tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72935492115662302272024-03-20T07:06:31.052-04:00The Curious CrumbCrumbs of curiosities.Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07527428700424496091noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7293549211566230227.post-7643383612617987932009-04-21T14:10:00.005-04:002009-04-21T14:19:58.490-04:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFiz8ZY1P1BQNb45WwmihR4S4KP8Riy8g1eninvMK4EhJtT92r1Up57VEdTn47GEvXFaq24awdpAL9V7IGle4_J-tJzV8HHh_GJI-b6X7J5SQnAfxm69ruNBYWRYGR3PuUJHgJCCZl1p-U/s1600-h/green-funerals-green-coffins.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 226px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFiz8ZY1P1BQNb45WwmihR4S4KP8Riy8g1eninvMK4EhJtT92r1Up57VEdTn47GEvXFaq24awdpAL9V7IGle4_J-tJzV8HHh_GJI-b6X7J5SQnAfxm69ruNBYWRYGR3PuUJHgJCCZl1p-U/s320/green-funerals-green-coffins.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327210829433702306" border="0" /></a>LET’S FACE IT NOW<br /><br />I spent this past winter consistently sick. Annoying but not particularly deadly–although someone somewhere seems to differ. I received a pamphlet titled “Let’s Face It Now” in the mail with an offer to buy a cemetery plot for $45 a month. The brochure assures me that once paid “you own your property forever.” I suppose that’s meant to be reassuring–no one can dig me up and chuck me in a pauper’s pit–but considering that I’ll be, you know, dead, I’m not sure I’ll care. I’m pretty sure I won’t care. Nope. Won’t care. I won’t even know.<br /><br />The mailing was addressed to “Mr. and Mrs.” Curious Crumb, which is odd, since there’s only one of us and we’re neither Mr. nor Mrs. There are teasing questions meant to, I suppose, send me into a tizzy of death-preparation: “What 6 phone calls must be made?” (Can one make phone calls posthumously?). “How about lawyers fees?” (Can lawyers collect fees posthumously?).<br /><br />The photographs show bland and formally dressed couples on site admiring the beds of blooming tulips, a memorial to the Declaration of Independence, and a large fountain banked by two columns. (“Do you need a will?”). One couple is staring at a wall. I’m guessing that this wall has something to do with ashes but it just looks like a wall. A boring, brown wall. And there’s a man and a woman staring at it. (“How do you claim benefit payments?” is what at least one of them is thinking).<br /><br />The accompanying letter is on stationery that’s topped with a logo designed sometime in the 1950s. The company is <a href="http://www.pinelawnmemorialpark.com/welcome.htm">Pinelawn® Memorial Park and Garden Mausoleums.</a> Their tag line is “The Largest In the East.” Is that meant to be comforting? Lots of company? Never be lonely in death? We won’t run out of space?<br /><br />Regardless of that fact that I don’t intend on dying anytime soon, and have nothing to leave anyone anyway (“What does survivor do with will?”), the fact that Pinelawn® is located on Long Island pretty much put the last nail in that coffin. Yeah, let’s face that: I don’t want to live on Long Island when I’m alive, and I don’t want to be stuck there when I’m dead either.Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07527428700424496091noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7293549211566230227.post-85303817936082691812009-02-28T18:45:00.001-05:002009-02-28T19:04:34.957-05:00Tailored Seduction<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJi7Bot6561iDwXXeCY1BDsEn1M4JX85_G9cvPkSTKqbtbSLdzJrDAGvV7m5tPAcK1hOt2bdPu8imrrcqOiqk3IdG_RKFunYxK3K2YK2Wvi9Gl0guTj75blu3TE_CHmtxGeW7djoJSKtEK/s1600-h/Charm+suit.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 241px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJi7Bot6561iDwXXeCY1BDsEn1M4JX85_G9cvPkSTKqbtbSLdzJrDAGvV7m5tPAcK1hOt2bdPu8imrrcqOiqk3IdG_RKFunYxK3K2YK2Wvi9Gl0guTj75blu3TE_CHmtxGeW7djoJSKtEK/s320/Charm+suit.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307998728983217986" border="0" /></a>I had a bit of an epiphany this weekend. Not about the meaning of life or how to enjoy a recession or why we are all but grains of sand, etc., etc. This epiphany was more important than any of that, and much more life-changing. I had a sudden realization about the worth of tailoring.<br /><br />A friend and I went to the museum at the Fashion Institute of Technology to see a show called “Gothic: Dark Glamour.” (Now closed, not very good, you didn’t miss much). The real eye-opener was the other show, “Seduction.” It’s pretty straightforward: seduction in fashion, 250 years of it.<br /><br />My friend and I were looking at an amazing evening gown, a strapless, straight-skirted number from the 1950s. Steps away were the 1960s. I looked back at the 1950s. Then to the 60s. It occurred to me that, although I had always thought that 1950s fashion was completely revisionist and a step backwards in terms of women’s apparel and, by extension, feminism, these clothes were in a way more liberating than the fashions in the following decades.<br /><br />Because the onus used to be on the clothes. But we’ve gone from wearing structured clothing to treating our bodies as if they are capable of the same tailoring. Plastic surgery, Botox, peels, treatments, exercise ad nauseum–our bodies cannot be taken in, darted, pleated and tucked so they become “perfect”, whatever that means. The perfect dress, however, can, and that is one of the reasons it’s perfect. The well-cut suit, or custom-made shirt, or tailored dress is perfect because it’s properly fitted which means it ought to both look good and be comfortable. It’s not a trade-off.<br /><br />The fifties were the twilight of the girdle and accompanying restrictive undergarments. The fifties were also the twilight of a type of tailoring (the dresses in the show were, of course, couture–we should all be so lucky) that worked with the wearer’s body. Cut and tailoring should complement and focus on the good aspects of the wearer’s figure, and hide the not-so-good. That’s what a talented designer should have in mind when designing clothes. The sixties and later were more about body-consciousness in the name of freedom and feminism, and tailoring went out the window. But when a dress is a simple shift–beautiful in its own right–there’s not enough there to hide anything. Or with hot pants or mini-skirts or long gowns slit down the front and up the side. Besides, true seduction is subtle, it's a hint, a whisper...not an anvil used to crush a peanut.