It may be “the new Latin,” but American English still has its discontents. Not to mention at least four different ways of pronouncing “crayon.” Still, it’s good to see we’re winning. Maybe now we can finally settle this.
It may be “the new Latin,” but American English still has its discontents. Not to mention at least four different ways of pronouncing “crayon.” Still, it’s good to see we’re winning. Maybe now we can finally settle this.
Nikolai Cherny is not only an expert researcher (his handiwork is behind the success of our SPOMa exhibit); he’s also a swell guy. Mr. Cherny, on a recent trip to New York, was obliged to pay his respects at Martinez Cigars—thanks in part to this blog post from last September. When he returned with a gift for yours truly, well…it nearly brought a tear to my eye. After all, “a woman is only a woman, but a good Cigar is a Smoke.” Thanks Nikolai!
Every few months, Stefan Kordluk would go to the same location and film for just a few seconds. The result is a beautiful time-lapse video made all the more remarkable when you consider his method:
“I took some still images of the exact same framing and then I printed them out so I would have references everytime I went back. I also took a pictures of where my tripod legs stood and also printed them out so I would have references for that as well. Then I fine tuned the positioning and scaling in after effects.”
Best when viewed in full-screen mode.
I’ve long suspected that pretty much every person I know has a mental disorder. Now I have proof.
Seriously, though, “excessive caffeine intake” is “two to three cups of brewed coffee”? Most days, I’ve downed five before 9 a.m.—and followed that up with a cup of tea in the afternoon. And yes, if I try to go without, I get hammered with debilitating headaches. That’s sort of what happens when you’ve been taking the same drug every day for more than 20 years. Which is why I don’t stop.
But…mental illness? Really?!?
Philip K. Dick’s last interview from the June 1982 issue of Rod Serling’s The Twilight Zone Magazine.… An ugly Lamborghini (no, really).… Today’s Britain: women dressed as badgers were seen “chasing doughty nationalist supporters down London’s Whitehall as a large number of security forces in iridescent jackets looked on from police lines.”… One in thirteen people have flexible ape-like feet. No word on the other twelve.… Two words: Sky City.… And finally, Australia continues to thumb its nose at convention, this time with giant pink slugs.
Do you ever wonder whether there’s a finite amount of good ideas, and we’ve simply run out of them?
No?
This might cause you to think otherwise.
This looks absolutely fascinating, if perhaps—just perhaps—a little opportunistic. Until the film is completed, you can learn more about Ms. Maier’s odd life and see some of her newly discovered work here.
On a Saturday afternoon hike in the Deep Creek area of Riverside State Park, my daughter Emma managed to convince this little guy to pose for a portrait on a large chunk of basalt.
My friend Derek—who’s moved his online musings from here to here—sent me a link to The Origins of 9 Great British Insults. Which is weird, because I happened to be reading this at the time.
While recognizing the social need for taboo language, I remain indifferent to much of it. I mean, I’m rarely offended when the “n-word” is used; the various and—let’s be honest—downright ingenious ways the f-bomb is deployed are more likely to make me giggle than to cause indignation.
Which brings me back to the British insults list, from which we learn that “clod hopper” appears in the 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue. Would that offend anyone today? And if not, is it a function of the evolution of language, or evidence that we’ve become desensitized?
Or—and this is by far the more likely scenario—am I way over-thinking it?
So the missus and I were waiting for the parade to start last Saturday when we discovered Monkeyboy Books, a little shop in the Atrium Building on South Wall, just a couple of blocks from Domini’s. (And yes, that’s pretty much a recipe for the perfect evening: a good book, a salami on sourdough, and marching bands.)
Anyway, for a little over $20, I made it out of there with a nice little 1977 copy of William Forsell Kirby’s 1907 translation of The Kalevala (for me) and a barely used paperback of Jonathan Franzen’s The Corrections (for her).
Monkeyboy Books is the sort of shop that seems more at home on Berkeley’s Telegraph Avenue circa 1966 than tucked away off the beaten path in downtown Spokane. The selection is large, the prices are right, and the atmosphere is perfect. Here’s hoping it lasts longer than the Kindle.
Richard Wagner was born 200 years ago today. I’m celebrating by playing Götterdämmerung—the celebrated 1964 Solti recording—while Shirlee’s at lunch.
Back in 2011, Alex Ross wrote a typically insightful essay for the New Yorker that helps explain why Wagner, the man responsible for “the most ambitious work of art ever attempted,” still matters today. Since you’re too late to make the celebration at Bayreuth, why not give it a read?
And please, please, please…ignore the constant reminders that Wagner wasn’t a terribly nice man. Just listen.
*In the words of Anton Bruckner, who dedicated his third symphony to Wagner.
Earlier today, my brother-in-law sent me a tantalizing email: What If? meets The Big Lebowski.
Here’s a teaser—as if you needed one: “And now…whenever I look at the Moon, I’ll notice the Sea of Tranquility, the Sea of Serenity, and the Sea of Crisis, and I’ll think: Finger holes.”
(Thanks, Mike!)
How long has it been since we talked grammar? Too long, I’m thinking. So let’s not waste any more time.
A frequent source of confusion for a lot of people is what to call all these college graduates that seem to have appeared out of nowhere. It used to be simple: one man was an alumnus, a group of men were alumni; one woman was an alumna, a group of women were alumnae.
But in an era when neutrality reigns supreme—it was just just last year, after all, that Sweden introduced the genderless pronoun “hen”—we’ve apparently decided that “alumnus” and “alumni” are now unisex terms for all graduates. (But if you have trouble remembering the rules for singular and plural, “alum” will do.)
So are there still freshmen in college? Or are they now freshpersons?
When it comes to advertising to Hispanics, the conventional wisdom is that we need to do more than just translate existing materials into Spanish. And that’s what the headline for this piece over at Adweek is clearly suggesting. Yet the data in the article that follows doesn’t seem to support the claim.
Looking at all the pretty charts and graphs, it’s clear to me that second-generation Hispanics don’t care nearly as much about their ethnicity as their first-generation peers. It stands to reason that third- and fourth-generation Hispanics will care even less. We used to call that “assimilation,” but I think “acculturation” is the more generally accepted term these days. In other words, the longer you’re here, the more American you become. (And no, that’s not a bad thing.)
So should we care about targeted messaging when marketing to Hispanics—or any other ethnicity? I’m not so sure. In fact, I’d venture to say that focusing on ethnicity might actually slow down the assimilation process by treating individuals as nothing more than part of a monolithic cultural block. Something doesn’t seem quite right about that.
Though I’m pretty sure we’re all aware of it by now, this is the funniest exposé yet of the wine tasting, reviewing, and rating racket I’ve seen. (Keep in mind, though, that I recently declared a restaurant’s house red not only serviceable but also downright enjoyable—only to find out after the fact that I was drinking this. So perhaps I’m not qualified to comment.)