It never hurts to ask

One of the staffers at Call Me Stormy had the bright idea of actually writing me and requesting addition to ye olde blogroll, a practice I thought had died with the last century.

On the basis of their About page:

Call Me Stormy was suckled by she-wolves on Monster Island after rising up, on a half-shell, from the radioactive surf. In the grand tradition of Gamera, Call Me Stormy is slow to anger, but will poke his head out of his shell and unleash flying fury when prodded and provoked.

As you’ll recall, Gamera is really neat, and, well, I figure if they can come up with that level of wack on a regular basis, they damned well deserve to be on ye olde blogroll.

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Shard done, eh?

The first thing any business owner must do is reach his customers. Hence:

Cops say the bust started with a flier they found in Seattle.

“CALL IF YOU NEED METH!” It also listed a phone number and the alleged dealer’s name.

So the cops called.

They had tracked the phone number and learned it belonged to a 20-year-old man who they say has a history of drug and fraud offenses. He also had two warrants — one for domestic violence, another for DUI.

And apparently he’d earned enough in his various endeavors to be able to afford a ’97 Chevy Cavalier.

(Via Fark.)

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If anyone was wondering

If you read this on Wednesday and were waiting for the moment when you could read that something-less-than-magnum opus for yourself, the answer is “As of about quarter past eight last night, it passed moderator scrutiny.”

Then again, it’s going up one chapter at a time. They’re giving me free space; the least I can do is give them some extra page views.

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You and your !!*@! ticket

Lovely Rita, meter maid, where would I be without you? Certainly not in front of the Michigan Supreme Court:

A former Michigan State University student who shouted at an MSU parking enforcement officer after he got a ticket cannot be criminally prosecuted because the university ordinance prohibiting such behavior is overly broad, a divided [5-2] Michigan Supreme Court has ruled.

The court, in an opinion released [Friday] afternoon, said the ordinance unconstitutionally impaired free speech rights because it could be applied “against anyone who disrupts in any way anyone carrying out any activity for or with MSU.”

Jared Rapp, now 29, was charged with a misdemeanor after he reacted to a parking ticket in Sept. 2008 by assailing the parking officer. According to court records, the officer retreated to his vehicle, called for help, then sat in his vehicle until police arrived.

This is apparently standard procedure for MSU parking officers faced with recalcitrant malparkers, though I suspect this is what annoyed him most:

While he was waiting, Rapp stood outside the vehicle and photographed him with his mobile phone.

They hate that.

This is the MSU ordinance in question:

No person shall disrupt the normal activity or molest the property of any person, firm, or agency while that person, firm, or agency is carrying out service, activity or agreement for or with the University.

Geez. If disrupting my normal activity were a civil offense… but no, never mind, let’s not go there.

Here’s the entire opinion in PDF format, should you be curious.

(Via Autoblog.)

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They love to watch her strut

Was there ever a better brand name for hosiery than Strutwear?

Strutwear ad featuring Ann Blyth

From Bosley Crowther’s 1949 New York Times review of Once More, My Darling, being cross-promoted here:

[Robert] Montgomery plays a former movie idol hired by the government to woo a young heiress (Ann Blyth). Someone had previously given the girl some jewelry stolen by the Nazis during the war, and the government wants to find out who that someone was. In the grand tradition, Montgomery pursues Blyth until she finally catches him.

Strutwear may be better known for its labor history than its legwear, however. In 1935-36, the company, then a staunch opponent of unionization, was struck for eight months; the hosiery workers’ union eventually prevailed.

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A cloud in my head

There is something of a downside to singing along with the music source in your office, reports the ever-trillworthy Francis W. Porretto:

[Y]ou must be aware of your surroundings; there are numerous environments in which singing or whistling will get you “looked at” or worse.

I was walked in on once while following Dee Clark’s 1961 magnum opus “Raindrops,” and seeing no way to conceal what I’d been doing, I restarted the song and sang it all the way through — including the scream at the end. This is no easy task, I assure you.

But I can’t sing that song anymore; the, um, local humidity is too high. Yeah. That’s the ticket.

