On the nightstand: Slow Man, by J.M Coetzee. 2005.
Archive Page 20 of 25
A new (and quite funny) ad for GOP primary candidate Mike Huckabee features none other than Chuck Norris. (Huckabee: “When Chuck Norris does a push up, he’s not lifting himself up—he’s pushing the earth down.”)
The spot leads me to wonder: Is this the start of a new era of action-figure endorsements? If so, I predict the following declarations of support:
Keanu Reeves avows that John Edwards is “The One.”
Tom Cruise jumps around violently for Mitt Romney.
Toby Maguire (Spiderman) senses Dennis Kucinich’s potential.
Steven Seagal says Rudy Giuliani will issue a series of quick jabs and chops, leaving the competition in a heap.
Linda Hamilton (Terminator I) says Hillary is made of liquid metal and cannot be defeated.
Clint Eastwood sees a little Dirty Harry in John McCain.
Mel Gibson says he’s casting Tom Tancredo for his next movie, “The Passion of the Xenophobe.”
If you have not had the pleasure of drinking a Manahattan, now, as cold weather sets in, is the time to indulge. This whiskey drink will warm your core.
Here are the ingredients:
2 shots bourbon
1 shot sweet vermouth
1 dash of Angostora bitters
1 marachino cherry
Mix with ice, strain into glass.
And feel free to deviate from the proportions listed here. Provided it tastes good to you and includes all of the above ingredients, there’s no wrong way to mix a Manhattan.
Caution: this drink is quite strong. Unless you imbibe frequently and/or have a hefty avoirdupois, limit to two if you plan on operating heavy machinery (a car, for example) afterward.
And be sure to ask for it “up” when ordering at a bar.
Until today, I had felt myself becoming numb—distressingly so—to the torrent of bad news coming from Iraq.
But this morning I came across a slide show from the LA Times, and the war became somewhat real and immediate again. (I say ’somewhat real’ because if the only way this war affects me is through images on a web site, then it’s still sort of unreal.)
It’s the back story to the iconic photograph of the ‘Marlboro marine.’
The picture was taken in Falluja in 2004 by LA Times photographer Luis Sinco, and it was immediately labeled the “emblematic” image of the war. Now, a few years later, the subject of photograph, James Blake Miller, is back at home and struggling with post-traumatic stress. Sinco and his camera followed Miller back home to Kentucky.
Miller, broken in spirit yet incredibly lucid and insightful, narrates a trio of slide shows composed of Sinco’s photos. Check it out.
After a long hiatus, Visionary Larry is blogging again. His mercurial comeback post covers “cyber communities,” which he claims to have invented. (Actually, he says he co-invented the first one with Al and Tipper Gore and Tipper’s college roommate, “this guy who called himself Shirley.”)
While the post starts off with an absurdist twist, the bulk of the long entry is Larry’s candid reflection on his late youth, seen through the prism of an evolving relationship with Facebook, the social networking site.
As we’ve come to expect from Larry, the post defies categorization.
This one’s from a regular reader named Glenballs. Dan Glenballs. Weird name, yes, but ol’ Glenballs makes a good point about the noticeable lack of boot-scootin’ that accompanies indie music shows:
I went to a couple indie shows in santa monica (not hip) and stood around trying to enjoy my favorite tunes but couldn’t get past the crowd of tight jean, straight haired, out-of-shape, stiff, white, occassional swayers that listened with their minds plugged in, mentally prepping their notes for their late night blog session. what a waste! “unlock your body and move yourself to dance” was not being heard or felt, just analyzed.
I have to disagree with the notion that white listeners of indie rock are unfeeling or overly analytical. Sure, an ironic quip is never far away, but I also detect (and maybe it’s just me) a heightened sensitivity and earnestness among the indie crowd. Call it the wounded, woe-is-me vibe. I think the music is being felt, but felt in such a way as to render the body inert. But I’m out on a limb rhetorical limb here…
The last indie concert I attended was Death Cab for Cutie. (I’m sure the indie vanguard now consider them to be lowly pop, but in my world, they’re still indie. Or at the very least a hyrbid of the two.) Anyhoo, there was a considerable amount of movement at that show, and it went beyond “swaying.” That said, I don’t think any pelvises moved.