tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88846301470858634252024-03-05T03:04:58.034-05:00Rummage Sale in My Head<b>Shushu</b>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06883124489703202706noreply@blogger.comBlogger33125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8884630147085863425.post-41609294040467811492014-05-04T19:28:00.000-04:002014-05-06T08:02:29.416-04:00Urban Portraiture<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b> Pterodactyl </b>(Medium: Pollen, car hood)</div>
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<b>Bart Simpson </b>(Medium: Wall, metal, bolts) </div>
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<b>Angel </b>(Medium: Sidewalk, dogwood flower)</div>
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<b>Lion Rampant </b>(Medium: Floor, not-pee)</div>
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<b>Shushu</b>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06883124489703202706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8884630147085863425.post-27941559319440673932013-09-29T09:23:00.000-04:002013-09-29T09:23:21.385-04:00My brother-in-law wins the Sakurai Prize!<br />
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My amazing brother-in-law, Zvi Bern, just won the American Physical Society's 2014 J.J. Sakurai Prize for Theoretical Particle Physics! Rock on, Zvi, David, and Lance -- and Debby, who's got a high-energy thing of her own going!</div>
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<a href="http://www.pa.ucla.edu/content/zvi-bern-awarded-aps-jj-sakurai-award-2014" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">http://www.pa.ucla.edu/<wbr></wbr>content/zvi-bern-awarded-aps-<wbr></wbr>jj-sakurai-award-2014</a><br /></div>
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<b>Shushu</b>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06883124489703202706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8884630147085863425.post-69409213182277827622013-09-22T09:54:00.000-04:002013-09-22T09:56:48.772-04:00Poor Wagger's Almanac<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilafO3yQtBPqEyBRO4W30jf8Y83RNvr5nrc3oO4l71ja51f2sCnuC_w_Khvf0qc8aaiWSJPUb_dhOItNgx9-sP6ibhYsSxygH6htMwcpCfzcr3DzKpZY9OkcWMyfZpPJkPuQZmLNlc_fol/s1600/IMG_20130915_140813_853.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilafO3yQtBPqEyBRO4W30jf8Y83RNvr5nrc3oO4l71ja51f2sCnuC_w_Khvf0qc8aaiWSJPUb_dhOItNgx9-sP6ibhYsSxygH6htMwcpCfzcr3DzKpZY9OkcWMyfZpPJkPuQZmLNlc_fol/s400/IMG_20130915_140813_853.jpg" /></a></div>
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It's going to be a complicated year. </div>
<b>Shushu</b>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06883124489703202706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8884630147085863425.post-44522720751142665142013-01-31T20:58:00.001-05:002013-01-31T20:58:45.620-05:00Unexpected Beauty, Fraternal Twins<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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These are two of the most beautiful and expressive walls I've ever seen. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> I came across this in a funky neighborhood in Philadelphia. It was right next door to an art gallery, but there was no comparison. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I came across this in Seattle. It smelled wonderful too, unlike most alleys.</td></tr>
