It’s that day again

I <3 Friday t-shirtNot a whole lot happening on the Rebecca Black front this week: “Sing It” continues to get YouTube views — over 800,000 so far, and still the likes outnumber the dislikes two to one — but hasn’t actually made it onto the Billboard Hot 100. If you believe the iTunes Store bar graphs, it’s outsold “Person of Interest,” anyway.

In an interview with Joey Graceffa at teen.com, which I only just got around to watching, Rebecca revealed that her homeschooling, begun last year, has now moved online, which she likes, but she admits that there are lots of distractions at hand, what with Twitter, Tumblr, and other such places where she just incidentally has accounts. (I believe this calls for a facial expression and a single syllable: “Duh.”)

And that grey T with the smiley face is actual official RB merch, something there hasn’t been a lot of for some reason.

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Blogiversary note

Da Goddess celebrates ten years of bloggyness:

It was such a crazy little endeavor that has been — at times — my very reason to get out of bed, my reason to curse, my reason to cry and rip my hair out in clumps, it’s brought me love, it’s brought me joy, it’s brought me sorrow, but mostly it’s been a way for me to express myself … and a damn good way for me to make friends.

Sounds like a good argument for twenty years, doncha think?

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Surgical graft

There’s always a way to pad the bill, and this is one of the more ingenious ones I’ve heard about lately:

Here’s another Electronic Medical Records story from deep in the heart of “not for profit” hospitaldom. A local hospital in a continuing effort to not make a profit has rigged their EMR system so that a physician can’t “exit” the system without ordering a nutrition consultation. Doesn’t matter whether the patient needs this or not. Doesn’t matter whether the physician wants to order it or not.

Since 90 percent of such consultations can be boiled down to five words — “Eat this, don’t eat that” — this seems on par with your local auto dealer’s $200 charge for a spritz of Scotchgard.

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The warmth of the sun

It’s as nothing compared to the wrath of the police:

A woman visited a Stewart’s Shop and Curtis Lumber within a few minutes of each other Tuesday — with no clothes on.

“Have a good day,” the woman told one lumberyard employee as she traipsed out.

Points for politeness, perhaps? Not that the lumberyard manager was inclined to give her any:

“No one wanted to say much to her,” he said. “It’s not a situation you want to be involved in.”

By the time law enforcement picked her up, she’d gotten dressed. Said the District Attorney: “Surprisingly, mental health found no psychiatric issues whatsoever.”

National Nude Day is still eight weeks away, so perhaps she was just jumping the gun a bit.

(Via the Consumerist.)

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Oh, Donna

The ever-popular Perception vs. Reality struggle, in the form of an LP jacket:

Donna Summer - Four Seasons of Love

Slinky disco divas were all the rage in 1976, and Four Seasons of Love, with its thank-God-Photoshop-hasn’t-been-invented-yet cover, did its best to sell Donna Summer as the definitive S.D.D. To me, though, this album marks the point where she left the first clues that mechanized proto-Eurobeat wasn’t really where she wanted to be.

I quite freely admit to having bought her early thump-thump stuff: I never did count myself as part of the Disco Sucks camp. But when word of Summer’s passing (at 63, which is too, too young) reached me, this is the song I wanted to hear:

The last of, yes, four tracks on Four Seasons of Love, “Winter Melody” got a smattering of airplay around town, and it took some of her fans by surprise, what with its non-thumpy sound and its utter disdain for the demands of BPM. Ultimately, I listed it as one of the Songs in the Key of Me:

I had no idea what I was getting into: I’d bought the single because hey, it was Donna Summer, and I was still reeling from the seventeen-minute orgasm that was “Love to Love You Baby.” Nominally, “Spring Affair,” a more conventional-sounding number, was the A-side, but “Winter Melody,” sad break-up tune that it was, got all my attention. The official position of hard-line rocknroll types seemed to be that people did this crappy dance stuff because they didn’t know any better; this was the exact point where I decided otherwise. And Donna, three years later, brought out the hard-rocking “Hot Stuff,” about sixteen times tougher than the Stones song of the same name, and I knew I was right.

Both sides charted, which means, unless you’re Elvis or the Beatles, that both sides didn’t chart very high. No matter. I’ve never seen a headstone that quoted Billboard.

