Saturday, 4 December 2010
Thursday, 2 December 2010
When Maria met Miyake
Maria agrees, she must have her own Miyake.
The first acquisition, the virgin purchase, is anything but frivolous. Issey Miyake is a state of mind; architecturally defined, hyper feminine, an investment that could be construed as sensible, even in this climate. The item will last a lifetime.
A.must.in one's wardrobe.
And no, Issey's not for everyone, but a sliver of delicately pleated black fabric sits somewhere on my frame daily and lately I've seen a lot of Maria so no surprise she's become deliciously infected by the fashionable bug.
The only cure is a rendezvous. Andiamo! Off to our mecca to meet M. Miyake we go!
The act of trying on Issey Miyake, each truly unique, whimsical, architecturally elegant, the exercise alone is therapy incarnate. Eventually Maria found her own style; a deep, silky slate blue grey number that shimmers softly, so long it could cover a table set for 12 yet so origami inspired it sits on the skin as thin as can be, to be worn in a myriad of so many ways they provide a guide alongside. With skinny jeans and boots, with pearls for black tie. Pleats, please, for days and days and ways in weather that covers every season.
Dutch treats
Our common courtyard is anything but, magical and overgrown, inspiring Ms. Havisham, full of 'great expectations' and mischief. Living In the precious address of Prinsenracht I'm keen to meet and make nice with my new neighbors and elegant environs. It's lovely.
I often thought if Paris and Edinburgh gave birth, the offspring would resemble Amsterdam. A pretty, whimsical, artistic Parisian lovechild with dramatically handsome facades lit so similar to Edinburgh. Yet, the mis en scene is distinctly urban in a deeply specific way.
First order of business was to visit the lovebirds across the canal, dear friends that find the time to educate and play host as their vivacious world floats by, full of bikes and ferries gliding down below.
Amsterdam is anything if absorbing with land designed to accommodate more canals than Venice. Once the commercial capital of the world with its uniquely concentric canal system evolving into a cultural center, a permissive place, tolerating more than most. Even as we now bare witness to a movement, a reaction perhaps, inching towards the radical right, if only in reaction to its permissive past. Amsterdam, the principle home of radical movement with its perpetual identity.
Each country absorbing globalization, every country interacting with the next, quite like Amsterdam with its concentric canal system creating a complete community, merging, changing...
And now for something completely different: Amsterdam
It's as if Italy insists on kissing me arrivederci, weather's been spectacular this week. 
We'll miss this view from the flat, but time to get back to civilization. 
Godot gets in a last run 
From the Italian Alps to one of the flattest places on the planet, arrrrrrrrrivederci Italy
Amsterdam, here we come...; )
We'll miss this view from the flat, but time to get back to civilization. Godot gets in a last run From the Italian Alps to one of the flattest places on the planet, arrrrrrrrrivederci Italy
Amsterdam, here we come...; )
Wednesday, 24 November 2010
Bojo, Book tours and the ever compassionate Tennessee Williams.
Boris Johnson, the Mayor or London discouraged Bush from bringing his book tour across the Pond.
"Waterboarding," he wrote, "is a disgusting practice by which the victim is deliberately made to think that he is drowning. It is not some cunning new psych-ops technique conceived by the CIA. It has been used in the dungeons of dictators for centuries. It is not compatible either with the US constitution or the UN convention against torture. It is deemed to be torture in this country, and above all there is no evidence whatever that it has ever succeeded in doing what Mr Bush claimed. It does not work."
Bush and Blair's respective book tours inspire a memorable line from Tennessee Williams movie, "Night of the Iguana".The greatest tension throughout the movie occurs between Ms. Fellows, a severe, authoritarian personality and Burton, a compassionate, flawed, de-flocked priest. (his best role, perhaps?)
Ava Gardner's character arrives just in time to provide enough ammunition to take Ms. Fellows down. Burton says, "no, don't, Miss Fellows is a highly moral person, if she were ever to know the truth about herself, it would destroy her..."
The things my feet have seen; Rome to Venice
@the Pantheon in Rome 2006, cruising Croatia along the Dalmatian coast 2009
The Austrian Alps, 2010
Dangling along the cliffs of Dingly in Malta 2008, aboard MADI, 2009
Eddie Izzard, from one europhile to another, "Bon Chance!
Independent reports Eddie's on his way, ambitious man that he is but with eyes wide open; French humor, like the German version can be hard to find. Kinda like WMD's, someone insists, apres inspection, alors non, nein. 
The Closet with condoms is classic 'farce', but I think Le Diner de Cons hits closer, a dinner game focused on who can bring the biggest idiot. Humiliation looms large.
