You can find anything on the Internets

I'm loving this: Sushi Finder

I never liked his art much...

...but I may have to rethink that.

David Hockney is moving back to England so that he can smoke wherever he wants.

(Via art.blogging.la)

Why I get my news online

Oliphant chimes in on the DSM.

You know, when I was in DC, I watched a lot of cable news, which I don't usually do, and really, if you didn't know better, you would think the only two things happening in the world last week were a missing girl in Aruba and the Michael Jackson trial. Very sad.

I am back at work today, for the moment anyway. Still viral. Feeling, in fact, like the life force has been sucked from me by some sort of vampiric force.

And so, in the interest of energy saving economy, here are two things:

First, KCRW's alert about the evisceration of public broadcasting.

Second, as you all probably know by now, the House voted to restrict the Patriot Act. Not so much of a stand as some of us would hope, but I guess the longest journey begins with a single step.

Germs and hate mail

Home from work today with that virus/cold thing mentioned below. I slept all day. I mean, we're talking all day. Then we had a real shaker when I was still in gradual wake-up mode. Enough of a shaker to send Nic the cat fleeing in terror for the bathroom. For whatever reason the tub functions as his cat bomb shelter.

So I have little to report right now. Big headache. One of my New Zealand friends, however, sent me a copy of a letter to the editor from this morning's NZ paper (no online link) and it's worth sharing:

US heads for fall
The result of the Jackson trial is further proof that the United States is a nation in decay. If Jackson were a dog in North Canterbury he would be put down. His tastes are bizarre and his demeanor is weird enough to be described as obscene. Yet he walks free.

Only in America could this happen.

This country, in its death throes--brought on faster by electing a president who is barely literate and who has all the charm of a dead ferret--spirals downwards daily. In the United States corruption rules, justice is measured in plea bargaining and Hollywood is where the gods live. This nation that now sees its inevitable fate has turned to Christianity, hoping that God is the way to salvation. Consequently, it has managed to turn Christianity into a freak show controlled by greedy showmen robbing gullible widows of their mite.

North America's turn as the leader of the planet will end in the next 10 years or so, when it will find itself a distant third to China and Europe in world leadership. We should look forward to its demise for the sakes of all our children.
Don Hutchings

I love that "all the charm of a dead ferret" line. Though I suspect dead ferrets may be more charming than living ones. (My apologies to ferret lovers out there. My experience with them has been a little too rodent-ish to endear me to the species.)

Fighting a cold

Me, that is. I have wanted to believe this is allergies, but I am shifting out of denial today. I blame US Air.

Which is to say, not much will probably happen on the blogging front today unless I rally.

In the meantime, check out the LA Times story on the Downing Street Memo. I honestly believe this sort of coverage wouldn't be happening were it not for the pressure from Blogville. Let's hear it for Shakespeare's Sister!

Photo highlights from DC

L and A and Archives








Barry Flanagan's Thinker on a Rock

And another thing

Read Shakespeare's Sister for the latest memos coming out about Iraq. It's pretty sickening. Stuff like this:

• Memo from Peter Ricketts (Political Director, UK Foreign and Commonwealth Office) to Jack Straw (UK Foreign Secretary), March 22, 2002

For Iraq, "regime change" does not stack up. It sounds like a grudge between Bush and Saddam. Much better, as you have suggested, to make the objective ending the threat to the international community from Iraqi WMD...

And cup holders...don't forget the cup holders....I'm sorry. I lost myself for a moment. I thought we were selling a car not talking about invading a foreign country. It's so easy to get those two things confused.

I know I am ridiculously--what's the word--not naive, maybe idealistic--ridiculously idealistic sometimes, but is it too much to ask that we don't market war. (For more on marketing and Iraq, see last December's post that talks about a government advisory board report on marketing the "US brand" to Middle Eastern Muslims with gems like this:

How will the U.S. define the role of its "brand" in terms of the needs and wants of key target audiences?
. . .
What images, icons and symbolic elements will help communicate and enrich this "brand" meaning?

Have I mentioned lately that I hate Capitalism?

