Fenster writes:
Regarding the increased visibility of Brit-style fonts discussed here, Shop-Rite is getting in on the act.
And regarding creepshotting, what to make of this? Is it an inveitable result of wearing one’s pants down low?
Fenster writes:
Regarding the increased visibility of Brit-style fonts discussed here, Shop-Rite is getting in on the act.
And regarding creepshotting, what to make of this? Is it an inveitable result of wearing one’s pants down low?
Fenster writes:
Rebecca Sullivan is director of the Institute for Gender Research at the University of Calgary. Here’s her article in Canada’s Globe and Mail arguing for the academic study of porn.
On the face of it, it’s just an academic matter: things should be studied since they should be studied.
Quite simply, there is no other aspect of our media that is as poorly understood as pornography. Where is it produced and how is it marketed? What are the working conditions for those both in front and behind the camera? Who is accessing it, and how? What are the differences between various forms of pornography and how they represent sex and sexuality?
Lurking under the surface though there is a distinct POV, maybe an ax to grind. Maybe even more than one ax?
The ambiguous nature of the motivation for inquiry gets clearer as you wade through the article.
On the one hand, the Puritan strain one associates with a Yankee past is in there.
Once we find answers to these questions, we may be able to ask better ones about how we discriminate against people based on their sexual identity and sex practices. . . . Some pornographies practically serve as manuals for the oppression of women and sexually marginalized peoples.
But wait! On the other hand:
Others are challenging gender norms and body images, giving voice to diverse sexual experiences that are otherwise repressed in our society. . . . there is nothing intrinsically shameful about watching or creating sexually explicit media. Once we remove that veneer of societal disgust – and judging by pornography’s ubiquity in Canada, it is merely a veneer – we can begin to talk about sexual expression as a human right that should always be self-determining, authentic, and empowering of ourselves and others. That’s how we create a truly decent society.
Eddie Pensier writes:
Eddie Pensier writes:
You wouldn’t know, by looking at us in our sunglasses, our somber dark suits, and carrying our concealed pistols and compact machine guns–meant to rapidly and coarsely dismantle the flesh of anyone threatening the life of the president–that we were sitting in the privileged sanctum of the White House planning a clandestine baseball game. We weren’t supposed to be planning one. Agent-In-Charge Doltmeer was opposed to it, but that only meant we wouldn’t let him play.
Without explanation, which frequently was how our lives progressed, someone put this flyer on the bulletin board at work:First Annual Baseball Game
between
the CIA and the Secret Service
Date: July 14
Time: Classified
Place: ClassifiedIt was decided by senior members of the Service and the CIA that the rivalry between the two agencies could be furthered and settled in an annual baseball game.
It has been agreed that the game should be played covertly. The game will be played at night, without lights, to avoid letting the opposing team know where the game is.
Clues will be provided, to allow team members to locate the playing field and the game time. If only one team shows up, it wins. The winning team will be given a spookball trophy.
Sign up now, if you can find the sign-up sheet.
–opening paragraphs of Night of the Avenging Blowfish, by John Welter

Eddie Pensier writes:
(with apologies to Neil Finn)
Three waffles in three days
So indulgent, breakfast, dinner, either works well
Sweet above and crisp below
Syrup dribbles in the pockets sitting on my plate,
Even if it’s getting cold
Gorgeous in so many ways
Like three waffles in three days.
This happened purely by coincidence. On our last day in New York, we had what we thought would be our final lunch out, and then by chance happened upon the Wafels & Dinges truck, an eatery fine enough to have made it to #83 on Yelp’s Top 100 Places To Eat list.
Eddie Pensier writes:
Don’t get me started on the subject of tenors. I have so many favorites it’s ridiculous. Some days it’s the peerless elegance and linguistic versatility of Nicolai Gedda. Some days it’s the ringing heroism and pure Italian squillo of Franco Corelli. The faultless technique of Pavarotti, the masculine almost baritonal luster of Jonas Kaufmann, the lyric and agile sweetness of Frank Lopardo, the straightforward brilliant tone of Jussi Björling, all appeal to me for different reasons.
But put a gun to my head, and I’ll tell you that my favorite tenor of all time is Fritz Wunderlich, hands down.