<br /><br />I think it would be a relief for many women to wear a properly made suit and not worry about how their arms or their thighs or their derrière look. To be comfortable wearing a smashing dress and feel the accompanying lift in self-confidence. To know that summer wouldn’t mean another liposuction surgery, but instead a trip to the dressmaker’s, which is quicker, easier, cheaper, and healthier.<br /><br />(btw, <span style="font-style: italic;">Charm</span> was a mag later folded in Glamour.)Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07527428700424496091noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7293549211566230227.post-18050836255871598862009-02-16T19:52:00.005-05:002009-02-16T20:05:54.995-05:00The Boom's Bombed<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtSG3IzPCCrSGpVkJD0Dd-lWrxASLvDa1g2uA3CDQPNqmBVyqYml7JrLcK9n5UIdmxlDjUvXwSB6ZyVVbKJbIJ_obBSosEYKIPINBJYT2wf-NivDy3iNSYJFJjBCR6Rz7LpkM8ijKKGP0M/s1600-h/HirstSkull2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 223px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtSG3IzPCCrSGpVkJD0Dd-lWrxASLvDa1g2uA3CDQPNqmBVyqYml7JrLcK9n5UIdmxlDjUvXwSB6ZyVVbKJbIJ_obBSosEYKIPINBJYT2wf-NivDy3iNSYJFJjBCR6Rz7LpkM8ijKKGP0M/s320/HirstSkull2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303565766627535586" border="0" /></a>In the fall of 2007, I finished a magazine article about the art market for the finance trade magazine I’ve written for on a regular basis. I’d been working in it for months. I spoke with auction house people, gallery people, art consultant people, money people, collector people and even some people people. My final effort was attending Christie’s modern and contemporary evening sale in mid-November. (The image at left is Damien Hirst's "For the Love of God", which was not at Christie's). The party was, in many ways, over after that night, although the truth wasn’t acknowledge until the following year and the November 2008 auctions only served to nail the point home.<br /><br /> As an artist of sorts myself, and not one who will likely earn as much in my lifetime as the amount for a single painting offered at Christie’s that night, I’ve long been struggling with the challenge of balancing what I distinguish as a job versus work. A job pays money which pays my rent. Work is my real work–writing fiction–and it ain’t paying for nothing right now and might not ever. That’s the reality I’ve accepted, as have many people I know who are in the same boat. Yep, there’s a boat and we’re sitting in it together looking for land, drifting in a sea that dislikes experimentation, play, and eccentricity. Doesn’t sell! it tells us. No money in it! it insists.<br /><br /> This <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/02/15/arts/design/15cott.html">article</a> in The New York Times by Holland Cotter corresponds nicely to my thoughts about art and the recession, particularly this bit:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">It’s day-job time again in America, and that’s O.K. Artists have always had them — van Gogh the preacher, Pollock the busboy, Henry Darger the janitor — and will again. The trick is to try to make them an energy source, not a chore.</span><br /><br />I’m not convinced that van Gogh ever made a real living as a preacher, or at anything, but that small point aside, the trick, as Cotter says, is to have a job that’s not a chore, that doesn’t sap all the energy and imagination that it takes to create, while paying enough for rent and food on a regular basis. Those jobs are getting rarer. I’ve first-hand experience of this. Twenty years of it.<br /><br />But Cotter offers some land:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">At the same time, if the example of past crises holds true, artists can also take over the factory, make the art industry their own.</span><br /><br />Which is what needs to happen. <span style="font-style: italic;">Aux armes</span>! Seize the factories, comrades! Artists unite! If recessions are good for nothing else, they’re often good for art. The shackles of making a living drop away, through shear unlikeliness, as do conventions. Yes, a sigh of relief. We can be weird again. As Cotter puts it: “a condition of abnormality can be sustained.” The condition of abnormality that is imperative for true creativity to happen. I’m glad we all agree now that we can redirect our boat, maybe break off into little boats, or flotillas, or a kind of new boat, just invented, and be eccentric, strange, do what we like without concern for “the marketplace” because the marketplace is gone, gone, gone. Do what you gots to do to keep a roof over your head, but don’t forget what the real work is. The work that doesn’t always pay in dollars but does is so many other ways that a market cannot appreciate or understand.Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07527428700424496091noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7293549211566230227.post-83057272439503463102009-01-29T17:55:00.002-05:002009-01-29T18:07:01.597-05:00Expertly Napping<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihxb3gX6rVwCwbzuzeWXDnkO7waD-FXo3h9lEXC__68q5vHyr3hOC3CzPOKoqIjn2mZBh9qMqbS4sH-bpsAv2RkVAItDRKJ97fTG_H_8BaU5F9fvATg_Sabbkt3OfpsbA8Yh0kkJzNYsWN/s1600-h/Maxine+091504+Z.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihxb3gX6rVwCwbzuzeWXDnkO7waD-FXo3h9lEXC__68q5vHyr3hOC3CzPOKoqIjn2mZBh9qMqbS4sH-bpsAv2RkVAItDRKJ97fTG_H_8BaU5F9fvATg_Sabbkt3OfpsbA8Yh0kkJzNYsWN/s320/Maxine+091504+Z.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296854376660181394" border="0" /></a>Boy, am I on a roll. This <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2009/jan/27/napping-guide-health-wellbeing">bit</a> from The Guardian is what I've been searching for my entire life to justify my love of napping. Turns out, napping can improve alertness, lower blood pressure, reduce stress, and, in general, make the world a happier place. This article even gives instructions. If there's a Society of Napping out there, I should join it. If there's not, I should start it. I don't nap every day, but some days there just ain't no functioning without one.