Don't get me wrong, loved living in Paris, as long as it was a finite proposition. Dinner parties @Chez Bay weren't all in English, one or two completely in French, in fact. Gallery owners, musicians, locals, activists, neighbors, chatty, engaging, everything openly discussed, full of national solidarity.
And, when my mother died I was struck by how kind and warm they were; they get 'sad' in a very particular, calm and comfortable fashion. I will never forget this, it still lives within me.
The French are funny in an unfunny way. They like physicality, they like martial arts, in fact, on the street, they will walk right into you, literally. In NY, Milan and other large cities where people adapt to a rhythm, Parisians do not. Maybe because the country only has one major city unlike other countries I've lived in, who knows.
One time we found a vagrant leaning against the door to our flat. We lived on the 6th floor and we couldn't get him to move. We called the police, they arrived instantly, in packs, always and after they moved him aside, while inside we could hear the 'bethump, bethump, bethump' as he was 'escorted all the windy way down to the foyer and out the front door.
The Italians have a favorite joke about their 'cousins', after all, they share many cultural realities and feel close; "What do you call an Italian in a bad mood? French." It's their favorite joke, a cliche only because its true.
The 'comedy' shows I tried to watch would mimic Benny Hill but feature naked men rather than women. They also left out the English humor which to be fair is funnier than any other.
However, I think Eddie will do well, Eddie's so lovable. They'll love his desire to speak mostly in French, they'll appreciate his 'amusing' and English like perceptions, but he should be a bit bitchy, if only for the men.
As long as he focuses on sex, as long as his show his called 'stripped' and hints at much ado about sex, they will line up...
The Closet with condoms is classic 'farce', but I think Le Diner de Cons hits closer, a dinner game focused on who can bring the biggest idiot. Humiliation looms large.
Don't get me wrong, loved living in Paris, as long as it was a finite proposition. Dinner parties @Chez Bay weren't all in English, one or two completely in French, in fact. Gallery owners, musicians, locals, activists, neighbors, chatty, engaging, everything openly discussed, full of national solidarity.
And, when my mother died I was struck by how kind and warm they were; they get 'sad' in a very particular, calm and comfortable fashion. I will never forget this, it still lives within me.
The French are funny in an unfunny way. They like physicality, they like martial arts, in fact, on the street, they will walk right into you, literally. In NY, Milan and other large cities where people adapt to a rhythm, Parisians do not. Maybe because the country only has one major city unlike other countries I've lived in, who knows.
One time we found a vagrant leaning against the door to our flat. We lived on the 6th floor and we couldn't get him to move. We called the police, they arrived instantly, in packs, always and after they moved him aside, while inside we could hear the 'bethump, bethump, bethump' as he was 'escorted all the windy way down to the foyer and out the front door.
The Italians have a favorite joke about their 'cousins', after all, they share many cultural realities and feel close; "What do you call an Italian in a bad mood? French." It's their favorite joke, a cliche only because its true.
The 'comedy' shows I tried to watch would mimic Benny Hill but feature naked men rather than women. They also left out the English humor which to be fair is funnier than any other.
However, I think Eddie will do well, Eddie's so lovable. They'll love his desire to speak mostly in French, they'll appreciate his 'amusing' and English like perceptions, but he should be a bit bitchy, if only for the men.
As long as he focuses on sex, as long as his show his called 'stripped' and hints at much ado about sex, they will line up...
Out come the English claws of Julie Burchill and Tina Brown
Julie Burchill, a Diana devotee fired one across the bow,"if only she'd aimed a little higher, she'd have made a top-flight stewardess". Ms Burchill's a card carrying 'chav', coined the term 'people's princess' so naturally she's defensive about the unroyal treatment Diana received pre and post mortem.
Women on women can be vicious but isn't Kate a bit too innocuous to receive so much so soon?
Are women still the fairer sex? Maybe not after figuring how to build a brand as well as any man.
Speaking of, Tina Brown took about two secs to take aim from a higher vantage point. A brilliant zeitgeist her arrow aims for highbrow, threatens to land low, eventually settling on the nobrow bulls-eye. I think Tina's a modern day version of Clair Booth Luce. Luce, the woman behind, alongside the man at Time. Gore Vidal used to muse something like, 'if clever Clair could of landed her calculating hands on a cool billion she'd have been our first female president'. Gore respected Clair, enjoyed her company, a savage, conservative tonge, dangerous with a phrase and seductive, very, very seductive.
All these media divas, far more interesting than Murdoch and so beautiful to boot, especially the Dresden doll that was Claire. I did think Tina's criticism of Diana hung precariously close to jealousy, seeming to resent Diana's ability to control the media so adroitly. Tina's analysis became catty, betrayed her intellect, "all she does is get blonder and more bronzed." One might be tempted to ask, "et tu Tina?
