“Sting is on the radio. Listening to it is akin to drinking men’s cologne. I feel sick. I will enjoy his music tantric-style by purposely depriving myself of it. I will reach a whole new plain of avoidance.”—Neko Case tour travelogue. I am having way too much fun reading this.
AVC: Was your 35th a big, taking-stock kind of birthday?
NC: No, I don’t really notice them that much. I’m not really that concerned—that’s why I’m not afraid to tell people how old I am, I guess. [Laughs.] I’ve been having that realization for quite a few years. There’s just societal pressures, things you grow up with. You wonder, in your sad moments, “Is there something wrong with me? I don’t have a mate. Will I ever have a child?” And then you realize, “Wait a minute, I’m responsible. I don’t need to be wondering that about myself.” I’m sure I could have had plenty of children by now. None of them would have had the attention that they should, and that would have been wrong.
The patrons of these museums are different from art fans; one sees few adults unaccompanied by children, who sometimes outnumber the grownups by a factor of 30 to one, like a playground outside an elementary school. Could you imagine a sharply dressed couple walking through a natural-history museum, making sophisticated remarks about the archaeology of knowledge and the frisson of old and new epistemologies?
At some point, apparently back in the 60s, natural-history museums began to focus on attracting children; it made sense for demographic reasons allied to the educational imperatives of the Cold War.
But now the museums have been child-centered for so long that it’s hard to imagine the adults coming back. And with them, a more complex appreciation for the natural-history museum as a unique kind of cultural institution—as a place for aesthetic and historical appreciation—has been lost. There is something down at the heels about many natural-history museums, for all their esoteric attractions, compared with other parts of universities. It is as if the museums are allowed to continue but not allowed to significantly expand, just in case they need to be closed in the not-so-distant future.
This guy’s grandpa is exactly like my grandma when it comes to online behavior; it’s adorable. My experience with breakups and Facebook is somewhat similar, though mine is less of the “still attached and yearning” variety and more of the “Why are you online stalking all of the friends of mine you tried to mutually friend after I defriended you?”
“One of the weird psychological artifacts of growing up in modern times is that people would rather read between the lines of pop culture to find spiritual and emotional succor than go pick up a lofty volume that deals with things directly. Either through nostalgia or ignorance or some other coy form of intellectual perviness, people would rather guess what someone is trying to say about life by sifting through hundreds of comics about talking ducks than read a ‘real book’. The last part of the 20th century has been about a sort of cultural dark age in America where our collective story gets codified into mass media, that to survive as a commodity, has to be accessible to every drooling 3 year old in Oklahoma. But, if it sounds like I am taking a duck-crap on Duck Tales and on Disney, I’m not. This harsh environment of scribbling in the margins makes some of the weirdest, most layered, but still accessible art- and it gives us some of the most interesting characters to talk about. Not Scrooge McDuck, per se, but the weirdo who created him, and the weirdos who obsess over him.”—Wiley Wiggins, “The Universe According to Scrooge McDuck.” Full article.
This sounds like a delicious and refreshing drink to go with a massive Turkey Day feast. I just might try to make it when I’m in Orange next week. The book it’s from, Simple Fresh Southern by Matt and Ted Lee, sounds like a keeper.
Skeptics argue nonetheless that gender blending is bound to remain a marginal trend.
“It’s something you need to be young to do well,” said Harold Koda, the curator in charge of the Costume Institute at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. “To carry it off, you need the physique of an adolescent boy. As long as the young are the primary audience, it’s not going be economically sustained.”
"It’s All a Blur to Them," Ruth La Ferla, The New York Times (Full article.)
Someone call me when it’s once again fashionable to be totally stacked, ok?
"No words can suffice to express all the delights of the hototogisu. But though it will draw attention to itself by singing very self-importantly, it then has an annoying way of lurking deep among the leaves of a deutzia or orange tree and making itself virtually invisible.
You wake during the brief nights of the rainy season and lie there waiting, determined to be the first to hear the bird—then suddenly your heart is utterly transported with delight, as that dear, exquisite voice comes ringing through the darkness.
Everything that cries in the night is wonderful. With the exception, of course, of babies.”