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<br /><b>Shushu</b>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06883124489703202706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8884630147085863425.post-26051619138778618982012-12-10T22:38:00.002-05:002012-12-10T22:38:39.988-05:00Remains<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The walk to work can be a treasure hunt, a scavenger hunt, or a stroll through a mausoleum, filled with remains. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzDW3WTUSaei6V4Uh6cJoBKMsiYwWNLgUm8Xjz81xLpUokA2CdLxdPVrV_GAMHBwM7m2lcE3QMocW6oY8BksDGHbG6-BpOvMjN6mYnD5w8kM9ReLBrltogXxF66ULYkdKnSznx1RKgBSuh/s1600/IMG_20121210_090332_514.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzDW3WTUSaei6V4Uh6cJoBKMsiYwWNLgUm8Xjz81xLpUokA2CdLxdPVrV_GAMHBwM7m2lcE3QMocW6oY8BksDGHbG6-BpOvMjN6mYnD5w8kM9ReLBrltogXxF66ULYkdKnSznx1RKgBSuh/s1600/IMG_20121210_090332_514.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Skeleton, devoured to sinew, tendon, bone -- and half a buttock</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKTGNUMsAfjG-EAIlZrPv4pecHzttdP-jEp5-aFcJksaYlMGIE1uXsa3EZXtfaNwsV-QBPAgCzXRau4UjwLpFEQpHWHjUnGCac4x2S6tQyhAOHxlTMHLw_99Kw-4nbDg5Opgo5hqduoI_j/s1600/hairbun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKTGNUMsAfjG-EAIlZrPv4pecHzttdP-jEp5-aFcJksaYlMGIE1uXsa3EZXtfaNwsV-QBPAgCzXRau4UjwLpFEQpHWHjUnGCac4x2S6tQyhAOHxlTMHLw_99Kw-4nbDg5Opgo5hqduoI_j/s1600/hairbun.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abandoned hairpiece, left in the cross-hairs as if for emphasis</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu1wvD4MeP5KNACFGLVsLQPn0teXRddGyOVb5JzQr5KZ97SdSlME_0ULsBSi_H54sC5ub7cFNLzenZHyhISiXTv9CVQcQD6cmDH94NTAVFpO5BCi8Y_MRg0zOoSmszfFtTIual5WIQBvOd/s1600/birdnest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu1wvD4MeP5KNACFGLVsLQPn0teXRddGyOVb5JzQr5KZ97SdSlME_0ULsBSi_H54sC5ub7cFNLzenZHyhISiXTv9CVQcQD6cmDH94NTAVFpO5BCi8Y_MRg0zOoSmszfFtTIual5WIQBvOd/s1600/birdnest.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fallen nest, with such sad and delicate shadows</td></tr>
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<b>Shushu</b>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06883124489703202706noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8884630147085863425.post-73155052511979782292012-08-04T10:31:00.000-04:002012-08-04T10:31:02.137-04:00Urban Blooms<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I had the good fortune to watch this beautiful orange blossom over several days:</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-RqDOp8DtRjdlzfz9MVV2tJPCRUxjNxUs7e8mj2jdok6ejjeyUUJHpSlekYm3Kuc5LKA1P4d5p2SaOOa-HBR8EaD_PUM2rSNKhxMfIAYQic4uS0zIeOUDpEPYI4jMXA39qzeoLWfnKCX7/s1600/1st-orange.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-RqDOp8DtRjdlzfz9MVV2tJPCRUxjNxUs7e8mj2jdok6ejjeyUUJHpSlekYm3Kuc5LKA1P4d5p2SaOOa-HBR8EaD_PUM2rSNKhxMfIAYQic4uS0zIeOUDpEPYI4jMXA39qzeoLWfnKCX7/s400/1st-orange.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Orange blossom, Day 1</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz6fGA8ifsZir90LTkhuhU4lMS2hKs_J_TD8P8Mtph7uQFhVq6xxp3d_fQHCt1xtdu1s9r-sNLzUpDnvKok6DL8Emvcwk0G4lzB637UXaL6BI06-NP5DWTwktsHB5nXgGmJHPFbEtELM6H/s1600/2nd-orange.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz6fGA8ifsZir90LTkhuhU4lMS2hKs_J_TD8P8Mtph7uQFhVq6xxp3d_fQHCt1xtdu1s9r-sNLzUpDnvKok6DL8Emvcwk0G4lzB637UXaL6BI06-NP5DWTwktsHB5nXgGmJHPFbEtELM6H/s400/2nd-orange.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Orange blossom, Day 2</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtnzoTCiJG2vieQrswH2ppnTF4P0MN69CJfdaHtAMc113kkbfis_1eV3IM5UAKVbHR3adVOcYvprPvfYoCWM3YHVZjszzmmKfUH79Gf_mia_BSZOWA3kfF1vUBLKHlOsR3thPDYw0_OPTq/s1600/3rd-orange.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtnzoTCiJG2vieQrswH2ppnTF4P0MN69CJfdaHtAMc113kkbfis_1eV3IM5UAKVbHR3adVOcYvprPvfYoCWM3YHVZjszzmmKfUH79Gf_mia_BSZOWA3kfF1vUBLKHlOsR3thPDYw0_OPTq/s400/3rd-orange.