In regards to Kate's future Tina is filled to the brim with foreboding. Though impressed Kate was able to finally reign Wils in, even if it took 10 long years of floating a trial balloon full of enough discretion to convince Mama she's not Diana, she fears Kate's life is now going to get even more boring than before.
They seem such a modern couple, Kate's well put together, wants Wils and he wants her. Once the drama of their wedding comes to pass she may want nothing more than to sit in their secluded home in Wales and write, read, chat and create the next heir and spare.
Not everyone craves the kind of busy behavior that eliminate the ability to bare witness through any lens but the white light variety. Not everyone wants to be Tina. Kate and Williams' marriage will become an ordeal sooner than most, so let's just hope they keep up the romance and the negotiations at a minimum like any other modern relationship.
Kate's suffered 10 yrs of the waity Kate game, let's give her some good wishes, ironically, she'll need 'em more than most.
Women on women can be vicious but isn't Kate a bit too innocuous to receive so much so soon?
Are women still the fairer sex? Maybe not after figuring how to build a brand as well as any man.
Speaking of, Tina Brown took about two secs to take aim from a higher vantage point. A brilliant zeitgeist her arrow aims for highbrow, threatens to land low, eventually settling on the nobrow bulls-eye. I think Tina's a modern day version of Clair Booth Luce. Luce, the woman behind, alongside the man at Time. Gore Vidal used to muse something like, 'if clever Clair could of landed her calculating hands on a cool billion she'd have been our first female president'. Gore respected Clair, enjoyed her company, a savage, conservative tonge, dangerous with a phrase and seductive, very, very seductive.
All these media divas, far more interesting than Murdoch and so beautiful to boot, especially the Dresden doll that was Claire. I did think Tina's criticism of Diana hung precariously close to jealousy, seeming to resent Diana's ability to control the media so adroitly. Tina's analysis became catty, betrayed her intellect, "all she does is get blonder and more bronzed." One might be tempted to ask, "et tu Tina?
In regards to Kate's future Tina is filled to the brim with foreboding. Though impressed Kate was able to finally reign Wils in, even if it took 10 long years of floating a trial balloon full of enough discretion to convince Mama she's not Diana, she fears Kate's life is now going to get even more boring than before.
They seem such a modern couple, Kate's well put together, wants Wils and he wants her. Once the drama of their wedding comes to pass she may want nothing more than to sit in their secluded home in Wales and write, read, chat and create the next heir and spare.
Not everyone craves the kind of busy behavior that eliminate the ability to bare witness through any lens but the white light variety. Not everyone wants to be Tina. Kate and Williams' marriage will become an ordeal sooner than most, so let's just hope they keep up the romance and the negotiations at a minimum like any other modern relationship.
Kate's suffered 10 yrs of the waity Kate game, let's give her some good wishes, ironically, she'll need 'em more than most.
Kate and Wils; Let the drama commence
The Daily Mail, so cheeky, With this, my mother's ring, I will thee wed. The Guardian, predictably rings bitter with "You better enjoy it, you'll be paying for it!"
Boh, wrong couple, but that hair, those eyes, wasn't she adorable before she 'got glam'...am always slightly taken aback by Tina Brown and English friends that went to Oxford, smart, savvy, sporty girls, they've little time for her, loathe her even, but I'm American, most of us were mad for the girl, 'specially then.
Alas this time, the drama will be mostly manufactured; Kate's naturally thin for heaven's sake and he seems so nice, doesn't have any of his father's eccentricities. Does have that rare accent though, lovely mouth full of marbles sound, gorgeously old fashioned.
Of course, today's announcement allows The Daily Telegraph to proffer their first of what shall be many 'souvenir' editions.
Some things never change.
Boh, wrong couple, but that hair, those eyes, wasn't she adorable before she 'got glam'...am always slightly taken aback by Tina Brown and English friends that went to Oxford, smart, savvy, sporty girls, they've little time for her, loathe her even, but I'm American, most of us were mad for the girl, 'specially then.
Alas this time, the drama will be mostly manufactured; Kate's naturally thin for heaven's sake and he seems so nice, doesn't have any of his father's eccentricities. Does have that rare accent though, lovely mouth full of marbles sound, gorgeously old fashioned.
Of course, today's announcement allows The Daily Telegraph to proffer their first of what shall be many 'souvenir' editions.
Some things never change.
Edith Wharton and Dawn Powell owned their writerly worlds.
Re-visited House of Mirth. Wharton was my mother's favorite author and I'm reminded exactly why, her writing style referred to as dramatic irony. Wharton not only understood her world, she owned her world. Both she and Dawn Powell had perfect pitch respective of their geographically unique New York addresses.
