what is/And also what is not/Don’t you, girl?/It’s an independent life/And you want to see your eyes/Reflected in the world.” Well, don’t we all? Shortly, though, “Then you find the Uzbek warlord/You collide with Tamerlane/His teeth are brown.” Then things get faintly apocalyptic:
Seven men are on their wayThe title track is an ode to reproduction told, not surprisingly, in the context of spiders. As Hitchcock explained, “It’s all to do with how people feel about what brings them into
Seven sets of appetites
have got to be appeased today
Ignorance comes first
then comes Opportunism
Greed is third
Fundamental Faith
Rides in backwards with his eyes shut
listening for the Word
In bowls number five
He needs a bit of elbow room
His name is Haste
He fires off a slew of e-mails
And says, Put your hands together, boys
for six aka Waste
The boys all look around
They looked at number seven
Reclining in his chair
He’s got his headphones on
His head is full of paradise
He isn’t there
existence—how some people kind of recoil from it and some people are delighted by it, and some people are just shocked that they exist at all.” “Out in the trees/Old tarantula has got me humming/Out in the desert the cacti are home/Tarantulas cluster in their underground dome/Olé tarantula.” It sounds like everyone had a bit of a good time in studio while recording that one. And how can one resist singing along with “I feel like a three-legged chinchilla/Standing on a table so wide/I can’t see over the side.”
“(A Man’s Gotta Know His Limitations) Briggs” is a long-time live favorite that finally turns up here. “A man’s gotta know his limitations, Briggs/Or he will just explode.”
It kinds of makes you want to watch the Dirty Harry movie Magnum Force. The chiming guitars are probably the most evocative of The Egyptians era. The tender love song on Olé Tarantula is of course titled “Red Locust Frenzy,” and, well, why not? “’Cause It’s Love (Saint Parallelogram)” was written in collaboration with XTC’s Andy Partridge, of which more is supposedly to be coming out.
The album closes with another eulogy of sorts, “N.Y. Doll,” about Arthur Kane, member of the seminal punk band The New York Dolls, and inspired by the movie New York Doll about “Killer” Kane, who after the demise of the band had a religious epiphany, gave up the archetypal rock’n’roll lifestyle, and became a Mormon librarian. He died shortly after the movie came out.
Olé Tarantula is a wonderful record. Like an actual tarantula, it’s frightening and startling at first glance but is actually quite harmless and even quite charming in its own surreal way. I saw The Venus 3 in NYC on this tour and it was a great show. This year, the second Venus 3 album, Goodnight Oslo, came out and it’s not as good but is still worth a listen.
To be continued...
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Eye Phone
Anyone who has read Vernor Vinge's Rainbows End will not be surprised that science fiction is on the verge of becoming science fact. Says New Scientist:
A contact lens that harvests radio waves to power an LED is paving the way for a new kind of display. The lens is a prototype of a device that could display information beamed from a mobile device.Great. Wait till people start driving with these things. And I'm sure I don't want to have all those horrible flashing animated banner ads flashing right in my eyes. (Retina-based advertising?) I like the idea in theory, but personally I think I'll take a pass.
Realising that display size is increasingly a constraint in mobile devices, Babak Parviz at the University of Washington, in Seattle, hit on the idea of projecting images into the eye from a contact lens.
...
His research involves embedding nanoscale and microscale electronic devices in substrates like paper or plastic. He also wears contact lenses. "It was a matter of putting the two together," he says.
QR No Longer on the QT?
Well, quick response (QR) codes are now apparently ready for prime-time: they were apparently featured in an episode of CSI. (h/t Tim McKinnon/2D Codes for Global Media):
For those not in the know, QR codes are a kind of bar code that is readable by a Webcam or mobile phone camera. If you aim your, say, iPhone camera at one and launch the Quickmark iPhone app (to name but one app for that), the smartphone's Web browser will be automatically directed to a Web site. It's a quickie way of sending people to a site without having them laboriously type it in. So, if you're QR-enabled, try this:
For those not in the know, QR codes are a kind of bar code that is readable by a Webcam or mobile phone camera. If you aim your, say, iPhone camera at one and launch the Quickmark iPhone app (to name but one app for that), the smartphone's Web browser will be automatically directed to a Web site. It's a quickie way of sending people to a site without having them laboriously type it in. So, if you're QR-enabled, try this:
Tense and Tenser
Tomorrow and Saturday at 8:00 pm at the Colonial Little Theater in Johnstown—a staged reading of my play Past and Present Tense. Rehearsals this week and last have been going fairly well. Scary/depressing fact: the two high school students who appear in it have never heard John Lennon's "Imagine" (one of them is supposed to sing a pun based on a line from it). I have to copy it to my iPod and play it for him!
Speaking of Networking
Over at this week's WhatTheyThink Creative Corner, I recover from last weekend's Toastmasters Fall Conference...
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