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Orange blossom, Day 3</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgk2y_ednXNrNNGo7v8QAYtwR0r_UW44_nh54iCTsSz-VMtwqG78pZ-_iJFlE0YAgJ7aOfRJSGBKooaFe4OWUu8WFMyx5K2KlM3wT82YMBPhCfmUkdF_Yeb4tf4KA6OD_OxiyaPjed7CnV/s1600/4th-orange.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgk2y_ednXNrNNGo7v8QAYtwR0r_UW44_nh54iCTsSz-VMtwqG78pZ-_iJFlE0YAgJ7aOfRJSGBKooaFe4OWUu8WFMyx5K2KlM3wT82YMBPhCfmUkdF_Yeb4tf4KA6OD_OxiyaPjed7CnV/s400/4th-orange.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Orange blossom with cigarette butt, Day 4</td></tr>
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Perhaps it is an opportune moment to share this rosebud, which surprised me in the middle of the road one day: <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKBGUkCpJj9Cl1O0uCo-DX76lerF8RQEDNwUr9H3wYLHa6lrWU1LrO3mPWCWejYoXhLphh-5ERfw_GdfMyYciVjjBxLs-hgI6T2g18QsHjoBUj_FHcQ9Q_oUXnU6y1wk8G8EC05lF3kwCU/s1600/urban-rosebud.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKBGUkCpJj9Cl1O0uCo-DX76lerF8RQEDNwUr9H3wYLHa6lrWU1LrO3mPWCWejYoXhLphh-5ERfw_GdfMyYciVjjBxLs-hgI6T2g18QsHjoBUj_FHcQ9Q_oUXnU6y1wk8G8EC05lF3kwCU/s400/urban-rosebud.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Urban rosebud </td></tr>
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<br /><b>Shushu</b>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06883124489703202706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8884630147085863425.post-17346278431159590532012-07-20T10:30:00.000-04:002012-07-20T10:30:03.288-04:00Urban Palimpsest<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Those of us who live in the city, live in a city, know how thrilling it is to witness something rare and out of time. I happened to pass by this neighborhood kiosk for the short time in which it had no fliers, no handbills, no missing kittens, but just the fragmented memory of what had been. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgJPn6Tz8zrRMNAj0DrMJWclai6UWPyJPTlJte16-P-EMkqoQiTml1GvF0yo5FuX03bUErHMTPilTxtpO6PoE_ZIaQtR2GekEWTuNoTgYqbZ_eyrqhxKQgmt62-NixPNkJb_rPOMwklui1/s1600/parabola.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgJPn6Tz8zrRMNAj0DrMJWclai6UWPyJPTlJte16-P-EMkqoQiTml1GvF0yo5FuX03bUErHMTPilTxtpO6PoE_ZIaQtR2GekEWTuNoTgYqbZ_eyrqhxKQgmt62-NixPNkJb_rPOMwklui1/s320/parabola.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /><b>Shushu</b>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06883124489703202706noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8884630147085863425.post-16017777874042623212012-07-04T09:20:00.000-04:002012-07-04T11:55:56.037-04:00Literature: Sheldon Does the Math!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJJ9ga6i6biv2H45_atgfMFq2SrkocA0W4x7rRmQzhfqGTIg_m_ejG2d-D_xQ5MWCA5bm5IAcR7cJPxXyOhzriKZJ9VcCNqzCt45nbWfvaF5u0723TCyKe_JZKhVVhsaN4sFO4EsEr9ZBG/s1600/Sheldon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJJ9ga6i6biv2H45_atgfMFq2SrkocA0W4x7rRmQzhfqGTIg_m_ejG2d-D_xQ5MWCA5bm5IAcR7cJPxXyOhzriKZJ9VcCNqzCt45nbWfvaF5u0723TCyKe_JZKhVVhsaN4sFO4EsEr9ZBG/s320/Sheldon.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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For the backstory and a great webcomic, check out <a href="http://sheldoncomics.com/forums/sheldontalk/9223/">Sheldon!</a><b>Shushu</b>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06883124489703202706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8884630147085863425.post-75542691700371362282011-10-23T16:53:00.000-04:002011-10-23T16:53:33.864-04:00In the MoviesSeveral episodes in my life today have appeared to me as movie trailers where I've too often said, Yes, I'd like to see that. So it was with the long cord that I saw on the floor and envisioned myself tripping over, and with the hot coffee I envisioned spilling on the important electronics.