Watch the 5 minute video, see a delightful artist. This is the sort of marriage between technology and art that makes me happy to be alive.
"He calls the new version of the escapement a Chronophage (time-eater) a fearsome beast which drives the clock, literally eating away time."
(Chronophage is my new favorite word.)
I was reading up on the challenges/prices of changing starch from non-edible plants into usable biofuel (hey, it's an interesting engineering question, okay?) and thanks to the nature of Hypertext I eventually stumbled across a précis concerning Viagra/plant erection:
http://student.bmj.com/issues/99/09/news/313.php
"Viagra (sildenafil citrate) is good not only for treating male impotence. Israeli and Australian researchers have discovered that small concentrations of the drug dissolved in a vase of water can also double the shelf life of cut flowers, making them stand up straight for as long as a week beyond their natural life span. "
"In this latest research they found that 1 mg of the drug (compared with 50 mg in one pill taken by impotent men) in a solution was enough to prevent two vases of cut flowers from wilting for as much as a week longer than might be expected."
[Emphasis mine.]
Goes in the "Well, Why The Hell Not" folder....
Great, they're pathetically sexist. Just when I thought I'd found a product crazy enough I could support it.
I don't know what mailing list I'm on, or how I got there, but weekly I get these odd little offers to send God's agents some cash so they'll prey (whoops! that's pray) for my financial success. This is from yesterday's:
One thing I like about this is that twice on the same page they make a direct association between your writing of a check and your service to your God.
And then the (beautifully rendered) picture itself shows a check being made out directly to Jesus!
And this picture was in the envelope you use to send them your money:
I almost don't have words for it. A beatific, somewhat stoned-with-holiness, white-hippy Jesus, too lost in revery & reverence to actually look at the mail he's to deliver (to dad?)!
And the 'Cartoon Network' quality of the hand & envelope drawn in over Jesus' blessing, changing his gesture of absolution & salvation to a simple mail-snatch! Gorgeous!
Think of the sincerity & piety, of Lordly ministering, these envelope-stuffing wolves manage to imagine for themselves to justify fleecing the believers.
Staggering, wonderful, disgusting, awful and awesome.
From 'Brazil' to 'Fear & Loathing' to 'Baron Munchausen' to 'Tideland', from 'Fisher King' to 'Crimson Permanent Assurance' his films are always full-to-bursting.
Full of life, full of death, full of humor, full of tragedy.
Full, as he says in this clip, "...of magic, wonder. The stuff of dreams".
Very special thanks to my dear friend Tom Smith for taking the time & making the effort to track down the August 14th issue of the German weekly "Die Zeit" for me.
workingassets.com
I use a company called 'Working Assets' as a Long Distance provider (they recently changed their name to 'Credo' for some reason).
From their website; " Working Assets was created in 1985 on a strong foundation of beliefs, a credo. Supporting peace, equality, human rights and the environment is the reason we exist. That is why each time one of our customers uses our mobile, credit card or long distance services, we donate a portion of their charges to these causes."
Part of your payments to them they give to organizations like Planned Parenthood, Center for Independent Media, Oxfam, Amnesty International, the Gay & Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation, etc. Nice & liberal.
In today's mail I received a postcard from them:
Nabokov's last work will not be burned
Click the link, read the story. I'll wait.
Know that the reason I gave up on trying to write fiction almost 20 years ago is my irrational fervor for Nabokov's achievement.
He is my god.
In '95, when my life was over for the third or fourth time, Knopf (Random House) published, in hardback, 'the Stories of Vladimir Nabokov'. My daily prayer book. It contains all his previously published short stories, in chronological order, starting with a sweet (if poor) three-pager he wrote when 17, 'the Wood-Sprite'.
I have read it many, many, many, muh-henny times. Each time, though, leaving the last five stories, the last 44 pages of Nabby's fiction I'd ever have. My grail. My 'Kingdom of God'. My salvation. My all.
To this day I have yet to read them. They are my Valhalla.
Now, thanks once more to Mike (the smartest human I've ever known), I find a slight ledge above my current grip I hadn't noticed before.