<br />(And, yes, that is a cute kitten picture. So sue me.)Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07527428700424496091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7293549211566230227.post-75994001610576113842009-01-27T12:53:00.006-05:002009-01-28T12:15:41.518-05:00Bombs away!...please.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgtehdhPGKvFRR81OGefi6St2Cf7i55E4QZl7Z_Uk9dY6-qNj3vrAv3CLCm7Dd9J37q9zJ4nA0QUgiwqcW_Z8jSIzHitHp5lbqZFiO9fHblzRav3xN9tSAz-XT3-T3BfDPNg8m8NKrZTOg/s1600-h/world-war-2-bomb.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgtehdhPGKvFRR81OGefi6St2Cf7i55E4QZl7Z_Uk9dY6-qNj3vrAv3CLCm7Dd9J37q9zJ4nA0QUgiwqcW_Z8jSIzHitHp5lbqZFiO9fHblzRav3xN9tSAz-XT3-T3BfDPNg8m8NKrZTOg/s320/world-war-2-bomb.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296038996325716578" border="0" /></a>I've flown into Berlin's Tegel Airport a few times and I can't say it ever occurred to me that old buried munitions would give the term "final descent" a new and slightly macabre twist. According to this piece in <a href="http://www.spiegel.de/international/germany/0,1518,603129,00.html">Der Spiegel</a> (yes, I've been reading it a lot lately), the fact that there are WW II bombs buried under the tarmac is no secret. This coming spring, they'll finally be removed and disposed of from Tegel and another 500 give-or-take other sites (but who's counting?). Unexploded WW II-era bombs are actually not uncommon in Germany (<a href="http://www.spiegel.de/international/germany/0,1518,584091,00.html">here's</a> an interesting article about that), along with other weaponry–a construction site in Berlin recently uncovered a stash of weapons. That I knew. But the fact that there are live bombs close to the surface of an active runway at an international airport–bombs which become more unstable as they age–and it was known does make me wonder. Did the authorities calculate the odds? Every 9 out of 10 planes? Anyway, who am I kidding? I wouldn't have changed my travel plans even if I had known. I like a gamble.Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07527428700424496091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7293549211566230227.post-24900390851946480512009-01-26T19:16:00.004-05:002009-01-28T12:18:18.113-05:00It's just a jump to the left...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCTRkQbgM0J7X77ZlRKKFlx7YNzuX6bkyN2WbuDzx-wEdDq-94pi_mvuQfg9Fboi5XBC9sHF02BiVWG3X5uVXkTay44Edb3of5-V9uG_rTVzpjqu-GalU54pumlpg6k4i2PdwwQ_AQ44IT/s1600-h/altbau.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 199px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCTRkQbgM0J7X77ZlRKKFlx7YNzuX6bkyN2WbuDzx-wEdDq-94pi_mvuQfg9Fboi5XBC9sHF02BiVWG3X5uVXkTay44Edb3of5-V9uG_rTVzpjqu-GalU54pumlpg6k4i2PdwwQ_AQ44IT/s320/altbau.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295763168607146850" border="0" /></a>Many who know me are familiar with my interest in East Germany. This slight obsession dates back to the few months in 2000 when I spent lived in an apartment in Friedrichshain, a neighbourhood that was part of East Berlin. I shared this apartment in an <span style="font-style: italic;">altbau</span> with the French-German owner of a health food store and his dog Paula. Across the street was another <span style="font-style: italic;">altbau</span> that was filled with squatters. They had painted the entire front of their 5-storey building–a tank, gas canisters, skulls, a wrecking bomb. (This photo is not that building. All my photos are still on paper. One day I will digitize). There was a mud sculpture park next door. The front of my building was covered in graffiti and looked somewhat abandoned, but the apartments were beautiful. The heater in my room was a ceramic coal heater–there was a bucket of coal and a shovel next to it. There was a Trabant collectors club nearby. Ah, the glamorous East!<br /><br />There was an interesting mix of old and new then and plenty of reminders of the recent DDR past. So of course a headline like this would intrigue me: <a href="http://www.spiegel.de/international/zeitgeist/0,1518,603515,00.html">East German Time Warp</a>. This is a short article from the International (read: English) version of Der Spiegel. An architect who was working on a building in Leipzig opened the door to an apartment long shut. It seems this apartment was very hastily abandoned sometime in early 1989–so hastily that there are still ashes in the ashtray, dirty pots, and old–really old–bread on the counter.<br /><br />Of course, I can afford to treat these matters with curiosity and a certain level of amusement because I didn’t have to actually live through them. The people I know who did have direct experience with the East have, how shall I put it? a slightly different take. For anyone who wants an idea of what it was like, I highly recommend the 2006 film <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0405094/"><span style="font-style: italic;">Das Leben der Anderen/The Lives Of Others</span></a>.Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07527428700424496091noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7293549211566230227.post-85834201897877941322008-11-06T15:59:00.003-05:002009-02-28T18:50:01.329-05:00Fashion: Is there any hope for me?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVvANPPCLROYVAkK1Ga0brJq01F-StWBE6jqE0fvYzlkyvW05S9K_EHr_21MjoCnV3jwCuhGuL52MVyu1Ilx639CTYSo9vYjdV7NIULH_bhu_EBYdv4HBWgmCcQHJQDYLxga05mRipsF6V/s1600-h/cl+ankle+boots.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVvANPPCLROYVAkK1Ga0brJq01F-StWBE6jqE0fvYzlkyvW05S9K_EHr_21MjoCnV3jwCuhGuL52MVyu1Ilx639CTYSo9vYjdV7NIULH_bhu_EBYdv4HBWgmCcQHJQDYLxga05mRipsF6V/s320/cl+ankle+boots.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265654532540052482" border="0" /></a><span style="display: block;" id="formatbar_Buttons"><span class="on" style="display: block;" id="formatbar_CreateLink" title="Link" onmouseover="ButtonHoverOn(this);" onmouseout="ButtonHoverOff(this);" onmouseup="" onmousedown="CheckFormatting(event);FormatbarButton('richeditorframe', this, 8);ButtonMouseDown(this);"><img src="img/blank.gif" alt="Link" class="gl_link" border="0" /></span></span><br /><br /><br /><br />Here's some more Hadley Freeman for you, this time addressing <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2008/nov/03/fashion-style-high-heel-shoes">the age-old question of heels</a>: why, how, why, what, why, why, and–the big question–why? Enjoy.