Dawn Powell, doyenne of Greenwich village knew bohemian, writers, poets mixed with professional ad men, salesmen, working woman sans white glove and romance. Wharton's milieu was class, manners, Powell preferred those on the make and how they all drank, highballs from morning til night. Wharton captured upper, rarefied, protocol, gilded, Powell covered everyone else. I love Dawn Powell.
But I also understand why Muv loved Edith Wharton, her world in San Fran not too far from the other coast. This novel, House of Mirth, a particular masterpiece. Her command so clear as she locates her prey, her motive, she swoops in so gracefully, effortlessly, not a spot of blood left behind, nothing but a softly jarring sensation she must know every single thought you've ever experienced throughout your entire life. Dawn does the same, both women so extraordinarily well read, curious and compassionate, a way of yesterday perhaps.
There is this moment, a moment with which I can identify, when Wharton's character sees through another person's retina, her view quickly shifts, the rosy glow fades away as the path looks long, straight, free of any promise of detour, even when absolutely necessary. Change is imminent.
Neither writers rebelled against change but rather embraced it, forgave it, their profound sense of empathy overriding everything, underlining their acute sense of us, our motives, without ever having to hit the couch. No guilt, no concentric circles, just deep, warm, humorous comprehension.
Dawn Powell, doyenne of Greenwich village knew bohemian, writers, poets mixed with professional ad men, salesmen, working woman sans white glove and romance. Wharton's milieu was class, manners, Powell preferred those on the make and how they all drank, highballs from morning til night. Wharton captured upper, rarefied, protocol, gilded, Powell covered everyone else. I love Dawn Powell.
But I also understand why Muv loved Edith Wharton, her world in San Fran not too far from the other coast. This novel, House of Mirth, a particular masterpiece. Her command so clear as she locates her prey, her motive, she swoops in so gracefully, effortlessly, not a spot of blood left behind, nothing but a softly jarring sensation she must know every single thought you've ever experienced throughout your entire life. Dawn does the same, both women so extraordinarily well read, curious and compassionate, a way of yesterday perhaps.
There is this moment, a moment with which I can identify, when Wharton's character sees through another person's retina, her view quickly shifts, the rosy glow fades away as the path looks long, straight, free of any promise of detour, even when absolutely necessary. Change is imminent.
Neither writers rebelled against change but rather embraced it, forgave it, their profound sense of empathy overriding everything, underlining their acute sense of us, our motives, without ever having to hit the couch. No guilt, no concentric circles, just deep, warm, humorous comprehension.
TSA, Teabag Muzak, Traffic and Max Keiser's desire to crash the market
I love Jon Stewart, love his-middle-of-the-road-why-don't-we-all-get-along-message. It rings positive, moderate and decent, it feels like the America I grew up in; safe, secure, gorged with opportunity and upwardly mobile. I listened to his interview with Rachel Maddow last night, they discussed themselves, mainstream media, it was nice.
For texture, I also made time for Max Keiser. Max is less moderate, very interested in driving social media traffic and how financial 'truth' is shared. Max is a US expat living in Paris, film-maker, broadcaster, former broker and options trader who hosts On the Edge, a news and analysis show hosted by Iran's Press TV.'
Whenever Max visits Infowars/PrisonPlanet, he valiantly tries to provide Alex with perspective on Europe. This proves challenging because Alex is a gun toting, christian constitutionalist patriot who thinks the 'globalists' are slowly killing us all by design. Oh, and Alex is from Texas. Alex lives, huffs and puffs CONSPIRACY. He's partially insane, slightly dangerous, sincere and immensely entertaining and boasts the largest radio audience on the planet, which he thinks a prison, hence the name of his show.
Today, Max tried to guide Alex back to sanity by offering his take on how Glenn Beck (mainstream) and Matt Drudge (alternative) are hy-jacking Alex Jones (hard core alternative) material but Alex is not convinced, not to worry, Max has an idea.
Max began by discussing Europe's recent protests. He thinks local groups are beginning to focus their anger and direct it toward the banks. He's calling it the battle between savers and speculators. The savers are simply people who want to work, make a decent living and have enough left for holiday, enjoy a trip to Spain perhaps, this kind of thing.
The bankers, the speculators play against the 'savers' interests. The bankers want their interest rates kept near zero so they can borrow money for free, speculate and make wild bets and make tons of money. Fair enough, but when they lose, which they do every now and then, they don't want to suffer the consequences. They're savvy enough enough to get government to bail them out which in turn means someone must suffer and it's probably going to be the savers who must agree to accept austere measures and work until the day they die in order to pay off the speculator's debt. Such as it spins in the orbit that is Max Keiser.