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Rolling redonkulousness

A brief history of aspect ratios, by Ronnie Schreiber:

If I’m not mistaken, most bias ply passenger car tires in the 1960s were 78 series. After radials came out, 70 series tires became the standard. Soon 60s were available. A 60 series radial looked like a flat tire compared to a 78 series bias ply tire. I think it was Porsche that first started offering 16 and then 17 inch wheels to better exploit the new lower aspect ratio tires and keep overall tire diameter constant. Those low stiff sidewalls meant better handling and the wheels weren’t so much larger that increased unsprung weight was yet an issue (aluminum weighs more than rubber). So the original large rims weren’t for looks, but rather for function. In time they became valued for their look as well and designers at car companies realized there were aesthetic advantages in taking up the more of the empty space inside the wheel well with an interestingly shaped chrome or colored wheel, compared to a boring black rubber donut.

On the other hand, the absurd 20- or 22-inch rims being inflicted on sweet, innocent family sedans bring massive increases in unsprung weight and urgent demands for eye bleach.

Me? I drive on 55-series 16s. The up-option that year was a 50-series 17-incher, which somehow increased the turning circle by five feet. To me, this is not an advantage.

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For your date with Optimus Prime

As I’ve done before, I sat out on the Zappos order map (which has now moved here) and recorded the first shoe purchase I saw. Took about 38 seconds.

Forbes by Nina

This is “Forbes” by Nina, and I spent entirely too much time wondering if the late Malcolm Forbes might have at one time commissioned a design like this. (Answer: probably not.) Whatever its origins, it looks very much like a one-use-only shoe, the sort of thing you’d buy for prom night or bridesmaid duty. (More than half the reviewers on the Zappos product page said they were thus motivated.) The $80 price isn’t too outlandish, unless of course you really aren’t going to wear them ever again, and there are ten colors: this one is called “steel.” And they swear that’s a three-inch heel, though it doesn’t look that tall in the picture.

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You need not bloat alone

If you go out and buy a Windows-based computer, you will generally find a copy of Windows installed — along with vast quantities of shovelware of varying degrees of desirability. Microsoft has apparently decided to spare some of us this indignity, though not out of the goodness of their flinty little hearts:

Preinstalled trial versions of useless software have been slowing down new PCs for years, and Microsoft is finally offering a solution: bring your PC into a Microsoft Store and pay them $99 to install a clean copy of Windows.

The new program is an outgrowth of Microsoft’s “Signature” PC initiative, which sells bloatware-free versions of PCs from Microsoft’s partners in Microsoft stores. AllThingsD [warning: intro screen] reports that Microsoft is now offering to change any computer into a Signature PC if customers bring it into the store and pay the requisite fee. Signature PCs also include Microsoft’s Windows Live Essentials programs; the ad-supported, Word and Excel-only Microsoft Office Starter edition; the Microsoft Security Essentials antivirus package; and the Zune media player software. Users can choose not to have these programs installed, and can also specify if they would like other third-party browsers or programs installed. Ninety days of free phone support is also included.

Now how much would you pay to avoid ever having to see [name of fantastically bloated "security" software] again?

Meanwhile in Europe, Microsoft may be required to offer download links for rival browsers in Windows 8, as a result of an antitrust settlement with the European Union.

(Tweeted in my general direction by Adam Gurri.)

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Back to the grindhouse

So the Lakers regrouped, and rethought: if they’re not going to beat the Thunder by playing at a quick pace, maybe they can do it by slowing it down to a torturous crawl. (How slow? Los Angeles won the third quarter, 18-12.) With two minutes left, the Lakers were up seven, 75-68. The Thunder promptly went on an 8-0 run to go up 76-75; Thabo Sefolosha retrieved a Steve Blake miss, and the Lakers found time to foul twice in the last six seconds. With 0.3 left, Kevin Durant ended up at the stripe; he hit the first, missed the second, and the Lakers got one more (very brief) chance before James Harden got his hand on the ball at the horn. OKC 77, Lakers 75, and now it’s 2-0.

It was, by and large, an astonishing display of non-shooting by the Lakers. Andrew Bynum got 20 points, but he went 8-19 from the floor; Kobe Bryant got 20, but he went 9-25. And the entire L. A. bench came up with a whole 11 points. The Lakers finished at 38.5 percent, and hit only two of 15 treys. Pau Gasol did eke out a double-double, though: 14 points, 11 boards. (L. A. was +5 in rebounding.)

The Thunder weren’t exactly hitting on all cylinders either: 42 percent, six of 17 for three. And the major point-getters got comparatively minor points: Durant 22, Russell Westbrook 15 (he went 5-17), Harden 13. (To repeat: the entire L. A. bench came up with 11.) Still, the Lakers basically had this one won — and they got blindsided in those last two minutes. Couldn’t happen to a nicer bunch of reprobates.