<a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2008/nov/03/fashion-style-high-heel-shoes"><br /></a>Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07527428700424496091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7293549211566230227.post-30170766317659795632008-11-06T15:47:00.006-05:002008-11-06T15:58:52.175-05:00Yes, We Can!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzghtqR4wwACEze9214mNEIlxxvM0SoEdtrnO2mfyP9HUDt1d-KvMFCMw9zbrixiEhBjvxJ2iRudRuQyhsZhLK2nu1oo2CMeela8ttwG1m9SjXvtiUPEUXactweHcBKZ71eUEnUWrFAJ73/s1600-h/RockCtr1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzghtqR4wwACEze9214mNEIlxxvM0SoEdtrnO2mfyP9HUDt1d-KvMFCMw9zbrixiEhBjvxJ2iRudRuQyhsZhLK2nu1oo2CMeela8ttwG1m9SjXvtiUPEUXactweHcBKZ71eUEnUWrFAJ73/s320/RockCtr1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265649708571219154" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQlaB3zfN-aiDIpB669QP-UOWBSSxuH0nqjJgBYoZQV0fO7NhlPrFObDdqqDve48ix0J1U2WbSG7VtO1xrDO6CpW_yYHPxw69L03ZpwKigZoy9YXQuWQxsJjlsZU1M0bq_5m5MMDjuBXCs/s1600-h/RockCtr4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQlaB3zfN-aiDIpB669QP-UOWBSSxuH0nqjJgBYoZQV0fO7NhlPrFObDdqqDve48ix0J1U2WbSG7VtO1xrDO6CpW_yYHPxw69L03ZpwKigZoy9YXQuWQxsJjlsZU1M0bq_5m5MMDjuBXCs/s320/RockCtr4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265650061963939778" border="0" /></a>Here are some shots taken with my cellphone at Rockefeller Center on the historic eve of November 4, 2008. Barely minutes (which I guess would make it seconds) after I took these shots, the little blue Obama-meter started a slow, slow climb (they were really dragging it out) and hit 270 Electoral votes. It paused. People were excited. Then, slowly, slowly (very theatrical, milking the drama, they were) it resumed its ascendancy, and everyone knew that Barack Obama had won the Presidency. And then people were very, very excited.<br />It's nice to be a part of something like that, every once in a while. Or every lifetime or so.<br />There were also many tourists there, particularly from the northern-most reaches of Europe, observing the Americans and their election. And a Japanese t.v. crew. Hey, everyone was excited.<br />The flags were set up around the famous Rockefeller ice rink, which had a map of the country projected (or drawn, not sure) on it with the states turning blue or red as votes were counted.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyIJtspUu6MjBb7LOEBi4D78OqW-KBgmu7t1v4C9tH8ghjE057vmJ_2mmWcv8V_at-3ehio5yYwRAbV6ppJb1xv0UeJd9Z12ICJbtQ-hzFu6uwUKUwiBEmThYOMHp6tqU5TOwgrlD-cJOl/s1600-h/RockCtr3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyIJtspUu6MjBb7LOEBi4D78OqW-KBgmu7t1v4C9tH8ghjE057vmJ_2mmWcv8V_at-3ehio5yYwRAbV6ppJb1xv0UeJd9Z12ICJbtQ-hzFu6uwUKUwiBEmThYOMHp6tqU5TOwgrlD-cJOl/s320/RockCtr3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265649883525752770" border="0" /></a>Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07527428700424496091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7293549211566230227.post-41031444781735645792008-11-03T18:03:00.004-05:002008-11-03T18:55:47.747-05:00Bugspotting<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtHqT5qseRWbjCig1XvkLilC2im4u2G3o-iPXTQI31aVUdcywgDBs3mFtzIq8UXlK-S7-_CoItCwY8_kG25z-GYzcFAqvdONX_G4KH-DNr2Q2kNW8SZD36FDT_xziKUBv99uDlFmVo7X0y/s1600-h/Thornbush+dasher.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 212px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtHqT5qseRWbjCig1XvkLilC2im4u2G3o-iPXTQI31aVUdcywgDBs3mFtzIq8UXlK-S7-_CoItCwY8_kG25z-GYzcFAqvdONX_G4KH-DNr2Q2kNW8SZD36FDT_xziKUBv99uDlFmVo7X0y/s320/Thornbush+dasher.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264577669839480866" border="0" /></a>A few summers ago, in my old apartment, a dragonfly very similar to this one flew in through the kitchen window. It was large, about 3 to 4 inches long. My cat caught it. I finally managed to get it back out the window, worse for wear, I'm afraid, and I did not feel very confident of its chances for survival.<br /><br />If I had known about <a href="http://www.odonatacentral.org/">http://www.odonatacentral.org</a>, I would have looked it up and figured out what exactly was frantically flying around my kitchen. To this day, I feel bad about the poor thing.<br /><br />There are quite a few bug i.d. sites. One of my favourites is <a href="http://www.whatsthatbug.com/">http://www.whatsthatbug.com</a>. Take a look at their Bug Love and Unnecessary Carnage pages. The people who run this site are very anti-bug killing, and so I am. Catch and release if you must, but insect murder is only excusable in cases of imminent death - for you, not the bug. And those cases are pretty rare, even in the tropics and places like Australia, where I grew up, and where the bugs are too large to kill with requiring a major clean-up operation afterwards, so why bother. Keep a glass jar on hand for catch and release purposes. Works a charm, it does.<br /><br />Here's another good site: <a href="http://bugguide.net/">http://bugguide.net</a>. With all these wonderful insect resources on the interwebs, there's no need to rush madly about with a tennis racket like Woody Allen in "Annie Hall". Bugs are charming and fascinating. Just look at this moth from Mexico: isn't this the most beautiful thing you've ever seen in your entire, complete life?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeHfExlwSw-yvVR2dFcKAx4G1jijrodcG1T_0lqHBPALJi-Au6gYOX_OEW2w00x543DWNn0ASkn4FcARD_pABq3MdXv8pa2Xf630DXrDvj6KjRD7ycAcGLW2GdkXTjnK2ZoKeGVFeLN4uc/s1600-h/orange_moth_mexico-300x231.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 231px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeHfExlwSw-yvVR2dFcKAx4G1jijrodcG1T_0lqHBPALJi-Au6gYOX_OEW2w00x543DWNn0ASkn4FcARD_pABq3MdXv8pa2Xf630DXrDvj6KjRD7ycAcGLW2GdkXTjnK2ZoKeGVFeLN4uc/s320/orange_moth_mexico-300x231.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264584030586884002" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://bugguide.net/"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></a>Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07527428700424496091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7293549211566230227.post-12831879109656160602008-08-27T16:09:00.009-04:002008-08-27T16:31:25.048-04:00"Why don't boys wear dresses?"