Light Switch

Incandescent lights are super! Yes, they are!

Pagophagia

I had no idea about the recent surge in demand for chewable ice, the existence of the Air-Conditioning and Refrigeration Institute, or Vince Gill's* penchant for pagophagia ("Europe is a drag," he says. "I ask for ice, and they give me one or two cubes. They're stingy with their ice. I'd never survive there") until I read this Wall Street Journal piece, a story which does wonders for restoring my faith in the trend piece** in general.  I recommend the video ("Once you get that ice you feel -- I just feel good inside") too.  

*I also had no idea that Vince Gill sang backup on "The Bug" for Dire Straits.

**Because the NYO's archives are a mess, you have to scroll to the middle of the linked page to see the classic (unheadlined) "Trend Piece" piece. But it's worth it!

In Defense of Juno

With all the love Juno's been getting (even from those who don't buy its fairy-tale ending), there was bound to be some backlash. Yesterday New Yorker critic Sasha Frere-Jones kicked things off with some inchoate grumblings on his website, citing The Village Voice's review, which frames the problem this way:

Juno's knocked-up 15-year-old is at once provocatively precocious and primly pre-sexual. Her pregnancy is a miracle of bad luck—she simultaneously loses her virginity and conceives a baby. It's all but immaculate ... People love clever little Juno because she isn't really a teenager, let alone a person. Juno is an angel.

Today Frere-Jones follows up with a link to another scowling review; this one claws at the movie by dismantling its chart-climbing (and, according to the Washington Post, "insufferably twee") soundtrack, which it alleges features "the exploitation and fetishization of childlike naivete (and the Unexpectedly Articulate Wisdom there found), moving beyond interesting, beyond cute, into empty and nauseating self-absorption." Huh? The Juno I saw was certainly preciously wry (seeped in all those droll Moldy Peaches witticisms, how could it not be?), but the script and sountrack's stalwart cleverness struck me as good fun -- and hardly tiresome, let alone nauseating. Capped with Ellen Page's jaunty ponytail, even Juno's halo was easy to accept as a practical accoutrement and not a smug accessory. What's going on here? Today David Carr offers this theory on Juno haters in his Carpetbagger blog:

As long as “Juno” sat in the corner and made cute, no biggie. But the $100 million stands as a mark against it and its potential to run up the middle between two serious films that split the best picture vote is sparking a low-level panic ... to suddenly kick something to the curb because it found an audience is the height of “rockism,” a critical mindset that suggests if a lot of people like something, there must be something terribly wrong with it.

Bingo! On that note, stay tuned for the Barry Louis Polisar backlash, which is surely soon to follow.

Bad Idea Bears

I stole this too cute shot of one of Avenue Q's too cute Bad Idea Bears backstage (making mischief, no doubt) from today's New York Times.

JELLOquence?

I thought I had heard it all when it came to sound-bites from NYU spokesman John Beckman. But today he outdid himself with this quote (via Gothamist) about the dismissal of a lawsuit filed by a student who broke his hip at an NYU Jell-O wrestling event. "This case broke the mold," Beckman told The Daily News, "But all in all, we believe justice was served sweetly."

An Illness that is Unique

This candid Nerve dispatch about dating someone with bipolar disorder ("an illness that is unique in conferring advantage and pleasure") paints a portrait somewhat more nuanced (though no less destructive) than those that have recently emerged of higher-profile supposed manic-depressives like Britney Spears and Lisa Nowak. While it's hard to evaluate author Justin Clark's particular (personal) experiences, I thought his disapproving diagnosis of bipolar disorder as "the official catch-all for crazy people" was on target:

A 1997 National Mental Health Association survey found that more than two-thirds of Americans had limited or no knowledge of the disease; almost a decade later, eight out of ten Americans think they know what bipolar disorder is. Everyone from disgraced New York Times reporter Jayson Blair to Debra LaFave, the high-school teacher convicted of seducing her fourteen-year-old student, has employed the bipolar defense. And if they don't trumpet it as the explanation for their misdeeds, media experts are happy to do so on their behalf. Without ever having met her, Fox News contributor Dr. Keith Ablow all but diagnosed Britney Spears on air this month. "I would put on the list of possibilities a mood disorder like bipolar," he said, further cementing it as the official catch-all for crazy people.

Go Obama!