Paleo Retiree writes:
The biggest surprise for me about this documentary was how un-tricky, un-conceptual, and un-meta it was. Co-produced and hosted by Penn Jillette and directed by his partner-in-po-mo-magic Teller, it’s a straightforward account of their friend Tim Jenison, a very successful engineer and entrepreneur (software for movie visuals, mainly), who, fascinated by Vermeer and convinced that Vermeer used optical gizmos to help him make his paintings, sets out to deduce what those gizmos might have been, and then to paint a picture in Vermeer’s style.
Fenster writes:
There has been a lot of ink spilled over the NLRB decision that seems to be opening a door for unionization of college athletics.
There are many general summaries of the decision out there. Here’s one.
It’s the analysis that is now coming in hot and heavy, and they are all over the place. Interesting to ask why.
Here’s Forbes on some overlooked aspects of the ruling.
Here’s Reason Magazine, correctly pointing out the relative ease by which public programs could be spared by legislation, and the political reasons for doing so. Especially the cross-subsidy from revenue to non-reveune sports, the latter of which would be under pressure the more the ante is upped financially on the revenue side.
And here’s John Kass in the Chicago Tribune, arguing that in the long run the only good solution is the one John Maynard Hutchins came to at the University of Chicago last century: get out of the big time stuff altogether. Chicago returned to football in time, but only to Division III.
And a Bloomberg piece arguing the whole issue would go away if universities only were to grant full four-year scholarships to athletes.
The list of analyses goes on. We are into speculative territory here, and for several reasons. One is the nature of the ruling itself: it’s only the decision of a regional director, Washington has yet to weigh in, etc. And it’s not as though this resolves an outstanding issue that was already ripe–it only opens to the door, possibly, on a series of events that have yet to develop and mature.
But another big reason for the speculative quality is the relatively high degree of disagreement over how all the pieces fit together in the first place. The precise nature of the financial relationship between higher education (the weakened parent) and college athletics (the overgrown and headstrong child) has long been shrouded in mystery. Even today, there is significant disagreement over how the pieces actually fit together. It’s hard to predict the future if you don’t understand the present all that well.
I’ll venture this, however.
Most all the analyses out there look at the issue through the lens of athletics. Which makes some sense. Athletics may be the child, but it does get most of the attention. Mention big time university X to someone in the general public, or a legislator, or someone in the press and what image is summoned up? Sports, mostly. We know intellectually universtities are supposed to be about something else but we can’t help it in our culture of entertainment and spectacle–universities in our collective gut are more about big time sports than anything else.
Which explains the odd nature of most of the press coverage. The issue is handled for the most part in the press as though it all needs to get played out as one of athletics. But meantime . . . ummm . . . what of the higher education parent?
It should not escape scrutiny that this series of events is happening at a time of relative crisis in higher education. True, that crisis will affect Franklin Pierce College before it does Ohio State, but there is a generalized crisis brewing nonetheless. So the idea that “we’ll make it through this fight–we always have before” is losing traction as a general matter in higher education, and that may well have implications for how the athletics issue is played out.
Now, I have great faith in the resilience of big time athletics. Athletics programs may not have the full support of internal constituencies in higher education, like the faculty, but they have lots and lots of external support. And the flow of money buys a lot of influence. Even if, like me, you believe that most big time programs lose money and require essentially secret subsidies from students and parents, the big money goes somewhere, and it has been very effective in building bases of power–bases of power that will hold on to what privilege they have and will look to export the shock of any new costs onto weaker actors.
So we have a kind of conundrum here. On the one hand, most universities are already on the hook to subsidize big programs but they resist coming clean about it. Since the institutions of higher education are already the political weak link, and quietly go about eating financial losses and forcing students to pony up for them, the most likely effect of new costs for athlete pay is for them to increase their level of subsidy. That is simply more likely, politically, than cutting coach salaries or reducing the lavish nature of athletic facilities. But there is a storm brewing on the cost side of higher education as well, one that has been a long time coming and that is not easily resisted. It could be a fun fight.
Fenster writes:
My contribution to Fake Jazz Sunday: New York by the jazz-rock outfit Dreams, starring the Brecker Brothers and Billy Cobham (1970).
If you like, and have the time, below is most of the album side that New York closes. It loosely strings together a couple of songs the group called Dream Suite–you’ll note that it ends with Cobham’s drum work that opens New York.