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Sing it again, Tony

Tony Martin, who died this week at 98, pulled off what I consider two cultural coups: he was married (for sixty years!) to the improbably lovely Cyd Charisse, and he made a couple of spiffy vocal recordings in the middle Sixties for, um, Motown.

Seriously. Berry Gordy had established a small West Coast outpost in 1964, first signing Brenda Holloway (“Every Little Bit Hurts”). Martin cut two singles for Motown, “Talking To Your Picture” (Motown 1071) and “The Bigger Your Heart Is (The Harder You’ll Fall)” (Motown 1082). The latter, which I snagged on a 45, has long been a favorite around here. Hal Davis and Marc Gordon, Motown’s West Coast producers, made no effort to “update” Martin’s sound; the arrangement could work on a Dean Martin or a post-Capitol Sinatra single. No one has YouTubed it, but you can hear it on MySpace, these days as much of a cultural throwback as Martin himself.

(Thanks to Dave Schuler.)

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Quote of the week

The late Gore Vidal, interviewed by Playboy in 1969:

Politics today is big money. X can be stupid or a drunk or a religious maniac, but if he has the money for a major political career and enough political flair to make a good public impression, he will automatically attract to himself quite a number of political adventurers, some talented. With luck, he will become the nucleus of a political team that then creates his speeches, his positions, his deeds, if any — Presidential hopefuls seldom do anything — until, finally, X is entirely the team’s creation, manipulated… in much the same way that the queen bee is powerless in relation to the drones and workers.

And while we’re on the subject:

[O]nly in America do we pretend to worship the majority, reverently listening to the herd as it Gallups this way and that.

(I actually posted these quotes ten years ago, but Vidal’s perspicacity in these matters remains undiminished.)

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Rebrand new

Hotmail, owned by Microsoft since the Crimean War, is now mutating into Outlook. Will it be able to snarf up any additional market share? Giz has its doubts:

The Chernobyl Tourism Board has an easier task before it. Hotmail is a cursed word in tech, and, frankly Outlook is probably close behind it, a workplace nightmare most people associate with tedium. The sad fact is that most of us probably wouldn’t switch from Gmail to a better webmail service. Even if it were a much better webmail service. Many of us have been using the same Gmail account since the middle of the Bush administration, and that inertia, combined with the toxic connotations of Hotmail, will make any switch a huge psychological task. Why didn’t Microsoft call it Bing mail? People like Bing. Bing is a decent search engine, and Bing is fun to say.

Disclosure: I do in fact have a Hotmail account, acquired during the Clinton administration. It feeds into Windows Live Mail, which used to be Outlook Express.

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Cameos don’t cost a thing

For those of you who lament the fact that Jennifer Lopez is doing reality shows these days, well, here’s J. Lo doing a walk-on (although she’s not actually walking here, technically) on a reality show, albeit one you probably didn’t see: the Argentine series Soñando por Bailar, which means “Dreaming of Dancing.” I’m reasonably certain no further explanation is required.

Jennifer Lopez on Soñando por Bailar

Weirdly, a victory on Soñando por Bailar earns one a spot on Bailando por un Sueño, “Dancing for a Dream,” in which the stakes are higher. Says Wikipedia of the latter:

From the second season onwards, and unlike the international versions, Bailando por un Sueño has taken a controversial turn due to the constant bickering that often escalates to verbal bashing and personal attacks between the celebrities and the judges. This could be behind the high ratings of the show.

Bickering and verbal bashing? On a reality show? Who knew?

Note: If you thought the obvious title here was “There’s always room for J. Lo,” well, I used that ten years ago.

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Everybody Kurtz-y

Andrea Harris gets around to reading Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, which she apparently considers, to borrow a phrase from Mad, a crock of shit now:

I’m not sure why I should care about the characters: neurotic, coddled white guy leaves “civilization” for the scary jungle, realizes during the journey that he’s out of reach of warm beds, hot baths, and people who care about his feefees to the exclusion of all else, and doesn’t like it one bit. All the other white guys are typical of white guys in a white male supremacist society: they’ve always been on the top so have never had anything really difficult asked of them, and when they find themselves far away from the creature comforts they think they are entitled to they react like big babies and “go native” — that is, become supreme assholes that no actual “native” culture would tolerate from its own.