<b>Shushu</b>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06883124489703202706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8884630147085863425.post-34191108747171265052011-09-06T09:32:00.001-04:002011-09-06T09:32:43.235-04:00Darth Vader Makes a Mean Cup of Coffee . . .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNy9778745PgAwYAGVy6bP_ZCLqYT2IyKmjR_6E0_yLq_exoISaMt1-q8lMWxrGRJQ0dS92Ozxlc8lIMH20yBfJgAyDrJ3gUn69-N4v7XqTSNK4_KYUlLgfYPFDobVSS9zY2vyul8njfd7/s1600/2011-09-05+23.38.36.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNy9778745PgAwYAGVy6bP_ZCLqYT2IyKmjR_6E0_yLq_exoISaMt1-q8lMWxrGRJQ0dS92Ozxlc8lIMH20yBfJgAyDrJ3gUn69-N4v7XqTSNK4_KYUlLgfYPFDobVSS9zY2vyul8njfd7/s320/2011-09-05+23.38.36.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /><b>Shushu</b>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06883124489703202706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8884630147085863425.post-45957597218072820072011-09-04T09:55:00.000-04:002011-09-04T09:55:17.589-04:00Lovely Nostalgic ViolenceFor those who remember the old old movies, I bring you this image from NYC, complete with a real bullet hole in the window above:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4lr9W1-0a-Tyv_dpMf5yvic4AGX7ovTY0kr3T2KnLBoxby8Q0G-n1Wy38Yfzix4ZfXEhNvLUoHFLo4Fm2MY8jjvo1qfiUGFPnHQy4S5FqWSvRmNa6Q0_KwI_Kj3pJSs3gGHLkHKniDWq2/s1600/2011-09-03+16.15.06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4lr9W1-0a-Tyv_dpMf5yvic4AGX7ovTY0kr3T2KnLBoxby8Q0G-n1Wy38Yfzix4ZfXEhNvLUoHFLo4Fm2MY8jjvo1qfiUGFPnHQy4S5FqWSvRmNa6Q0_KwI_Kj3pJSs3gGHLkHKniDWq2/s320/2011-09-03+16.15.06.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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As long as you're here, and I'm here, here are a few other wonderful violent things found on the streets:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb_rr7907HyARoTan7XEjko9ETC8fSlo2N0SUcutHxbliW7-mm2_T-Wjpm2phWHLm_pr8QNPq30lipBXIO8E2m2uH-xvH_jEw9ZL6H0lPm7IjjBY5yOUkzWGw4TMxkL12VG4lmUPw_uDW7/s1600/2011-09-03+16.06.14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb_rr7907HyARoTan7XEjko9ETC8fSlo2N0SUcutHxbliW7-mm2_T-Wjpm2phWHLm_pr8QNPq30lipBXIO8E2m2uH-xvH_jEw9ZL6H0lPm7IjjBY5yOUkzWGw4TMxkL12VG4lmUPw_uDW7/s320/2011-09-03+16.06.14.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQJvzIu7lJoFrizTLBhroWuPaxwBYXIwk_57ur-p0UdutiCF9ukmG_fPQzDk5eU2b9H3L2S45_XhWKn6aJLzUs5JuVTY-rRkN1IrZs1N1pUz8yDGb4L4hXLVmLM4_J-Os4mJdCLUN2gEy-/s1600/2011-09-03+12.48.37.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQJvzIu7lJoFrizTLBhroWuPaxwBYXIwk_57ur-p0UdutiCF9ukmG_fPQzDk5eU2b9H3L2S45_XhWKn6aJLzUs5JuVTY-rRkN1IrZs1N1pUz8yDGb4L4hXLVmLM4_J-Os4mJdCLUN2gEy-/s320/2011-09-03+12.48.37.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /><b>Shushu</b>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06883124489703202706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8884630147085863425.post-29726849749850726432011-08-28T08:39:00.004-04:002011-08-28T08:54:58.004-04:00Rummaging Again . . .It's been over 2 years since I posted here, and in the spirit of my "Reforms of 2011" Act, in which I pledged to mail all birthday cards before the actual birthdays (and even possibly to arrive before the actual birthdays), I will start Rummaging again periodically.
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<br />Starting slow, I will reflect this morning on Hurricane Irene and my preparations.