Check out Toni Morrison's glowing endorsement of Barack Obama, sent my way by my brother. It's written as a letter to Obama, and like Caroline Kennedy's recent endorsement (and The New York Observer's Obama endorsement), is completely unequivocal in its support. Some highlights:

In addition to keen intelligence, integrity and a rare authenticity, you exhibit something that has nothing to do with age, experience, race or gender and something I don't see in other candidates. That something is a creative imagination which coupled with brilliance equals wisdom. It is too bad if we associate it only with gray hair and old age. Or if we call searing vision naivete. Or if we believe cunning is insight. Or if we settle for finessing cures tailored for each ravaged tree in the forest while ignoring the poisonous landscape that feeds and surrounds it ... Wisdom is a gift; you can't train for it, inherit it, learn it in a class, or earn it in the workplace -- that access can foster the acquisition of knowledge, but not wisdom.

A Green Diet

No one likes an evangelizing vegetarian, but I can't resist re-posting this New York Times article about vegetarianism's earth-friendly impact -- written by a non-vegetarian (and passed along to me by my vegetarian sister-in-law). For example:

To put the energy-using demand of meat production into easy-to-understand terms, Gidon Eshel, a geophysicist at the Bard Center, and Pamela A. Martin, an assistant professor of geophysics at the University of Chicago, calculated that if Americans were to reduce meat consumption by just 20 percent it would be as if we all switched from a standard sedan — a Camry, say — to the ultra-efficient Prius. Similarly, a study last year by the National Institute of Livestock and Grassland Science in Japan estimated that 2.2 pounds of beef is responsible for the equivalent amount of carbon dioxide emitted by the average European car every 155 miles, and burns enough energy to light a 100-watt bulb for nearly 20 days.

Go Obama!

(click to enlarge)

Wandering Light

Garrison Keillor's Writer's Almanac posted a nice tribute to birthday girl Virginia Woolf (she was born on January 25, 1882) citing this passage of hers:

We all indulge in the strange, pleasant process called thinking, but when it comes to saying ... what we think, then how little we are able to convey! The phantom is through the mind and out of the window before we can lay salt on its tail, or slowly sinking and returning to the profound darkness which it has lit up momentarily with a wandering light.

A Real Shithole?

Something I had not considered about the city's new public toilets: Their rate of 25 cents for 15 minutes comes to $24/day and $720/month. Which is a total steal in this town! Especially for quarters The New York Times values at "more than $100,000" and calls "very spacious" (that's right, "one cannot touch the side walls with arms outstretched")! Still not convinced?

There are two architectural flourishes, both on the roof: a small pyramid of glass, like a little model of the Louvre, and an anachronistic metal stovepipe, reminiscent of a cozy shanty or an old outhouse with a crescent moon carved into the door.

A cozy little Louvre-shanty! This amusing video completely moves in on the idea (happily neglecting the fine print 15 minute time limit for restroom habitation). It's like From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler all growed up and adapted for YouTube!

877-393-4448

This commercial caught my notice through my coworker Deb, who, for the past several months, has sung the phone number every time it airs (and many times when it doesn't). Its the video that gets me -- with each viewing, I notice something new and incredible (banana-like lifeboat? pirate hacking the tail of the guy dressed as a sea monster?) ... Bottom line: This li'l tune by the folks at freecreditreport.com, my incumbent retail jingle fave, finally has some real competition. Jenny should feel threatened too.

Yaperture

Do you miss it? The feel of a photograph? Yeah, we kind of do too, so here's what we did: We drew up some code, made a website, posted it to the internets (crashed a computer or two but that's neither here nor there), and Yaperture was born—literally born, like a baby in swaddling clothes and something we are very proud of.

That's the Yaperture team (aka Andrew and Chris) talking, and that baby in swaddling clothes is a cool new site where digital photography enthusiasts are invited to share, discuss, and vote on the shots they'd like to see turned into prints -- and maybe even own those matted prints and make some money on their sale too. As in, "The photograph is back."

There Is No Time

Long day at work.  Longer post(s) tomorrow.  For now, this poem by D. Nurkse ("There Is No Time, She Writes"). 

Heath Ledger's Death

Yesterday I didn't really feel like writing about Heath Ledger, who was found dead a few blocks from my apartment in the early evening. But here's a quick dispatch: Yes, there was a mob of reporters and fans and rubber-neckers in the vicinty (“because of the way our generation is" one girl told the New York Times, "we sort of feel we’re a part of each other’s lives”). Yes, all the Heath Ledger movies were checked out of Cinema Nolita last night (or so I overheard). Yes, it's tragic.