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB6o1jUuthN8g0fi0E6HJO4AQFOxYwmB5Frjg5LrTSeI_Nq8Kr_GTBUGn1Mk1TG68uWY0csHghECeFl43E0DboIvrYkD43otaiZz4wfYiIW7kgb1QBgFIBY03fvCHjQ9zCDJ65LA_1M5Fb/s1600-h/mandress.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB6o1jUuthN8g0fi0E6HJO4AQFOxYwmB5Frjg5LrTSeI_Nq8Kr_GTBUGn1Mk1TG68uWY0csHghECeFl43E0DboIvrYkD43otaiZz4wfYiIW7kgb1QBgFIBY03fvCHjQ9zCDJ65LA_1M5Fb/s320/mandress.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5239297453673971218" border="0" /></a><br />Below is a link to "Ask Hadley," Hadley Freeman's feature in the <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/">Guardian UK.</a> Freeman is the only fashion journalist I know of who employs an actual <span style="font-style: italic;">sense of humour</span> when writing about <span style="font-style: italic;">la mode</span>. She's not afraid to take the piss when piss needs–demands!–to be taken, and, with fashion, that's most of the time.<br /><br />The first bit is about Keira Knightley's odd photo look. Read, but continue on to the real gem, question 2: "Why don't boys wear dresses?" Not only is Freeman's answer spot-on, but this is how all answers should be given to three-and-three-quarter-aged questioners. <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2008/aug/25/fashion.women"><br /><br />http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2008/aug/25/fashion.women</a><br /><br />(The photo, by the way, is from a fashion spoof site: <a href="http://www.lileks.com/institute/dorcus/index.html">The Dorcus Line</a>.)Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07527428700424496091noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7293549211566230227.post-36567777923229310012008-06-30T16:19:00.007-04:002008-07-01T11:44:55.631-04:00Yes, It Is A Recession<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjam9zQifD4pWYAwxkFKJc8X9mFWPgabs9OBdOv35O-v4G8_WKss1tDpvWxQ4oryUkE1DCKlVfQ1tbhzy2gyzlyGDUE6_hH220kV9obKIM24aVKkYtJP6JofFLwYcMK5eJtrlWLc5QPzd2u/s1600-h/00180m.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjam9zQifD4pWYAwxkFKJc8X9mFWPgabs9OBdOv35O-v4G8_WKss1tDpvWxQ4oryUkE1DCKlVfQ1tbhzy2gyzlyGDUE6_hH220kV9obKIM24aVKkYtJP6JofFLwYcMK5eJtrlWLc5QPzd2u/s320/00180m.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217773139660407330" border="0" /></a><span><span style="font-weight: bold;">How to Fabulize Your Wardrobe</span><br /><br />I was in a café with some friends recently when the French Waitress, employing her Charming French Accent to good affect, approached a member of our group.<br />“Excuse me,” she said. “But may I ask you a very intimate question?”<br />“Uh, yes,” responded my surprised friend.<br />Conversation ceased immediately. We were all all ears.<br />“Who is your shirt?” asked the <span style="font-style: italic;">serveuse</span>.<br />My friend gave the name of a designer. The other members of our table, disappointed, resumed talking.<br />“At least you didn’t have to say Forever 21,” I quipped.<br />“Or H&M, like the rest of my wardrobe,” she replied.<br />This little episode set a thought process going in my brain. Why not Forever 21*, but with a twist?<br /><br /></span><span><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-style: italic;">Toujours Ving-et-un</span></span><br /><br /><span><span style="font-style: italic;"> Per Sempre Vent-uno</span></span><br /><br /><span><span style="font-style: italic;"> Immer Einundzwanzig</span></span><br /></div></div><span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span> Sounds...mysterious. Foreign. Stylish. I should write ad copy for a living.<br />Really what I’m doing is borrowing a technique from the cosmetics industry, where making up vaguely French-sounding names and throwing in a few redundant accents for good measure has long been industry practice. Consider: Hydrience, Prevage, Curél, Pharmagel’s Eye Beauté (yes, beauté is a French word but why not “beauty”?).<br /><br />Target has long been mocked as <span style="font-style: italic;">Targé</span>, but other options are: <span style="font-style: italic;">Die Zie, La Cible</span> or <span style="font-style: italic;">L’Objectif.</span> I particularly like <span style="font-style: italic;">L’Objectif</span>. It sounds so Central Intelligence Agency.<br /><br />Consider: <span style="font-style: italic;">La Vielle Marine; Die Lücke; Nove Ovest</span>.** If you’re wearing H&M, be sure to say <span style="font-style: italic;">Hennes and Mauritz</span>–most people won’t figure that out. Or go one better and Swedish it up with <span style="font-style: italic;">Hennes och Mauritz</span>. <span style="font-style: italic;">Uniqlo</span> is already hipster-fabulous. To out-hipster the hipsters means learning a little Japanese pronunciation: <span style="font-style: italic;">Kabushiki-gaisha yunikuro</span>. Better yet: 株式会社ユニクロ.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">*Their despicable labour practices is why not, but that’s for another post<br />** I make no claims as to the legitimacy of these translations¬–but then, neither do many retailers with theirs.</span><br /><br /></span>Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07527428700424496091noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7293549211566230227.post-47250965470509205632008-06-23T21:52:00.003-04:002008-06-23T22:01:20.086-04:00This is a fantastic short film about tailor and business owner Martin Greenfield of GGG Clothiers, which I found on <a href="http://racked.com/">http://racked.com</a><br />The beauty of independently-owned businesses and the artform of making custom suits.