I’m not entirely sure what sort of incantation is required to change the molecular structure of stone—or whether the boulders themselves, having somehow assumed sentience, are deceiving us for purposes yet unknown—but one thing is certain: Sorcery is afoot near Kettle Falls.
A new, “compulsively readable” biography of Philip Roth contains, according to reviewer Christian Lorentzen, “a blueprint for enduring literary stardom”:
Its lessons include: never marry; have no children; lawyer up early; keep tight control of your cover designs; listen to the critics while scorning them publicly; when it comes to publishers, follow the money; never give a minute to a hostile interviewer; avoid unflattering photographers; figure out what you’re good at and keep doing it, book after book, with just enough variation to keep them guessing; sell out your friends, sell out your family, sell out your lovers, and sell out yourself; keep going until every younger writer can be called your imitator; don’t stop until all your enemies are dead.
So this is why I’m not famous.
“Omit needless words.”
That’s Rule 13 in my copy of Strunk & White’s The Elements of Style (second edition), and it should be the mantra of anyone who wants their writing to be, you know…read.
Unfortunately, too many of us interpret the rule as “use fewer words.” But that’s not what it means at all. It means that every word must tell.
Case in point: In an otherwise harmless article about the New Yorker recently adding a crossword puzzle to the back of the magazine, we read that in February, “the publication announced that every print issue going forward will include a crossword puzzle.”
So what purpose does “going forward” serve here?
After all, will is a verb in the future tense; “going forward” is redundant. And redundancy and repetition are exactly what Rule 13 was designed to fix. “Every print issue will include a crossword puzzle” says exactly the same thing, and—bonus!—it doesn’t employ a tiresome cliché.
Forget all the social and political baggage associated with pronouns these days: Bryan Garner has some thoughts on the subject that are definitely worth reading.
In fact, he argues that the use of the singular they is so ubiquitous these days as to be passé. “What’s new,” he writes, “isn’t the generic pronoun but the referential pronoun.…People are deciding for themselves how they want to be referred to behind their backs—in the third person.”
If you were addressing them directly, he points out, you’d just use you and your. But now “a social movement is behind the idea that people get to decide how references to them should sound when they’re absent.”
Things were so much simpler in the 70s.
This seems particularly appropriate for the last weekend in February (the worst of all the months, it’s only redeeming feature that it’s also the shortest):
“When besieged by doubt or depression, take a shower and change your clothes.” – Donald Justice
Behold the Theremix—a “cross-platform virtual theremin” created in celebration of the 100th anniversary of Léon Theremin’s invention.
Best part about it? If you enable the camera on your device, the program uses motion capture to “simulate the gestural movements of playing a physical theremin.” (A word of caution: You might want to wait till you’re alone before enabling that camera.)
And yes, I spent an inordinate amount of time yesterday trying to perform the theme to Star Trek. I was not successful. But it did remind me that I’d read somewhere that there are actually lyrics, penned by Gene Roddenberry himself. My gift to you:
Beyond
The rim of the star-light
My love
Is wand’ring in star-flight
I know
He’ll find in star-clustered reaches
Love,
Strange love a star woman teaches.
I know
His journey ends never
His star trek
Will go on forever.
But tell him
While he wanders his starry sea
Remember, remember me.
81 is the only number* that is the square of the sum of its digits: (8 + 1)^2 = 81.
And 18 is the only number that’s twice the sum of its digits: (8 + 1) x 2 = 18.
That is all.
*Well, except for 1, I suppose. But that feels like cheating. (Oh—and if exhaustive lists of the properties of specific numbers is your jam, Robert Munafo has you covered.)
Call me naive, but I certainly didn’t see this coming: Little Free Libraries are apparently a Bad Thing™—and the critique is coming from galaxy brains who think that people like you and me will confuse all those cutesy little book boxes on fence posts with…real libraries.
The argument started on Twitter (where else?), in a kerfuffle that “often came down to the question of localism vs. state support: the benefits of communities acting together for themselves vs. the economies of scale and resource redistribution provided by a tax-funded national network of libraries.”
And the reason the argument was never resolved? Because “it actually expresses a fundamental contradiction within capitalism itself.”
Hoo boy. I know we live in some weird times right now, but who’d a-thunk Marxists would be the ones complaining about free stuff?
Usually, when I come across a story that purports to show how an underrepresented group was really responsible for the successful development of [fill in the blank], I roll my eyes Liz Lemon-style and move right along. But here’s a case where it’s absolutely true: the pioneers of electronic music were women. And what they accomplished quite literally changed the musical landscape of the 20th century.