Max feels strongly this financial 'truth' is destroying lives all over the world hence the rioting in Ireland, Paris, Greece, etc. Alex agrees and this makes him mad. He's already really, really mad to begin with and he really, really wants Americans to quit drinking the flouridated water which he insists makes then dull, drunk and way too apathetic. This is but one conspiracy in a million that are well documented and live in neat stacks all over Alex's desk which must be very, very large indeed.
I personally, never get to see these much vaulted stacks because I prefer to leave the rant in the background, on my iPhone on the windowsill, kinda like teabag muzak, while I'm on my knees trying to find the fur Colette and Godot left the day before, mysteriously lurking in some new corner...what am I but a valet.
Max, on the other hand insists America is only slightly behind the times and will soon catch up with those across the pond. Max says, yes, Americans still enjoy the benefits of the greenback being the reserve currency but this will change as well as the artificially low price of gas and food, but boy, when they skyrocket, and they will, according to Max, America will face their own economic reality and its citizens will riot, big time. I have my doubts. About all of this, hence the Jon Stewart/Max Keiser 'blend'.
However, in the mean time Max has an idea. He asked Alex to do something he's been doing for several weeks, but with a nifty spin. Alex has been asking his audience to drive traffic by identifying a 'favorite phrase', then making his millions of listeners frantically type in his 'favorite phrase' over and over again which they do like good christian soldiers, connecting them and others to a specific link, highlighting one of the many conspiracy theories that live amongst the many stacks scattered across his desk. So far, everytime, his 'favorite phrase' has hit #1 on google.
The whole TSA thing is proof Alex Jones is driving traffic, but who is wagging whom, still seems sort of up in the air.
Allors, back to Max's idea. All he asks is that Alex get 100 million Americans to buy a silver coin and they will, by power of his 'Favorite phrase', buy 100 million silver coins and voila, JP Morgan will crash. Simple. As. That.
Doesn't sound so simple to me, and I've no idea how radicial this idea is, how practical, no idea other than I'll be somewhere when it does, yes, that much is certain.
For texture, I also made time for Max Keiser. Max is less moderate, very interested in driving social media traffic and how financial 'truth' is shared. Max is a US expat living in Paris, film-maker, broadcaster, former broker and options trader who hosts On the Edge, a news and analysis show hosted by Iran's Press TV.'
Whenever Max visits Infowars/PrisonPlanet, he valiantly tries to provide Alex with perspective on Europe. This proves challenging because Alex is a gun toting, christian constitutionalist patriot who thinks the 'globalists' are slowly killing us all by design. Oh, and Alex is from Texas. Alex lives, huffs and puffs CONSPIRACY. He's partially insane, slightly dangerous, sincere and immensely entertaining and boasts the largest radio audience on the planet, which he thinks a prison, hence the name of his show.
Today, Max tried to guide Alex back to sanity by offering his take on how Glenn Beck (mainstream) and Matt Drudge (alternative) are hy-jacking Alex Jones (hard core alternative) material but Alex is not convinced, not to worry, Max has an idea.
Max began by discussing Europe's recent protests. He thinks local groups are beginning to focus their anger and direct it toward the banks. He's calling it the battle between savers and speculators. The savers are simply people who want to work, make a decent living and have enough left for holiday, enjoy a trip to Spain perhaps, this kind of thing.
The bankers, the speculators play against the 'savers' interests. The bankers want their interest rates kept near zero so they can borrow money for free, speculate and make wild bets and make tons of money. Fair enough, but when they lose, which they do every now and then, they don't want to suffer the consequences. They're savvy enough enough to get government to bail them out which in turn means someone must suffer and it's probably going to be the savers who must agree to accept austere measures and work until the day they die in order to pay off the speculator's debt. Such as it spins in the orbit that is Max Keiser.
Max feels strongly this financial 'truth' is destroying lives all over the world hence the rioting in Ireland, Paris, Greece, etc. Alex agrees and this makes him mad. He's already really, really mad to begin with and he really, really wants Americans to quit drinking the flouridated water which he insists makes then dull, drunk and way too apathetic. This is but one conspiracy in a million that are well documented and live in neat stacks all over Alex's desk which must be very, very large indeed.
I personally, never get to see these much vaulted stacks because I prefer to leave the rant in the background, on my iPhone on the windowsill, kinda like teabag muzak, while I'm on my knees trying to find the fur Colette and Godot left the day before, mysteriously lurking in some new corner...what am I but a valet.