<br /><br /><object height="225" width="400"> <param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"> <param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"> <param name="movie" value="http://www.vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=1213401&server=www.vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1"> <embed src="http://www.vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=1213401&server=www.vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" height="225" width="400"></embed></object><br /><a href="http://www.vimeo.com/1213401?pg=embed&sec=1213401">Martin the Tailor</a> from <a href="http://www.vimeo.com/user553829?pg=embed&sec=1213401">Ed David</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/?pg=embed&sec=1213401">Vimeo</a>. <span style="display: block;" id="formatbar_Buttons"><span class="on" style="display: block;" id="formatbar_CreateLink" title="Link" onmouseover="ButtonHoverOn(this);" onmouseout="ButtonHoverOff(this);" onmouseup="" onmousedown="CheckFormatting(event);FormatbarButton('richeditorframe', this, 8);ButtonMouseDown(this);"></span></span>Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07527428700424496091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7293549211566230227.post-78323690061791026162008-06-17T22:53:00.002-04:002008-06-17T23:10:04.611-04:00Ventilation: A new feature where I vent<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia-fNDdvoFtoPqYAeFezQN9hSvg9zCFU0vTQqAviC9NPhgG5STuey6rGYFIJbSS3UD9RVyE8GqnjM36U85e80f5M2tmXsZ6RBx4R1MxZnjev3iTEK1hUqys_xM2XsrJxsA-wXscE0areuf/s1600-h/3+tenners.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia-fNDdvoFtoPqYAeFezQN9hSvg9zCFU0vTQqAviC9NPhgG5STuey6rGYFIJbSS3UD9RVyE8GqnjM36U85e80f5M2tmXsZ6RBx4R1MxZnjev3iTEK1hUqys_xM2XsrJxsA-wXscE0areuf/s320/3+tenners.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213051944531493090" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-weight: bold;">Operatic elephant, monkey, & walrus<br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></div></div><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></div>An Open Letter to PBS<br /><br />Dear PBS:<br /><br />We’ve all survived yet another PBS fundraiser. And yet again, by some unfathomable logic, you’ve replaced your regular programming. The shows that I regularly watch were M.I.A. Instead, there were televised abominations. I’d rather have my eyelids glued open while being forced to watch back-to-back “Everybody Loves Raymond”<span style="font-weight: bold;"></span> re-runs than suffer through your fundraising fare.<br /><br />I do not want to see:<br /><br />1. Irish dancers in any configuration<br />2. André Rieu in any configuration<br />3. Peter, Paul, and Mary in concert<br />4. Any musical act from the 60s reunited in concert<br />5. Sarah Brightman<br />6. The Three Tenors<br />7. Anyone lecturing in an extremely earnest manner about staying young & living longer & with more money & feeling better & being happy because we "deserve" to.<br /><br />No one should ever have to see or hear (especially hear) Sarah Brightman. PBS, if you show Sarah Brightman again, I am going to report you the U.N. Human Rights Commission.<br /><br />I will not send you money when you continue to replace Nature on Sunday evenings. If you want money from me, show Nature at 8 p.m, regular programming. Or show more Nature. I want elephants, monkeys, and walruses, not their operatic equivalents.<br /><br />When PBS fundraises, they target Boomers. This is the only possible explanation for the re-re-re-re-re-re-repeats of shows featuring Pete Seeger, Petula Clark, Jimi Hendrix, Roy Orbison, and “My Music: My Generation–The 60s.” I think Jimi Hendrix was a genius. I like Roy Orbison. But no one who watches PBS needs to see these tired old programs again. Especially Boomers, who already spend too much time wallowing in nostalgia and trying desperately to maintain a semblance of their long-vanished youth.<br /><br />PBS, you are alienating an entire generation–mine–which will one day, when the Boomers run out of money after they’ve spent all theirs on plastic surgery, Botox, and gas for their SUVs, be your fundraising target. Think about this.<br /><br />But perhaps I am not giving PBS enough credit. Perhaps they are employing a level of reverse psychology too sophisticated for me to grasp: they want to annoy me. They’re hoping I’ll become so annoyed that I’ll pay them to make The Three Tenors go away.<br /><br />Okay, PBS, you win. How much will it cost to ensure that you never, ever show The Three Tenors again? Ever?<br /><br />Name your price. I hope you take credit cards. And I still want the free tote bag.Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07527428700424496091noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7293549211566230227.post-56472538733773457692008-06-02T17:31:00.003-04:002008-06-02T17:58:29.276-04:00Bad Woman<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj129B9mHb-pfd2TISXE5FrmRbgycGfHecGAk5z1uMYRCO3xEeNPZt7dLeSJ9g-AVIBWm43hKPE-327L_Dot5k_f5UiBKXE6QzsvzdLlHkdrbOPIqbABXF8fo0OHzv9NPAD0GzIG7BzKQM2/s1600-h/Bad+Woman.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj129B9mHb-pfd2TISXE5FrmRbgycGfHecGAk5z1uMYRCO3xEeNPZt7dLeSJ9g-AVIBWm43hKPE-327L_Dot5k_f5UiBKXE6QzsvzdLlHkdrbOPIqbABXF8fo0OHzv9NPAD0GzIG7BzKQM2/s320/Bad+Woman.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207400548763528386" border="0" /></a> This here is a skull that's part of the collection of a certain Ivy League university in New York City (not naming names, of course). Rest assured, this is a real skull and not a cast. The words "Bad Woman" are written across the top (along with, unfortunately, now-unreadable text). Who was this woman? Who knows. Maybe she was a thief, a prostitute, mentally ill, diseased, or just poor. Or intelligent. Or stubborn. Or all of the above. For whatever reason, her skull was deemed worthy of preservation and thusly labeled.<br /><br />Keep in mind that the aforenotmentioned University only became co-ed in 1983, so she probably gained "admittance" before the rest of us. (I don't know when she joined their collection).<br /><br /> Examples such as this make me glad that, as misogynistic as the world still is, I'm alive now and no one will write "Bad Woman" on my skull once I've passed away. Unless I say so, dammit.<br /><br /> If being intelligent and stubborn equals a Bad Woman, then the writing's already there.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">*Many thanks to Amanda for taking this shot for me*</span>Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07527428700424496091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7293549211566230227.post-43219139610756050782008-05-18T12:57:00.003-04:002008-05-18T16:47:41.282-04:00Monkey Magic!