Patriot act stuff

The ACLU's ED Anthony Romero is a guest blogger this week at TPM Cafe. If you haven't called your senator about the Patriot Act yet, please do. My fellow Californians can reach Diane "capitulation queen" Feinstein here: (202) 224-3841. Because she has become a poster child for the right wing (endorsing Rice, providing a quote for the White House FAQ on the Patriot Act, etc.) her vote is particularly important. The ACLU has a good site devoted to action against the act. I know that the bill of rights is my hobby horse, but even those not obsessed with the trashing of the Constitution will want to take the time to call their Senators. Unless you're a fan of secret searches and incarceration without judicial review, and I'm certain none of you are.

It's all coming clear to me now

The Guardian reported a couple of weeks ago on a hormone that increases trust when sniffed. They say it may help explain romantic relationships and business deals:

Oxytocin plays a role in the bonding between mother and suckling infant; it helps you feel that you "know" someone you have met before, and it plays a powerful role in romantic love and desire.

Now, Swiss scientists report in Nature today, a few molecules in the nostrils will make you more inclined to trust a business partner.

Personally, I'd love to be able to blame my frightful relationship with my ex on a chemical compound but I think the story noted below about love and mental illness may be more relevant.

On the other hand, as The Guardian notes, one fears the impact of these discoveries on the political sphere:

"Some may worry about the prospect that political operators will generously spray the crowd with oxytocin at rallies of their candidates," he adds in Nature.

"The scenario may be rather too close to reality for comfort, but those with such fears should note that current marketing techniques--for political and other products--may well exert their effects through the natural release of molecules such as oxytocin in response to well-crafted stimuli."

Yeah. That's what I'm talking about. Do you think they distribute the stuff like bottles of dristan at cabinet meetings and press conferences? It would certainly explain a lot. The reason it feels so much like political gaslight most of the time is that no one is sharing their oxytocin vials with us left wing bloggers. (And what's with the name? It's like an opiate for the dyslexic.)

(Thanks to S for the link.)

24

Here is a brief recreation of the highlights of the last 24 hours of my life:

2:00pm EST: We leave for Washington National.

3:30pm EST: I arrive at my gate in plenty of time despite the confluence of road construction and a bad accident on 95. "So far so good," is what I am thinking.

4:15pm EST: The flight leaves for Pittsburgh.

5:30pm EST: I arrive at my gate in Pittsburgh.

5:35pm EST: They close Pittsburgh airport.

5:45, 6:00, 6:15, 6:30: We receive "weather updates." [Note that Pittsburgh is the best place to be delayed as they have free wireless and a complete mall attached to the airport. However, as we are never given more than a 15-minute margin, the leash is too short to do anything but actively wait. I spend most of this time amusing myself by listening to the cluster of young IT guys, who must be on their way to a conference, discuss hardware in the way that other male population groups steal glances at each other in the locker room.]

7:00pm EST: The plane boards

7:00pm to 9:30pm EST: I sit in a stationary plane. Time loses meaning. The only forward progress is the actual rotation of the earth itself. The following events happen in some order during this time period:

The US Air people tell us that because of the thunderstorm, the ground crew was unable to work, so we are waiting for them to unload the luggage from the previous flight and load our luggage. This will take approximately a half hour.

I meet Cedric, the charming five-year-old sitting next to me.

The US Air people tell us that they had to remove some broken seats on the flight and now they are waiting for the person with the log book to return so the repair can get logged.

Cedric and I agree that we hate the US Air people.

We are informed that there is something wrong with the communication system and the technician is on the way.

Cedric tells me his transformer robot is going to suck my blood. I put up no resistance.

The technician is perplexed about how to fix the communication system in a fully boarded plane.

Cedric staves off thunderous boredom by converting the pillowcase into a chapeau.



We lose power and everything becomes pitch black for a moment. The techno-geek behind me explains, "They're rebooting the plane."

The technician realizes he can fix things, but he needs to wait for "a special wrench."

I lose the will to live.

9:30pm EST: The plane begins taxi-ing. We break into applause.

9:45pm: They pass out free headsets to reward us.

10:00pm: They attempt to screen Hitch, but the sound doesn't work.

10:30pm or so: The flight attendant reaches our row with the food cart and explains that they have run out of all food except beef jerky and a Kit Kat bar. I resist the urge to tell her not to worry; I have already chewed my arm off in frustration.