Max, on the other hand insists America is only slightly behind the times and will soon catch up with those across the pond. Max says, yes, Americans still enjoy the benefits of the greenback being the reserve currency but this will change as well as the artificially low price of gas and food, but boy, when they skyrocket, and they will, according to Max, America will face their own economic reality and its citizens will riot, big time. I have my doubts. About all of this, hence the Jon Stewart/Max Keiser 'blend'.
However, in the mean time Max has an idea. He asked Alex to do something he's been doing for several weeks, but with a nifty spin. Alex has been asking his audience to drive traffic by identifying a 'favorite phrase', then making his millions of listeners frantically type in his 'favorite phrase' over and over again which they do like good christian soldiers, connecting them and others to a specific link, highlighting one of the many conspiracy theories that live amongst the many stacks scattered across his desk. So far, everytime, his 'favorite phrase' has hit #1 on google.
The whole TSA thing is proof Alex Jones is driving traffic, but who is wagging whom, still seems sort of up in the air.
Allors, back to Max's idea. All he asks is that Alex get 100 million Americans to buy a silver coin and they will, by power of his 'Favorite phrase', buy 100 million silver coins and voila, JP Morgan will crash. Simple. As. That.
Doesn't sound so simple to me, and I've no idea how radicial this idea is, how practical, no idea other than I'll be somewhere when it does, yes, that much is certain.
Thursday, 11 November 2010
Der Spiegel outlines how fragile America's success has become
Der Spiegel's 6 point article pretty much covers the issue that is US.
- Part 1: Is the American Dream Over?
- Part 2: The Ownership Fetish
- Part 3: America's 'Perfect Storm'
- Part 4: The New American Nightmare
- Part 5: A Brighter Future?
- Part 6: The Danger of Currency Warfare
Yep. That's our boy Bush.
The Guardian, The Independent of London, The Telegraph and the rest of the English press are having a field day, offering "FULL COVERAGE OF MEMOIR" daily, basically going berserk over Bush's new book. The articles and analysis offer little assistance into our presidential phenomenon, but the comments section, priceless.
Won't even try and isolate the best bon mot but the absolute acrimony, the sheer animosity and utter annoyance, the fanatically antagonistic behavior of the oft literate, cerebral and physically funny british git whisking their own 'memoir' is worth a glance.
Apparently our boy can really reminisce, so full of sunny insouciance, or so he would have us think and yet both he and Blair appear so baffled by the world's opinion of them. Does Bush have any regrets? No, not really. He's so effortless, in both endeavor and review. Like people that need to exercise complete control his laugh sounds utterly manufactured but provides a unique signature.
"Heheheh, they thought I couldn't read a book, let alone write one"...of course he didn't write the book, but that's irrelevant, Memoir, for today's political figure, who is in fact today's celebrity, is all about rehabilitation. It's about getting on the couch and conquering their inner conflict, the fight within, a battle that must be one over their true nature. Their beliefs and emotional investment are so severe in their situational morality there's scant room for anything other than their own world view.
Won't even try and isolate the best bon mot but the absolute acrimony, the sheer animosity and utter annoyance, the fanatically antagonistic behavior of the oft literate, cerebral and physically funny british git whisking their own 'memoir' is worth a glance.
Apparently our boy can really reminisce, so full of sunny insouciance, or so he would have us think and yet both he and Blair appear so baffled by the world's opinion of them. Does Bush have any regrets? No, not really. He's so effortless, in both endeavor and review. Like people that need to exercise complete control his laugh sounds utterly manufactured but provides a unique signature.
"Heheheh, they thought I couldn't read a book, let alone write one"...of course he didn't write the book, but that's irrelevant, Memoir, for today's political figure, who is in fact today's celebrity, is all about rehabilitation. It's about getting on the couch and conquering their inner conflict, the fight within, a battle that must be one over their true nature. Their beliefs and emotional investment are so severe in their situational morality there's scant room for anything other than their own world view.
Democrat, Republican, Libertarian
A new take on political ideology as an evolutionary psychologist proposes a new framework for understanding the root causes of our political beliefs
"The implication — presumably unintentional, but still stinging to some — is that conservatives are somehow emotionally impaired, and vaguely inferior to the more open-minded people on the left.
Is there a way of explaining these differences that doesn’t suggest one side or the other is wrong or aberrant? Perhaps so. Jacob Vigil, an evolutionary psychologist based at the University of New Mexico, has come up with a fresh framework that links political orientation with the way we seek to fulfill our most fundamental human needs.
“A lot of the literature is morally loaded,” he says. “It’s easy for people to gravitate to language that fits into their predisposition. [In my framework] nobody’s right or wrong. It’s just that we’re using different behavioral strategies, all of which exist for a reason.”
