Two photographs by the same photographer, taken on the same day of the year, with an unhappy subject at the center. What a bizarre coincidence.
Personally, I think the first one was far more affecting and important.
Yuck, I’m reminded that Father’s Day is coming up soon, and you are all obligated to find something cheesy to give to Dad (except me, I don’t have one anymore, so I’m exempt). Here’s a collection of manly suggestions, most of which don’t appeal at all to me, but hey, maybe your dad is different. Anyway, the only one that was mildly cool was the squidbrain tie (you can order here), which has a mere two flaws. 1) I don’t wear ties, and 2) why a vertebrate brain? What would be really nifty is a tie with a chain of ganglia down its length (it would even be in the right location, along the ventral body wall!) with the sub- and supra-esophageal ganglia at the knot and around the band, just like the real thing.
In other words, that tie is insufficiently nerdy for me.
I have standards.
Actually, if my kids are wondering what to get me, I’m settling for nothing less than The Chair.
Now this is the pinnacle of office domination furnishings. Imagine, a student comes in to complain about his grade, and I push a button: my chair rises up to tower above the trembling supplicant, and stalks across the room bearing the professor, who in a booming voice declares, “You dare? You dare to question my decisions?“
It’s much more intimidating than the trap door to the spiky room in the basement or the discreet ceiling-mounted lasers I’m using now. We tyrant kings all know that spectacle is an important component of effective oppression.
This fellow Kaufman sent me a link to this very odd photo.
Now my interest is piqued. Does anyone know what this is from?
Do you really have to be a marketing genius to sell sex? This crazy Scot in Australia has hit on a scheme to combine aphrodisiacs: he feeds oysters Viagra. It sounds silly—if you want an erection, take the Viagra directly, without the additional step of having it diluted, filtered, and processed by a mollusc—but he claims his business is booming.
Now I just have to convince investors that my plan to breed rhinoceroses raised on a diet of Viagra-fed oysters is the Next Big Thing…hey, getting them to breed won’t be any problem at all, will it?
(via Hillary Rettig)
Literacity has the beginnings of a discussion of the horror genre, one of my favorite subjects (although I’m a bit picky—I’m a classic horror fan, and consider most of the recent offerings, both on screen and on the page, to be atrocity exhibitions rather than true horror), and one thing mentioned there is a taxonomy of horror stories. He argues that all are rooted in the idea of loss of control, and subdivides that into loss of control of self, the environment, and place in society…which was actually rather handy, because of the next item I discovered.
Gothic Lolitas. That’s right, twee and scary. This is one fashion movement that hasn’t hit Morris, fortunately, but then, I think Morris is still trying to lumber out of the 1970s.
Anyway, naming the horror is the first step to facing it, and thanks to my earlier discovery I was quickly able to categorize it as clearly an example of “loss of control of place in society”, subcategory “visions that no one will believe”.
Yes, I played Dungeons and Dragons in the 1970s, and it was exactly as the Dead Alewives portray it, right down to the guy always cruising for munchies.
(via Dr Bushwell)
Worried that global warming will submerge your real estate? Here’s the solution the town of Galveston hit upon after they were devastated by a hurricane in 1900: the entire town was hoisted up on stilts, and new fill placed underneath. The photographs are amazing—it was an impressive engineering project, and it was all done with manual labor.
It’s also a little bit familiar. In my old home town, you could date the houses by their construction: the older ones were all built up on foundations that raised the floor a couple of feet off the ground, because the town was on a flood plain—my parents had photos of people canoeing down the streets when the Green River rose above its banks. There the solution was to build a dam on the river and control it that way, and that’s when the newer houses could have these peculiar things called basements.
Damming the ocean is a rather bigger problem.
Laura Sessions Stepp is wondering what it means to be manly, and of course she has to resort to the cultural phenomenon of the last 30 minutes, Pirates of the Caribbean 3, and has invented an overwrought story that modern men are all confused by this swishy style personified by Captain Jack Sparrow — the fey sway, the frilly shirt, the lace on the wrist — and that all this business of empowering women is so stressful to young men.
I’m sorry, it’s too ridiculous for words. The only people who could possibly pull off that pirate style are Johnny Depp and Prince.* And I think it’s quite reasonable that women should be assertive and laugh away any fellow thinks the right pastels and properly gilded accessories will cause them to swoon into his arms.
Besides, I saw the movie, and know who the real masculine role models are. Grubby fellows who only occasionally shave and who have extraordinarily poor dental hygiene and a tendency to belch and wipe the excess rum off their faces with their sleeves. I swear, the fashionistas ought to be looking at these guys for fashion trends. This is where it’s at, bros.
It’s what I settle for, anyway.
At least until a few more years pass and biotechnology progresses so I can aspire to the full tentacle look, that is.
(via Grammar.police and Zeno)
*OK, not entirely true. Connlann can pull it off—but then, he inherited his looks from his mom and his attitude from his dad.