<object height="355" width="425">This is the intro to a Japanese t.v. show based on a Chinese tale about the Monkey King. He, with two other deities thrown out of heaven for bad behaviour, accompanies the Buddhist monk Tripitaka to India to bring back Buddhist scrolls to China. Hilarity ensues. Be sure to groove down to the theme music.<param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/5iUMWy4hqAg&hl=en&rel=0"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/5iUMWy4hqAg&hl=en&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"></embed></object>Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07527428700424496091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7293549211566230227.post-76004082172647077392008-05-11T18:10:00.000-04:002008-05-11T18:27:39.198-04:00Miss Love<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcPzmRWYZNE6srDzlYrtOrULLRSJ58v3tVIoXfgXPFo0IeutB__5MhHRClxUDrvExK-8km95z0drxqR7Zl56ha35gFS2lSxrnlBxgMLiZJ799jimre1uxbiORJKyKwyCBS4xsFl57rbvah/s1600-h/100NIKON-DSCN0100_DSCN0100.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcPzmRWYZNE6srDzlYrtOrULLRSJ58v3tVIoXfgXPFo0IeutB__5MhHRClxUDrvExK-8km95z0drxqR7Zl56ha35gFS2lSxrnlBxgMLiZJ799jimre1uxbiORJKyKwyCBS4xsFl57rbvah/s320/100NIKON-DSCN0100_DSCN0100.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199247880894746498" border="0" /></a><br />Miss Love died early in her 92<span style="font-size:78%;">nd</span> year.<br />Scientific inference: Love + no marriage = long life.<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">(Miss Love is interred in Edgartown, MA.)</span>Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07527428700424496091noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7293549211566230227.post-71966292290155204062008-05-04T23:18:00.000-04:002008-05-11T18:31:48.628-04:00A Double-Header<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRtIzL-yDAwMYqtq7uRZ040SjqBkIlGYWXXDRXc2HIMR4-hT_NY4EQipOLZTCZWpRSxQ4eE1kXc6ex880nP52ILe6A8-w6NrJpTaqMUpfXDJdhKppILeXdSwMmekMI1L_JGtcXy3Chzjo5/s1600-h/Two-Headed+Baby+Skeleton.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRtIzL-yDAwMYqtq7uRZ040SjqBkIlGYWXXDRXc2HIMR4-hT_NY4EQipOLZTCZWpRSxQ4eE1kXc6ex880nP52ILe6A8-w6NrJpTaqMUpfXDJdhKppILeXdSwMmekMI1L_JGtcXy3Chzjo5/s320/Two-Headed+Baby+Skeleton.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196729921016729106" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Thanks to my brother Marc for taking this shot.<br /></span>Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07527428700424496091noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7293549211566230227.post-8631275866043440982008-04-27T23:40:00.000-04:002008-05-11T18:31:22.429-04:00orKids<div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD_DJDwyjayTyT5pEcbUEo4t05NERG2YJIm5nT7PLEqlz801ggK2xHdMGpzZ1ps0FOrU_XILHmDsjVZAYiN5GTGvVDP8gtM8B8mdRWFoErlv8Fuh0fRWJKZ0hNfHZ-pYWxBuKMl81ndOg-/s1600-h/IMG00125.jpg"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></a><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilcUDgjuBrpfq5hRGbtpf5DdQIk8mP1vowH2N6kjBtU_CgFz00mtWx4MSc7wOZf8PC7KXkdf7ItAlE5pts9xsIhWOhfn40mQKWwen-gteuYimZnLKeymeH-6l28XXDiV4z2IbzmvsEesCD/s1600-h/IMG00120.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilcUDgjuBrpfq5hRGbtpf5DdQIk8mP1vowH2N6kjBtU_CgFz00mtWx4MSc7wOZf8PC7KXkdf7ItAlE5pts9xsIhWOhfn40mQKWwen-gteuYimZnLKeymeH-6l28XXDiV4z2IbzmvsEesCD/s320/IMG00120.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194136830216801650" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpYR0kNK-tfEeFp0eH7yu9HdRAbAROJDmt3TQSafdrc4lVrpQI6G6ZXeRY-HyiJopjjLnNTUuleUMukWyjJVRXzMOpiDpeOwtcyc90OD2IYcBxiI3VIBcocQmSpY-nYqy2Zd9whjVVD1t4/s1600-h/IMG00122.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpYR0kNK-tfEeFp0eH7yu9HdRAbAROJDmt3TQSafdrc4lVrpQI6G6ZXeRY-HyiJopjjLnNTUuleUMukWyjJVRXzMOpiDpeOwtcyc90OD2IYcBxiI3VIBcocQmSpY-nYqy2Zd9whjVVD1t4/s320/IMG00122.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194136834511768962" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhta_8vqibD8SvTT7IPxM0OGwvFyC0xB7C59xMN70IuYM2wXUaJq1So4X2fALsXRWeGZpE27bOEZJ4ehEysNmtQwd2kmn0iafBcwtvd6l2B5fVpi43i71kgtbYxicMMDRMc2z73BAWddny2/s1600-h/IMG00123.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhta_8vqibD8SvTT7IPxM0OGwvFyC0xB7C59xMN70IuYM2wXUaJq1So4X2fALsXRWeGZpE27bOEZJ4ehEysNmtQwd2kmn0iafBcwtvd6l2B5fVpi43i71kgtbYxicMMDRMc2z73BAWddny2/s320/IMG00123.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194136834511768978" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggmoJ43kPErlQH0N4dbbqrc9Qu3U-WI1bx_UzVO_xY9tq0QZjuuyn1Cfl5LtX3r5iBgPmouBOX7ZT-bbK0qoTH9KsM3_hqtPtRqmAjqSF9U643SwN9n8XhqyaWPZ8hRHhRj_kDldI8Gb5L/s1600-h/IMG00117.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggmoJ43kPErlQH0N4dbbqrc9Qu3U-WI1bx_UzVO_xY9tq0QZjuuyn1Cfl5LtX3r5iBgPmouBOX7ZT-bbK0qoTH9KsM3_hqtPtRqmAjqSF9U643SwN9n8XhqyaWPZ8hRHhRj_kDldI8Gb5L/s320/IMG00117.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194136825921834338" border="0" /></a>Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07527428700424496091noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7293549211566230227.post-13765423995260941842008-04-20T16:23:00.000-04:002008-05-11T18:30:23.994-04:00Hospital Romance<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRdtE2U01Nt0uDPcDmD9YkN9SEf-YHBSbU876Ycc4ZQgIQZupatM0TTeTXLBY0z3swcyY2V5rWUTXWcDWtDHKGux_u3N1lawAE4DjzROOEnx18IvoGaiSxffkruCKjPiJnx_72tVhhJraI/s1600-h/hospital+romance.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRdtE2U01Nt0uDPcDmD9YkN9SEf-YHBSbU876Ycc4ZQgIQZupatM0TTeTXLBY0z3swcyY2V5rWUTXWcDWtDHKGux_u3N1lawAE4DjzROOEnx18IvoGaiSxffkruCKjPiJnx_72tVhhJraI/s400/hospital+romance.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5191428389625011282" border="0" /></a>Newspaper writing from 1911. Why I love archives. Click to enlarge. Worth reading.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJZuzRTzqEtcyLFj_eLu3xcEaFZ1afZb8HHLFN7NhWkqkc-4Km9cjoVBjDJiXN9h8nigfZjWYSmM19eya7Nq6SFB5xQA2nZAZFN-S1YHAFicNsk8_FNES-pb3C6ysBBu3A9UT1fPsFM11u/s1600-h/hospital+romance.jpg"><br /></a>Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07527428700424496091noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7293549211566230227.post-86080089298927491662008-04-17T23:42:00.000-04:002008-05-11T18:29:57.415-04:00Boo!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM16BEXiaD2EYYyyRI6Kcb-S0ricW-pvcIyw9ZqoQGLHpw-DGpX2EdMotAgarEkg-RWml41s1dRXPFHyY1JtdMOUGAGI5KKdk-vMP1E-92UDSq4MCPqmpwB7zOIp3pDQw8jfsyCB2hFhOC/s1600-h/100NIKON-DSCN0708_DSCN0708.