The fun resumes Friday at Staples Center, and continues Saturday. Yes, it’s a back-to-back. Think of it as practice before we have to face the Spurs.

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You just gotta help us

There’s been wingnutty fun all week with the #ObamaInHistory hashtag, which makes it almost irresistible for me to pass up a story which might actually have historical import. And besides, it involves Saab, and we all love a good Saab story:

Main Saab blue collar union, IF Metall, has taken the extraordinary step of writing directly to President Barack Obama in a bid to put pressure on former owner, General Motors, to make its licences available.

The licence issue is continuing to take centre stage as GM is reluctant to allow them to be transfered to a potential competitor — particularly given its relationship with Chinese automaker, SAIC.

However, with unemployment levels in Saab’s Swedish home town of Trollhättan soaring to 40%, IF Metall has taken the decision to write to the US President as the American taxpayer still owns part of General Motors.

“We asked Mr Obama to talk to GM to let the licences free [for] a new buyer of Saab,” IF Metall Trollhättan plant chairman Hakan Scott told just-auto from Sweden. “We have not had any answer yet.”

The license would presumably permit resuming production of the 9-5, which is based on GM’s Epsilon II platform. The next 9-3 would be built off the new Saab PhoeniX platform, which is all Saab except for a few generic GM bits here and there. (The 9-4X, a crossover built alongside the Cadillac SRX, is apparently dead after 748 copies.)

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Pleasantville in color

One of about half a dozen things Chelsea in Tulsa finds unappealing about her home town:

If a nuclear holocaust occurred and archaeologists one hundred years from now were looking for the most pristine example of an all-American suburb, Tulsa between 111th and 71st street would be the perfect subject. The brick and stucco houses, retention ponds, and Bradford Pear trees … the Applebee’s, Arby’s, and Outbacks … the Walmarts, Targets, and oh, the QuikTrips! It’s like a perfect replica of the kind of neighborhoods the creators of The Sims wanted you to create. South Tulsa is my home turf and I haven’t turned into a weird downtown snob or anything, but honestly, a couple Mom n’ Pop establishments in the area wouldn’t hurt a thing.

Forget it. Mom and Pop moved out to Owasso first chance they got.

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Post-aspirational

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A few inches later

A little over a year ago, I made a brief mention of Lea T., a fashion model who’d become the face of Givenchy, snarking as follows:

I’ve grumbled for years about fashion models having the general shape of twelve-year-old boys, so it’s probably about time we had one who, legally anyway, used to be a twelve-year-old boy.

Lea T.At the time, she was still pre-op, but getting ready for sexual reassignment surgery. This past weekend, she made her first post-op trip to the runway:

Lea T. took to the runway in São Paulo Saturday night in celebration of Elle Brazil’s 24th anniversary — but her turn on the catwalk marked an important personal landmark in the model’s career as well: According to Made in Brazil blog’s Juliano Corbetta, this is Lea T.’s first modeling job after undergoing sexual reassignment surgery. The model opened up about her plans to have surgery when she went on Oprah in February of last year, telling Oprah, “Of course physically, this operation is a big operation … But at the same time, I think it’s mental too. To think like, ‘Wow, I cut part of my body’.”

Janet Mock, who devised the #girlslikeus hashtag on Twitter, reminds us that “srs doesn’t make her any more or less a woman.”

And that “twelve-year-old boy” stuff? Wikipedia says 34-25-36.

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What can Tina Brown do for you?

“When the radical priest come to get me released,
We was all on the cover of Newsweek.”

— Paul Simon, “Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard” (1972)

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When toy soldiers aren’t enough

You need TOY AIR POWER!

116 planes of all nations

And if your mom is like my mom, watch how you pronounce “Fokker.”

(Via If Charlie Parker Was a Gunslinger, There’d Be a Whole Lot of Dead Copycats. Can your blog live up to that name?)

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Dragon your heart around

Tam’s re-reading the Dragonriders of Pern series — the first three books, anyway — and her perspective has changed just slightly in the interim:

They’re still fun, but the idea of having a giant telepathically-linked dragon that would be your friend forever and could fly you around and set stuff that annoyed you on fire was a lot more attractive when I was in middle school and grappling with teen angst. Not that I’d turn one down now, but as an adult, all you can think of are the damned vet bills, which must be ginormous. And it probably horks up hairballs the size of VW Beetles.

At least it’s not a threadfall. Damned thing would dissolve your hand while you were trying to clean it up.

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