His thesis, in a nutshell: Conservatives, being more oriented toward dominance, tend to acquire a larger group of friends and associates than liberals. They are more sensitive to potential threats because there are more people in their orbit, and thus the danger of their being hurt by a duplicitous person is greater. Liberals, being more inward-oriented, have smaller, tighter social groups and thus feel less threatened, which in turn allows them to be more open to unfamiliar experiences.
"The implication — presumably unintentional, but still stinging to some — is that conservatives are somehow emotionally impaired, and vaguely inferior to the more open-minded people on the left.
Is there a way of explaining these differences that doesn’t suggest one side or the other is wrong or aberrant? Perhaps so. Jacob Vigil, an evolutionary psychologist based at the University of New Mexico, has come up with a fresh framework that links political orientation with the way we seek to fulfill our most fundamental human needs.
“A lot of the literature is morally loaded,” he says. “It’s easy for people to gravitate to language that fits into their predisposition. [In my framework] nobody’s right or wrong. It’s just that we’re using different behavioral strategies, all of which exist for a reason.”
His thesis, in a nutshell: Conservatives, being more oriented toward dominance, tend to acquire a larger group of friends and associates than liberals. They are more sensitive to potential threats because there are more people in their orbit, and thus the danger of their being hurt by a duplicitous person is greater. Liberals, being more inward-oriented, have smaller, tighter social groups and thus feel less threatened, which in turn allows them to be more open to unfamiliar experiences.
Klimt, Schiele and the fearless Ms. Frida Kahlo
Vienna means music and history to many, but to me, I hear only whispers of Klimt and Schiele, Klimt and Schiele. These two masters moved me so deeply the first time, Vienna always sounds like Klimt and Schiele...
Gustav Klimt, the teacher, the senior, puts me in a trance, wrapping his goddesses in symbolic divinity, decorative costume, celebrating everything that is nurturing and compassionate and powerful about women.
While Schiele shocks with nudity, Klimt calms the viewer down with clothes made of silver and gold, metal so soft, almost a balm, a loving maternal figure, offering secrets into our universe. Amazing how one can do that with paint and placement...Klimt proves it can be done, so beautifully, naturally.
And then there's Egon Schiele, he and his women, both stripped down to expose bones, their fragile ribs, bare and vulnerable, a delicate elegance. Schiele, a protege of Klimt, a shocking boy wonder who's presence could not be denied yet recognition received late in their artistic roulette. There is this wall in the Albertina Museum,
with 5 Schiele's, all small, sensual perfection, lined up quietly underneath a very grand chandelier... 
this wall put me under its spell over a dozen years ago, though its Klimt that makes me sit for long spaces of time, falling into 20 ft high scenes of tranquility depicting women so uniquely with death lurking, often, as it does in life....The Kiss is the most famous but by no means my favorite, so sweet to be kissed like that and to be able to paint a kiss that feels like that... 
The Albertina introduced a section of Klimt with Freudian text, maybe to emphasize the dream like elements, elaborate the earthly fantasy and intense sense of contentment. Klimt lives so well in Vienna, like seeing Degas @ Musée d'Orsay, Klimt and Schiele thrive in Vienna, the present married forever to its past, quiet, refined, civilized yet explosive in its own self-contained way. Austria...
And what a perfect time to be here, Vienna boasts a fantastic exhibit of Picasso at his most political, Michelangelo at his most natural, strolling around all those sketches, having grown up with copies drawn by artistic siblings in our home in Seattle,
reminding me of times long ago when life was simple, death hadn't arrived to take away a brother, my beloved mother, there was enough love to go around, when it was just the 7 of us, a middle class clan, a benign tribe, loving parents, 5 pretty easy going kids who smiled easily in their photos because they felt like it, so long ago, when America was like that, when my America was like that...
Allora, must come back to the present, to Vienna, to the piece di resistance, Signora Frida Kahlo.
This woman kinda blows my mind; all passion and sadness, fears and desires painted in primary colors mostly, again, symbolic, expressive. Those challenging eyes and brow, that beautiful hairline, tutoring herself to embrace her own innate talent, becoming a master among few. I was surprised by how moved I became, overwhelmed by her ability to project multiple cultures, industry after simplicity, moving from Mexico to N. America.
Those photographs of Frida, so fierce, unrelenting, insisting she be exactly who she could be, master of her own world, wanting her men to stay and not stray, so much wanting in that women, I'm grateful Frida wanted so much, she moved me as much as Klimt and Schiele, maybe even more...
Gustav Klimt, the teacher, the senior, puts me in a trance, wrapping his goddesses in symbolic divinity, decorative costume, celebrating everything that is nurturing and compassionate and powerful about women. While Schiele shocks with nudity, Klimt calms the viewer down with clothes made of silver and gold, metal so soft, almost a balm, a loving maternal figure, offering secrets into our universe. Amazing how one can do that with paint and placement...Klimt proves it can be done, so beautifully, naturally.