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM16BEXiaD2EYYyyRI6Kcb-S0ricW-pvcIyw9ZqoQGLHpw-DGpX2EdMotAgarEkg-RWml41s1dRXPFHyY1JtdMOUGAGI5KKdk-vMP1E-92UDSq4MCPqmpwB7zOIp3pDQw8jfsyCB2hFhOC/s320/100NIKON-DSCN0708_DSCN0708.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194141103709261250" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4efHPXvg-2k33rXzuZIncKNIinmJXcX_ndaY_sJ-2AYNXULQ56zaUjCw-ShmE_WSnQbkOHq1rVsw-K7SRKgSPM0z7U9YgYrprWMuDKYyTCG9ua2txXDoPVjcpEREDnYrk-y68Tr3skhla/s1600-h/100NIKON-DSCN0709_DSCN0709.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4efHPXvg-2k33rXzuZIncKNIinmJXcX_ndaY_sJ-2AYNXULQ56zaUjCw-ShmE_WSnQbkOHq1rVsw-K7SRKgSPM0z7U9YgYrprWMuDKYyTCG9ua2txXDoPVjcpEREDnYrk-y68Tr3skhla/s320/100NIKON-DSCN0709_DSCN0709.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194141120889130450" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBH1BCkMSe6ehXdUN4X664vuQ78I1ZbRkvXgMySWO41cf2IjRYyYJPJg74dyVhcy5EcFdQSuBED7YoFW-MEMnMFPOrodZFKmrUAOZtM9S5Z1y0UuQ4giiFGTqOSRRozNKhW3Yi3rUe6-iA/s1600-h/100NIKON-DSCN0710_DSCN0710.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBH1BCkMSe6ehXdUN4X664vuQ78I1ZbRkvXgMySWO41cf2IjRYyYJPJg74dyVhcy5EcFdQSuBED7YoFW-MEMnMFPOrodZFKmrUAOZtM9S5Z1y0UuQ4giiFGTqOSRRozNKhW3Yi3rUe6-iA/s320/100NIKON-DSCN0710_DSCN0710.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194141125184097762" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZXzb80tnuxCqa3q4N2TY68Q-_cJawXhmsjhE9Tgej5dQfHjCraFDOov3XSootD0Kc31x0pQgT5YeadRQipdA9L2M5G9Vwc3FFK9wXIt6zeocrOUF0JFXXQvMrrH3ykrJ6kNKTBcu5vOxf/s1600-h/100NIKON-DSCN0711_DSCN0711.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZXzb80tnuxCqa3q4N2TY68Q-_cJawXhmsjhE9Tgej5dQfHjCraFDOov3XSootD0Kc31x0pQgT5YeadRQipdA9L2M5G9Vwc3FFK9wXIt6zeocrOUF0JFXXQvMrrH3ykrJ6kNKTBcu5vOxf/s320/100NIKON-DSCN0711_DSCN0711.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194141129479065074" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUHeF8RiHSakBl04Em_KarG1dN0Fjkpfb6fZ5LJ5TwRVo_e2Hx7p8OvT1p1inTPJoNPyRuoHxzbVSVYqf9kD0DXVdGKFJ0TXle8SZAny-NMX2d4sKNz2pa4b9w3PEVZojRepYccHmtcKjA/s1600-h/100NIKON-DSCN0713_DSCN0713.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUHeF8RiHSakBl04Em_KarG1dN0Fjkpfb6fZ5LJ5TwRVo_e2Hx7p8OvT1p1inTPJoNPyRuoHxzbVSVYqf9kD0DXVdGKFJ0TXle8SZAny-NMX2d4sKNz2pa4b9w3PEVZojRepYccHmtcKjA/s320/100NIKON-DSCN0713_DSCN0713.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194141133774032386" border="0" /></a>These are photos taken of some "roches gravées" (petroglyphs) on Basse Terre, Guadeloupe. These rock carvings were made by Arawak Indians, an indigenous tribe that occupied the islands around 300-400 C.E., and which has disappeared (apart from DNA, perhaps). To find this particular location, my traveling buddies and I drove in circles for half an hour, walked down a dirt road, climbed over a fallen chain link fence, hiked down a steep and twisting rock-strewn path before we reached the river with the rocks. Well worth it.Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07527428700424496091noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7293549211566230227.post-69336101122866329082008-04-10T12:24:00.000-04:002008-05-11T18:29:20.149-04:00A Short Introduction to Doof<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrc1usjj_UEyvy2R6j97mJBrbsfxy6CvxxGRgjpWjq47PxOEFlFf_dVdRqLXN3Gi5WFGcBZ6h5laCkjsCUKzplks5lXQ9_jOALxjkVUAE5PZIxFWmj2HVxXiVUTUsKI4ZDaly1fYd5tTke/s1600-h/Peepcu1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrc1usjj_UEyvy2R6j97mJBrbsfxy6CvxxGRgjpWjq47PxOEFlFf_dVdRqLXN3Gi5WFGcBZ6h5laCkjsCUKzplks5lXQ9_jOALxjkVUAE5PZIxFWmj2HVxXiVUTUsKI4ZDaly1fYd5tTke/s320/Peepcu1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187654039402363410" border="0" /></a>Allow me to introduce Doof. Doof is a word, a concept, and a fact of life. The more observant readers will notice that Doof is “food” spelled backwards. And that is exactly what Doof is–food in reverse. Non-food. Anti-food, the dietary equivalent of anti-matter.<br /> How can we recognize Doof? Here are some guidelines and questions to ask oneself before committing any Doof to one’s digestive tract:<br />1. Colour. Found in nature or a test-tube? Note that the pictured Peep is flourescent pink. Similar to flamingos and perhaps parrots. I don’t eat parrots. Or flamingos. Do you? Do you eat parrots? Why?<br />2. Ingredients. How many are there? More than 10 and it’s well on its way to Doof-ness. Do you even recognize them? Can you pronounce them without moving your lips? Any of them? One? If the answer is yes, are you a chemist?<br />3. Style vs substance. Nature does not give us “perfect” shapes (see: Oreo cookies, fish crackers), or “perfect” colour (see: maraschino cherries, margarine). Do the decorative assets triumph over nutritional value in the food product you are about to devour?<br />4. Purpose. Do you really need to eat this? Honestly? Is it from a prison vending machine, and the only option? Are there vending machines in prison?<br />5. Packaging. The ratio of packaging to food is often an indicator of Doof-ness. Peep packaging is overkill for a product which could be thrown in a bag. But then it wouldn’t look as nice.<br /><br /> Doof. Remember: just because it’s edible doesn’t mean it’s food.Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07527428700424496091noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7293549211566230227.post-11033057070918255622008-04-03T15:26:00.002-04:002008-05-12T13:37:19.685-04:00Da Head<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAGJG63XrBqvlcoRzXAExFxVQQSmGIU2B5srB-424W0fV1AWElOIedQ7cy-CG9EU3DgOxFvZnhM1ElDTyDQLrktxcRgsB94D280zUm5Agts6ya0I6EJaKezM2oh-yNtkNJ5V7T7DWzlMR7/s1600-h/DSCN0718.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAGJG63XrBqvlcoRzXAExFxVQQSmGIU2B5srB-424W0fV1AWElOIedQ7cy-CG9EU3DgOxFvZnhM1ElDTyDQLrktxcRgsB94D280zUm5Agts6ya0I6EJaKezM2oh-yNtkNJ5V7T7DWzlMR7/s400/DSCN0718.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185104385264438242" border="0" /></a><br />I have nothing to add.<br /><span style="font-size:78%;">(except that this shot was taken by my mahvelous friend Beth).</span>Daniellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07527428700424496091noreply@blogger.com