This is pretty early jazz-rock. Al Kooper/Blood Sweat & Tears had come at it from the rock side a little earlier and Miles Davis Bitches Brew, released about the same time as Dreams, came at it harder from the jazz side. Dreams split the difference nicely, IMHO.
Paleo Retiree writes:
The Irish folk/blues/roots bard Van Morrison has long been a notoriously un-count-upon-able live performer. A huge fan of his back in the day — he meant to me what Bob Dylan meant to tons of other people — I tried seeing him live twice; both shows were disasters. I’ve been in the presence of very few performers who radiated such a lot of unease on stage. He didn’t seem to like being up there, the band never found a groove … Flopperoo. Whatever their nerves and anxieties, most performers adore being in front of a crowd. They live for it; our feeling as an audience that the people on stage (or on the screen) before us are coming into their own by virtue of being up there is generally part of our enjoyment in watching performers. They seem to soar, both as talents and people. For Van, being on stage seemed to be genuinely agonizing, and the shows of his that I saw left me feeling very dispirited.
FWIW: Based only on seeing him a few times, reading a bit about him and my own imagination, I diagnose his case this way: he’s the rare performer/Aspie — an artist with a big drive to put his work in front of people who is nonetheless a genuine introvert. He’s a man whose inner nature is divided equally between a talent (an immense talent) that really needs to express itself and an unstoppable drive to keep the world at arm’s length. But do take my hunches with a huge grain of salt, please.
All the above noted, it’s also part of the Van legend that occasionally he delivers a great show. Why wouldn’t he? He adores music and reveres musicians — he’s been said to be at his happiest when alone with his record collection — and he regularly attracts top-flight musicians to work with him. When they’re speaking frankly they say that putting up with Van — his penny-pinching, his peevishness and crankiness, his ego — is worth it because the music-making can be so fulfilling. Van will evidently never be someone who’s going to establish and enjoy a warm, avid relationship with an audience. But when the phase of the moon is right, the music can transport him and his collaborators, and can take a sizable audience along for the ride.
The show I’m linking to here strikes me as very transporting indeed: mystical yet rootsy, folksy yet funky. It soars, dammit. Play the clip all the way through and let yourself really give over to the mood shifts, the pacing and the highs; if you’re like me you’ll feel that you’ve been taken to some pretty far-off places. There’s huge big-band sound coming from a small ensemble; lots of genius soloing from saxophonist Pee-Wee Ellis (who’d worked with Sonny Rollins and James Brown, and who did most of the horn arrangements for this show); numerous displays of scorching brilliance from the rest of the band; and heart-stoppingly precise yet rough-edged backup stuff throughout. It’s Van’s show, but what a first-class team this is. (On trumpet is Mark Isham, who went on in the ’80s and ’90s to become a prolific composer of movie scores.)
The show is raucous and exuberant in the let’s-burn-it-all-up-now style of the Stones circa “Exile on Main Street,” yet it’s also tender and poetic, full of heartbreak, loss and visions, and reaching far outside pop culture — to fairy tales, gospel, poetry, legends — for its musical and literary language, as well as for its daredevil effects. (A friend who dislikes Morrison dismisses his work as “fake jazz.” Yes! But it’s great fake jazz!!!) This may be just me, but I find the show’s musical/emotional impact to be almost too much, careening along with so much talent, imagination and feeling that it’s a little anxiety-making, even exhausting. Even at their slowest and most melancholy, the music and performing are on a wild high, walking along a razor’s edge, losing control entirely before circling back to the beat. The music’s an exultant, catchy, unlikely mix of folk, funk and Celtic broken up by extended detours into a variety of personal musical cosmoses; the lyrics remind me of Dylan Thomas, bursting to the point of nonsensicality with awareness of pain and beauty. It’s real modern-troubador stuff, with Van playing his voice like a blues/jazz instrument. “It’s boozy r&b trance music,” said the Question Lady. Yes! It’s all about the experience and the rhythms of sex — but sex in its broadest sense, an artistic/poetic/mystical one (think Tanizaki, Bataille, Henry Miller) that seems to have been forgotten these days. There’s little in the sphere of the arts that I find more moving than that.
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