Eat, Sleep, Blog. Make Pasta?

I generally don't read on the subway to and from work for several reasons: My commute is relatively short, my hands are generally full (coffee, heels, lunch), and I have been known to miss my stop while reading. But I very much enjoy seeing what other people are reading (a girl can only study MTA posters so long). Today, for example, I was adjacent to not one, but two Atonement-readers. Also in close vicinity was the most ubiquitous subway-book of them all -- #1 on Goodreads' most read list for 2007 -- Eat, Pray, Love. As much as I like the title's pithy imperative, Lizzie Skurnick's splendidly useful review of this book forever cured me of all curiosity about its contents ages ago:

A sad truth for those of you out there seeking greater ones: Nothing is more boring than your epiphanies. (Even worse, sojourners–the more particular they are to you, the more they sound exactly like everyone else’s.) Such is the problem with Elizabeth Gilbert’s journey through the particulars of her digestive, spiritual and moral humors–located, for your corporeal information, in the regions of Italy, India and Indonesia, respectively. It’s a bit of a punt to say the book is self-aggrandizing–how could a book focused on one’s spiritual well-being not be?–but it’s the grand Richard Bachian strokes that provoke the reader beyond speech: “Simply put, I got pulled through the wormhole of the Absolute, and in that rush I suddenly understood the workings of the universe completely.” (Simply put.) However, we’re a girl! Fish-in-barrel elements aside, of course we loved that someone would eat pasta, meditate and tool around Indonesia for a year to get over a broken heart. There’s a lot to be said for pasta in general.

Naked Pictures

This slideshow essay on Slate gives some good reasons why Spencer Tunick -- the guy who stages photo-shoots of hordes of naked people -- is better at generating publicity than making art. The crux of the issue, according to Mia Fineman (and I think she gets it right):

His installations are spectacular and attention-grabbing, but as for what it all means ... well, to put it bluntly, I don't think it extends too far beyond, "Wow. That's a lot of naked people."

Thanks (Again)

Dear readers, I know I already did a thank you post. But I'd just like to say that I think it's really lovely that you've not just checked in and commented but have also linked, status messaged, forwarded, bookmarked, RSS fed and (best of all) read posts aloud to your roommates (because that's what roommates are for). Hooray and thanks! Before I wrap it up for this evening, two stories in the NYT regarding earlier posts: Some smart replies to Caitlin Flanagan's op-ed and a very tough review of "Widows" at 59E59 sent my way by Leah ... 

Remember Lee-Jackson-King Day?

Today's post is devoted to the history of the now-defunct holiday observed in the fine state of Virginia throughout my grade-school days: Lee-Jackson-King Day! As the hyphenation (which, in my mind's eye, I can still see squashed onto the school lunch menu in smudgy Xeroxed 8 or 9 pt all-caps Courier) suggests, this unique invention of the Old Dominion honored the birthdays of Civil War generals Robert E. Lee (January 19, 1807) and Thomas J. "Stonewall" Jackson (January 21, 1824), and Civil Rights leader Martin Luther King, Jr. (January 15, 1929) all in one go. How did this happen? From Wikipedia:

Robert E. Lee's birthday has been celebrated as a Virginia holiday since 1889. In 1904, the legislature added the birthday of Thomas J. "Stonewall" Jackson to the holiday, and Lee-Jackson Day was born. In 1983, President Ronald Reagan approved an Act of Congress declaring January 15 to be a national holiday in honor of civil rights leader Martin Luther King, Jr. Since 1978, Virginia had celebrated King's birthday in conjunction with New Year's Day. To align with the federal holiday, the Virginia legislature simply combined King's celebration with the existing Lee-Jackson holiday.

In 2001 -- more than a decade after Virginia elected the country's first black governor -- state legislature did away with the three-way celebration, relegating Lee-Jackson day to the Friday before Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. In 2007, the state formally expressed "profound regret" for Virginia's role in the slave trade. Today? It seems the observation of MLK Day is alive and well in Virginia. As is the observation of Lee-Jackson Day. Separate but no less problematic.

No More Empty Bowl

I made a quick jaunt into Chinatown today to do something about Mr. Big's bowl, which had been looking very vacant these last few days since the demise of my goldish.  ("It's so depressing," said Leah. "It's like a testament to your failure!") Pictured on the left: A symbolic success, in the form of some very verdant bamboo and some very attractive multi-colored rocks. Long live the bowl's new inhabitant!