1:45am PST: Finally, I make it home. Nic the cat is at once hysterically joyful to see me and furious that I have been gone. He wakes me at fifteen minute intervals throughout the night, once by biting my shoulder.

8-something am PST: I surrender to the suspicion I have been staving off all night--that a cosmic plot is afoot--when I am awakened by an earthquake.

So now it is 1:00pm. I am still in my pajamas. I had tentative plans for tonight, but I'm thinking I may cancel them. Pulling up the drawbridge is feeling like a really good option for the rest of the day.

UPDATE: As of Monday afternoon, Cedric's mom still has not received her luggage. True story.

Two things

1. Two and half hours is a really long time to sit in a stationary airplane on the tarmack.

2. I'm never flying US Air again.

Once again I say...

...wireless networks are the best airport innovation since the invention of the plane.

Left DC this afternoon. Now, I am in Pittsburgh and sadly, the airport is closed because of hideous thunderstorms. The last time I was in a closed airport was over a decade ago--Logan Airport on my way from Wisconsin to Amsterdam. It was blizzarding in Boston and everything in Logan was closed. Because we were in the international terminal, the airport became a smoking airport for the occasion as the Europeans simply smoked. The Red Cross even came to give us beverages. I am cautiously optimistic this current experience will be less dramatic. Nonetheless, I have Gilligan's Island fears...

Will someone out there take care of my cat if I never return to LA?

What if Eliza Doolittle were black?

Perhaps the most amusing news story here in DC during my stay has been that of the inaudible Metro announcements. When I lived here, we were all used to the periodic announcements that sounded like the grown-ups on Peanuts cartoons: "Wah...wah...wah...Doors open on the left." Not a huge problem. You just kept track of where you were on the line and were careful to get off where you were supposed to. Well, now that the announcement could, in theory, say, "There's a terrorist on your train. Run for your lives," the authorities have determined it's important to be able to actually understand what the Metro workers are saying. The solution? Elocution classes. Thus riders will be told, according to Reuters, that they are approaching "Pent-a-gon" station, not "Pen-a-gon." (Happily, there is no "Libary of Congress" stop as that would present particular challenges methinks.)

Making the story even more laughable is the litany of woes confronting Metro:

The transit authority took a beating in a recent Washington Post series that detailed financial troubles, broken escalators, ground water leaking into train tunnels and other problems. Smith said the elocution classes were set up months ago and were not a response to the newspaper's series.

Good to know as I fail to understand how articulation will help the situation. Knowing there is "wa-ter" in the tunnel, not "war-ter" doesn't make it any drier, yes?

In other Metro news, trains now all sport signs urging riders to pay attention when a fellow passenger leaves a package. If the person will not take the package with him or her even when prompted, one should call the police they advise. The posters attempt to infuse the situation with levity through captions such as, "Don't forget your teeth" (really) with a picture of dentures. All of which pales in comparison to MARC's poster campaign. (Thanks to Chris for the link.)

Just for Andrea

Today's link: The Institute of Draped Clothes

I hear what you're asking: But Why?

Draping clothes is a volatile art. It relies entirely on personal knowledge and creativity. We are not sure, today, how people in antiquity draped their costumes. Many ancient ways of draping saris are forgotten today. If no institution starts research today, the art may soon vanish completely. Draping is a most ancient and widespread form of clothing, used by billions of people all over the word. It is part of mankind's heritage. We must give it its right place and recognition. Draping is fun! Draping is an accessible and rewarding creative endeavour.

Who knew? A volatile art indeed.

One of the ten thousand things I am behind on

Stupid Blogger...Trying now for the second time to confess my procrastination sins. Blogger ate my last post.

So yeah, procrastination is a defect of character I seem to be stuck with, regardless of the number of times I've humbly asked that it be removed. And updating my blogroll seems to be right up there with mopping my kitchen floor for things that I do only when it reaches some sort of tipping point far past that of most folks. At some point not too long after I return home and am not poaching time on my sister's computer, I will do a little clean up. I know there are some of you who are probably wondering, "Is she ever going to link to me?" (Yes, CB, I'm talking to you.)

Also, un-noted here thus far is the fact that I've joined the crowd at the Big Brass Alliance. If somehow you've managed to remain uninformed and uninvolved, go check it out and visit After Downing Street which has links to Conyer's letter and all sorts of other ways you can exert your citizen pressure.