But even if girl power isn’t your thing, I encourage you to catch the film Sisters with Transistors when it’s released this spring. It promises to be a fascinating look into an untold story—and, as a devoted connoisseur of the work of Laurie Spiegel and Suzanne Ciani in particular, I’m excited to see it finally brought to light.
In the meantime, feast your eyes on this relic of 1970s daytime television (and be sure to stick around for the part where the real Robert Moog demonstrates his Minimoog analog synth):
In 1838, then-29-year-old Charles Darwin prepared a list of pros and cons around the question of marriage.
On the plus side of the ledger, he wrote, “My God, it is intolerable to think of spending one’s whole life, like a neuter bee, working, working, & nothing after all.” (Lest you think that Chuck was a hopeless romantic, however, keep in mind that he also wrote that a “nice soft wife” would be “better than a dog anyhow.”)
On the minus side? “Not forced to visit relatives,” “cannot read in the Evenings,” “fatness & idleness” [presumably his own], and “less money for books &c.”
Can’t really argue with his reasoning—especially since he ultimately came down in favor of matrimony. Sure, he ended up marrying his cousin, but still.
Social media isn’t entirely terrible. If you can manage to steer clear of political tribalism and its associated posturing and virtue signaling—no mean feat, that—you occasionally find some real gems. Like, say, this:
Wendy Carlos demonstrating how to create electronic music in 1970. via @BBCArchive https://t.co/MEGXkxB4g1
— Dust-to-Digital (@dusttodigital) February 10, 2021
And then there’s this, which, to be honest, I would never have imagined possible:
Finally tracked down the 1986 episode of SNL with the Philip Glass Ensemble as musical guest!
(S11, E13, March 22) pic.twitter.com/K8NhppZFqt
— Will Robin (@seatedovation) February 10, 2021
And if that isn’t weird enough for you, behold:
Also, for those who don't know, Radiohead did a decent cover of "Rhinestone Cowboy": https://t.co/PHmDFkkl6q
— Luke Epplin (@LukeEpplin) February 17, 2021
“You’ve been hoaxed,” writes Angus Fletcher. “Computers can’t grasp the most lucid haiku. Nor can they pen the clumsiest fairytale. Computers cannot read or write literature at all. And they never, never will.”
Finally, someone’s asking the important questions.
Remember this? Reckon it could be applied to certain English departments?
“We are constantly told to ‘trust the science.'” writes Suman Seth, “but what does that mean if we cannot quite tell where or what the science is?”
On the history of remote viewers, “which go back further than you might guess.”
You’ll have to forgive me for all the depressing death posts of late, but I couldn’t not say something about the legendary pianist Chick Corea, who died Tuesday from a rare form of cancer. He was 79.
No matter what his creative output—whether it was the work with Miles Davis in the late 60s, the duets with vibraphonist Gary Burton, the jazz-rock explorations with Return to Forever, or the late-80s Elektric Band—Corea had a profound influence on the development of my musical vocabulary.
I was in Paris in the summer of 1989. My friend Tom and I had just spent several hours exploring the Louvre, and needed some time to process the fact that we had just been in the presence of the Mona Lisa, the Venus de Milo, and the Winged Victory of Samothrace.
Emerging from the museum and squinting into the late afternoon sun, we set our sights on the Place de la Concorde, less than a mile distant. (Having been to Notre Dame that morning, it made sense to us to head in the opposite direction.) We had just entered Tuileries Garden when we heard the sound of a piano—a sound that, though faint, was familiar to both of us.
“Is it…?”
“Nah. Couldn’t be.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.”
“But this is Paris. Maybe….”
Tom and I followed our ears until we came across a small crowd of spectators gathered in front of a portable stage. And on that stage, practically within spitting distance, was Chick Corea, performing with bassist John Patitucci. It was one of those magical moments that seems, in retrospect, too far-fetched to be true.
We watched the remainder of the set, marveling not only at the musicianship on display, but also at the relative indifference of the crowd. Parisians, I thought. They’re too cool even for Chick.
I got a text from Tom late last night. He asked if I remembered that afternoon.
How could I forget? Rest in peace, Mr. Corea.
“Enough with all the words,” I imagine most of you saying every time I post something. “Give us something cool to look at.”
Fine.
The winners of this year’s Underwater Photographer of the Year competition have been announced.
And here’s a short film about a rainy day in Pyongyang…
Happy?
The results from a 2019 GetResponse survey, which polled 1,000 employees to determine the worse offenders in the category of business jargon, are in:
And while synergy is indeed a loathsome word, there’s a phrase I keep seeing that’s far, far worse—yet it doesn’t even appear on the list: lean in. By my troth, if you utter these words within thirty feet of me, you shall surely taste my wrath.