The last bits of Nabby's literary life are known to any fan. 150-odd 3"x5" cards, carefully if almost illegibly annotated, breaking down the final work of the greatest novelist to choose English as a final language. Left, in his estate, to be destroyed by his lifelong love, and dedicatee of every novel, his wife & partner & love, his wife Vera.
Blessfully, blissfully, she chose to pass on any conflagaritory obligations. (Just thinking about Nabby makes you write worse than you normally do....)
Now, the final inheritor of Nabby's estate, their son Dmitri (the rakish, racecar driving/racecar crashing, orchestra conducting, literary inheriting (and annoyingly fine writer/editor in his own lifetime) son) has announced to the world he too will not follow his father's deathbed wishes to destroy the final, unfinished, unpolished, story.
To be fair, it's well known that Nabokov had a feverish disdain for anybody to see unfinished works. He is well known for writing, complete with asides and jokes and pauses, all and any speech he gave to any college class. (Really. They were published in book-form in the late 70's & persons lucky enough to attend his lectures attest to the almost verbatim transcription).
But readers, like vultures, care not for the bones behind the meat, as it were. Personally, I'd voluntarily lose my left arm (I use my right arm for too many things I enjoy) for a chance to read Nabby's Laura.
For some of us vampires, Nabby's corpus is the final blood we crave. The idea that somewhere, somehow, there's fresh flesh we never had access to before is literally, literarilly, intoxicating. Flesh to get drunk on.
No more mad late-night dreams of how to break into that Swiss bank-vault to get those damn cards....
Feeling a little out-of-sorts last night so after work I went for a drive. Ended up stopping by my favorite bar in Seattle, the "Tin Hat" in Ballard. They sell foam beer-holders with their logo and the phrase "SHUT THE FUCK UP & DRINK!", but that's not why they're my favorite bar.
I hadn't realized it'd been so long since I'd been in. Two things have changed, one good, one bad.
First thing I notice is a neon sign that says 'Kitchen Open Till Midnight', which is definitely intriguing as they usually shut it around 10pm, meaning it would have been too late to get tots.
Now let's take a minute to talk tots. The genius of providing freshly fried tater-tots in a bar environment can not be over-emphasized. The simplicity & purity of the idea of tots at a bar fills me with an almost absurdly spiritual joy. They are the single greatest item available for soaking up the beer (or double gin & bitters, in my case) that's souring your stomach. They are the perfect size for a speed-feed, or the perfect size for steady nibbling. They are perfect for munching by yourself, or for a basket-in-the-middle share with friends. They are starchy & fried & hot & greasy like french fries, but unlike fries are much less greasy & stay hot much longer out of the kitchen. They even hold the katsup better.
And the ones at the Tin Hat, as you may have surmised, are the best in Seattle (The secret may be their sauce; like a creamy spicy katsup. But then again it may not be).
I slide onto a stool, pull out the credit card (you should always run a tab when at a bar, it makes everything easier, and is one of life's little pleasures), order my first of the night's double gin & bitters, ask if the kitchen is really still open. Why yes, I would like to see a menu!
The new bartender delivers my drink and takes my order for tots. I ask him how long the kitchen's been open 'til midnight, he looks at the kitchen and says it's been that way as long as he can remember. Hmm, it has been a while since I've been in.
By my third double g&b I've asked for a takeaway box for what's left of my tots (breakfast!), and become a bit more talkative. From overhearing his conversation with an off-work coworker I've noticed they haven't spoken of John, my usual bartender. I ask if he's still around, but neither of them has even heard of a bartender there named John. I can't even ask where he's gone!
Dang. John had the amazing knack of remembering my usual drink, even when I stayed away (at other bars, not away) for months. He had also, from being attentive & professional, perfected the ratio of gin to bitters to make the best drink. And he was the kind of guy who'd talk if you wanted to, or leave you alone if you wanted to just stare at the back of the bar. And he always poured heavy because I always tipped him heavy. And he's the only bartender in Seattle who's let me stay in the bar after closing and continue drinking (so far, fingers crossed!). Dang, gonna have to train the new guy.
Order my fourth double, ask for the check, tip too much (which is just the right amount).
Oh well, tot's 'til midnight in tribute to John....
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