And I'm proud to be part of The Dark Wraith's Bloggirrrlz Gallery.

And yeah, I know the whole site could stand a non-orange revamp. I'm only a half step above a dumb end-user though, so barring some generous offer from a smarter friend, I don't see it happening any time soon.

Doublespeak

Needless to say, I've been following the Patriot Act renewal news with some degree of anxiety and disgust. Anyone who knows me or reads this blog regularly already knows where I stand. Today's eyerolling entry will be short (I have shopping to do)--if you want more ranting about civil liberties, just read back in the archives. In the meantime, you can check out the White House fact sheet on the act. I particularly love this paragraph:

Before The Patriot Act, Criminal Investigators Were Separated From Intelligence Officers By A Legal And Bureaucratic Wall. The Patriot Act helped tear down this wall, giving law enforcement and intelligence officers the ability to share information, work together, and bring terrorists to justice.

I just love when the government refers to the Constitution as "a legal and bureaucratic wall."

One might also note that, even in the brief page allotted to the high points, they found space to quote Feinstein:

As Senator Diane Feinstein said, "I have no reported abuses."

I'm thinking there's a special spot in hell for Diane. If you're in doubt see January's entry on her grotesque boosterism of Rice.

Let's hear it for the one-party system. All we need is for Hillary to secure the Dem's nomination to cement it.

The healing power of decadence

L, A, and I spent went to the National Gallery today to see the Lautrec exhibit. I will post more about the day upon my return (when I can upload the photos of Barry Flanagan's Thinker on a Rock), but for now let me just say that I have determined that periodic doses of avant garde decadence may be the key for me to survive our present era. It made me so happy to wander through those rooms of lithographs, paintings, and drawings that by the end I was grinning like an idiot. It was a really good reminder for me that no matter how much power the fundies get, they cannot crush everything. Up with Decadence! I say.

In other news, at least one researcher is entertaining the notion that Jesus died of a blood clot:

An Israeli researcher has challenged the popular belief that Jesus died of blood loss on the cross, saying he probably succumbed to a sometimes fatal disorder now associated with long-haul air travel.

I need to point out that Reuters is the source of that fabulous quote; the article later calls the condition "economy class condition" which I guess is pretty appropriate because I just can't see Jesus in first class myself. MSNBC's version of the story opens with a still from that Gibson epic, a questionable choice at best.

GM index

By now we've all heard about GM's vivisection. Just to place the job loss (25,000) in context...

$12,798,572: GM CEO Wagoner's 2003 compensation including stock options
$12,477,364: Wagoner's unexercised stock options from previous years
2506 AD: The year the accumulated wages of an average worker would total one year of Wagoner's compensation
3199 AD: The year the accumulated wages of a minimum wage worker would total one year of Wagoner's compensation
54%: The amount pay increased in 2004 for the CEOs of the largest 500 companies
11%: The average decrease in full-time worker pay from 1973 adjusted for inflation
45: The number of workers whose combined pay would equal that of a CEO in 1973
140: The number of workers whose combined pay would equal that of a CEO in 1991
300: The number of workers whose combined pay would equal that of a CEO in 2004

(Stats complements of the AFL-CIO's executive paywatch database and the UAW.)

Putting a new phrase into circulation

Upon watching Brad Pitt discussing the prospect of adopting an African orphan with Diane Sawyer ("It's a beautiful idea, really. Right now I'm just concentrating on down-sizing. We've just got so much crap.") with U2 playing in the background, we realized we need a new phrase: "White Hipsters' Burden."

Pulp fiction cliff's notes

The wonderful Jennifer Shiman of Angry Alien has been busy. She now has Pulp Fiction on her front page, and it looks like we have plenty to look forward to now that she's doing work for Starz (The Big Chill, Scarface, and Night of the Living Dead are among the forthcoming shorts).

For those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about: Shiman does 30-second encapsulations of famous films, reinacted by animated bunnies. I find them hilarious (I particularly like Jaws and The Shining), though I just played a couple for my brother who kind of stared at me like, "This is the sort of thing that amuses you?" So I guess you have to be a certain kind of person.