And then there's Egon Schiele, he and his women, both stripped down to expose bones, their fragile ribs, bare and vulnerable, a delicate elegance. Schiele, a protege of Klimt, a shocking boy wonder who's presence could not be denied yet recognition received late in their artistic roulette. There is this wall in the Albertina Museum,
with 5 Schiele's, all small, sensual perfection, lined up quietly underneath a very grand chandelier... this wall put me under its spell over a dozen years ago, though its Klimt that makes me sit for long spaces of time, falling into 20 ft high scenes of tranquility depicting women so uniquely with death lurking, often, as it does in life....The Kiss is the most famous but by no means my favorite, so sweet to be kissed like that and to be able to paint a kiss that feels like that... The Albertina introduced a section of Klimt with Freudian text, maybe to emphasize the dream like elements, elaborate the earthly fantasy and intense sense of contentment. Klimt lives so well in Vienna, like seeing Degas @ Musée d'Orsay, Klimt and Schiele thrive in Vienna, the present married forever to its past, quiet, refined, civilized yet explosive in its own self-contained way. Austria...And what a perfect time to be here, Vienna boasts a fantastic exhibit of Picasso at his most political, Michelangelo at his most natural, strolling around all those sketches, having grown up with copies drawn by artistic siblings in our home in Seattle,
reminding me of times long ago when life was simple, death hadn't arrived to take away a brother, my beloved mother, there was enough love to go around, when it was just the 7 of us, a middle class clan, a benign tribe, loving parents, 5 pretty easy going kids who smiled easily in their photos because they felt like it, so long ago, when America was like that, when my America was like that...Allora, must come back to the present, to Vienna, to the piece di resistance, Signora Frida Kahlo.
This woman kinda blows my mind; all passion and sadness, fears and desires painted in primary colors mostly, again, symbolic, expressive. Those challenging eyes and brow, that beautiful hairline, tutoring herself to embrace her own innate talent, becoming a master among few. I was surprised by how moved I became, overwhelmed by her ability to project multiple cultures, industry after simplicity, moving from Mexico to N. America.
Those photographs of Frida, so fierce, unrelenting, insisting she be exactly who she could be, master of her own world, wanting her men to stay and not stray, so much wanting in that women, I'm grateful Frida wanted so much, she moved me as much as Klimt and Schiele, maybe even more...
Friday, 8 October 2010
Sunday in the Park with Joyce Carol Oates
Joyce Carol Oates; Blonde, Black Girl White Girl.
Dawn Powell wrote all the time, Joyce Carol Oates writes even more, in fact, she must be the most prolific writer of today. So abusive, so violent, she lacerates, she whips with her words, you feel yourself falling off a cliff, it's terrifying at times. You'd think she'd gift you with a reprieve, but she won't. So don't prey for that parachute, that rope will never appear, it will not end well, why? Because Joyce Carol Oates is a truth teller, that's why.
Her milieu is dark, I know dark but violence is foreign to me. Abuse, torture porn, I'm not normally drawn to this world, but when she creates a period of time, a slice of drama, I'm fascinated and find myself willing to go anywhere she's willing to take me, knowing it will all end in tears.
Such is the stunning effect of this writer. When you're reading Black Girl White Girl you might assume it's all about the relationship between two young women, one white, one black who happen to be room mates in an exclusive liberal arts college, if only because she writes about that relationship in the most devastating way, but its not. It's really about a white girl and her relationship with her radical Dad. Her Dad and his extreme left-wing activism, his attitudes about money, class, politics, the deceptive left-right paradigm that began to unfold in America circa 1970. Oates gets to highlight reverse racism, hypocrisy and liberal guilt in post-Vietnam America as only she can do.....
God she's brilliant, so brutal and honest. Her high literature style collides with informal, staccato, internal thought. In this book, it feels reminiscent of falling back into the blissed out, bonkered, wonderful, horrible life that was Marilyn Monroe in Blonde. I've blogged before but I'll blog it again, any women that wants to read about their own sex, their own fear, control, love, knowledge or lack thereof regarding their own sex, read Blonde, I dare you. That book is fierce.
Silvia Plath + Ted Hughes = emotional spectrum.
Reminds me of reading "The Bell Jar," when she says, "sometimes simply being a women is an act of courage." Like many women reading this book young, it sits and simmers, awaiting its day.
I suppose this is why Godot never arrives... and yet, contrary to literary myth, Godot arrived. Here he is, on our table, post luncheon.
Here's to Persephone rising and dispelling conventional wisdom...
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