If it’s any consolation, neurotic, coddled Marlow didn’t much like the other white guys either, at least at first.

I’d love to see her take on The Children of the Sea, which is of course not the real title.

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A round of hemlock for everybody

“Republicans, they thirst for death,” says the banner, which may or may not (I say “may”) trace back to the title of this sidebar piece by Gerard Van der Leun. In any given campaign, the Democrat will enjoy at least one distinct advantage: he’s not employing GOP campaign strategists, here pilloried by Robert Stacy McCain:

Suppose that you are a correspondent who is following around a candidate at considerable expense to your news organization. Your bosses expect that you’re going to provide them with actual news, and hopefully something exclusive. Instead, you go to three events a day at which the candidate gives the same basic stump speech over and over. There’s never a press conference, never a minute of unscripted access to the candidate, and the campaign staffers are under orders never to tell you anything useful in terms of actual news that might distract from the pre-approved Message of the Day.

This is called “staying on message,” and it doesn’t work for the GOP, which hasn’t in years had anything resembling a unified message other than “Taxes bad!” The Democrats don’t have this problem, since they’ve long since adopted Slade’s advice: “See chameleon lying there in the sun, all things to everyone, run, runaway.” And away they run with the election.

How many times have I explained to my friends — many of whom are in fact Republican operatives — why this approach doesn’t work? Hundreds. Yet the same Ziegler-style policy continues to be Standard Operating Procedure, because you will never meet a Republican operative who doesn’t consider himself an authoritative expert on media relations, and they will heed no advice from actual journalists.

Take another sip, Romneybots.

Bill Quick, meanwhile, thinks it’s not a function of GOP gormlessness at all:

Republicans didn’t alienate the press corps. The (mostly) left-wing press corps hates Republicans, and ever since the Kennedy era, has done everything in its power to destroy Republican candidacies when and wherever it covers them. This sort of thinking is akin to a similar malady that far too many Republicans do believe in — that if they can just get the left to like them a little, they can get the left to compromise on principle with them. Then they are shocked when the left says, “You know, you’re kinda likeable, but this is business, sorry,” and then hands them their heads. Again.

Cut to Charlie Brown about to place-kick faceplant.

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Very well then I contradict myself

On April Fools Day, I tried to talk some poor kid out of his desire to live in another universe. But that was before I went there myself.

(Warning: A whole lot of My Little Pony content.)

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Inversion layer

Bertel Schmitt discloses one aspect of selling cars in China that barely resembles the American model:

People who know the world’s largest car market will tell you that “Chinese want big cars with small engines.” They want roomy cars that signal that the owner has been prosperous; the engine however should be small enough to deliver a miserly consumption of gas, or “oil” as they say in China.

Meanwhile, we cram 650 ponies into a lowly Chevrolet (née Daewoo) Aveo.

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Overfed need not apply

Jersey City has attempted to define that nebulous term “starving artist”:

Artists interested in the affordable housing [set aside for those meeting the following criteria] must be certified by the city Artist Certification board that has certified nearly 500 artists citywide. For more information, call [em][number redacted].

1) Commitment to the fine arts as a career
2) Need for a large loft space
3) An arts education
4) Current body of work
5) Exhibition record
6) References from other artists or art professionals

How many of those “affordable housing” units does Jersey City have for these nearly five hundred artists? Seven.

I’m reasonably certain none of the “artists” from those loud TV commercials who end up painting stuff like geese playing Yahtzee for the benefit of buyers who select their artwork on the basis of whether it can cover both the cracks in the living-room plaster will ever end up in one of these lofts.

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404 from the 212

This nifty little drawing of a newsboyperson appears on the 404 page from

404 image from the New York Daily News

Then again, I was a fan of the original Newsies, so make of that what you will.

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