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<br />Preparations involved making sure I had <div><ul><li>a flashlight and charged-up technologies</li><li>water</li><li>marshmallows (In the case of power loss, these supply warm and nourishing food while conserving the power of candlelight.)</li></ul>This morning, it looks like spring. Cities always seem to weather storms better than the more distant and rural parts. So perhaps Hurricane Irene was mostly a lovely excuse for a day without purpose, requirements, or accomplishment. These days are all too rare.</div><b>Shushu</b>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06883124489703202706noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8884630147085863425.post-56940472680570187642009-08-22T11:45:00.023-04:002009-08-22T14:36:58.802-04:00Now Then, About My Welsh Walkabout<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguCsi8HomaCzpsvE-Gqzia4RcKuSQ40ltbbAc1OGJxw3PngZNFXhupuRoCF4JLsl47WmiwCdPo-pPdow2oPJu6xFeeNeMYuwJup2KQN6ABjgiEvLbVT40m21lgEILNUB0IC25YHKGUuL4Q/s1600-h/LlwybrSign.jpg"><img style="float:center; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 136px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguCsi8HomaCzpsvE-Gqzia4RcKuSQ40ltbbAc1OGJxw3PngZNFXhupuRoCF4JLsl47WmiwCdPo-pPdow2oPJu6xFeeNeMYuwJup2KQN6ABjgiEvLbVT40m21lgEILNUB0IC25YHKGUuL4Q/s200/LlwybrSign.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372844560037319794" /></a><div>I spent a glorious part of my UK time hiking the Pembrokeshire Coast Trail in southern Wales. It is the island's only national park on the coast, which I found surprising. Still, what else could beat this 190-mile trail, overlooking the St. George's and Bristol Channels, to the Celtic Sea, to the Atlantic Ocean?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsAelnhw0v0wpNfzkWJfjnKgDWDcf3_BBh_bvRCw5wFPn5Y2xD5S9c3tiHJftud_1eOmWFEyC0pvqJktY8XMF-yyErmaDO9xHq2eNJ5bsQ45Wnmj_aXvrnUTqMXkL_BBa3eOIIQExjRn2u/s1600-h/FabledWelshWoods.JPG"><img style="float:center; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsAelnhw0v0wpNfzkWJfjnKgDWDcf3_BBh_bvRCw5wFPn5Y2xD5S9c3tiHJftud_1eOmWFEyC0pvqJktY8XMF-yyErmaDO9xHq2eNJ5bsQ45Wnmj_aXvrnUTqMXkL_BBa3eOIIQExjRn2u/s200/FabledWelshWoods.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372826481083814994" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhzuNBZrFholpvaWtBYxw0V8o2cOzSVdOTHQFIu_K87QAeRKANutd7M1QHWXIDy7S-LeiGOpr_SuAJD_msPlfKMVwvAKnGzEqM6MdBauLssoZDJAv00Qr2JCejigkAj0R0HGJlAV3Do6B6/s1600-h/Woods.JPG"><img style="float:center; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhzuNBZrFholpvaWtBYxw0V8o2cOzSVdOTHQFIu_K87QAeRKANutd7M1QHWXIDy7S-LeiGOpr_SuAJD_msPlfKMVwvAKnGzEqM6MdBauLssoZDJAv00Qr2JCejigkAj0R0HGJlAV3Do6B6/s200/Woods.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372826470404847826" /></a></div><div>Sometimes the trail wandered through coastal woods so set in an unknown time, illuminated by another world's light, that Welsh mythology seemed entirely possible.</div><div><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdvx_-dJJRCP6Zmh_-E_iavh2ICZ2tFcUbHQPB8v7VCu-Z4o0oKMZ5EingMWbMdbB19ekoldn7mg1HrisSzIB5MioZT4USp9PnUC5xLBoiD5Mm5S8Jr8Xw9EykTxLakwaeDeM6tOMSaYxx/s1600-h/ViewOut.JPG"><img style="float:center; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdvx_-dJJRCP6Zmh_-E_iavh2ICZ2tFcUbHQPB8v7VCu-Z4o0oKMZ5EingMWbMdbB19ekoldn7mg1HrisSzIB5MioZT4USp9PnUC5xLBoiD5Mm5S8Jr8Xw9EykTxLakwaeDeM6tOMSaYxx/s200/ViewOut.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372830671786706162" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdzW_PAO8r0-G9y1CZnKPjs78yB6cudRllw4bME_XHtAqKmzWSwJh9FGykH7gq6n_7FAgTwtUncPbtyOnWzZMjoHLiHXnkFlNQS1uUlv0U7sdRNPVxi22ivOGxRZErqm2Dd2isIWfUyey6/s1600-h/ViewDown.JPG"><img style="float:center; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdzW_PAO8r0-G9y1CZnKPjs78yB6cudRllw4bME_XHtAqKmzWSwJh9FGykH7gq6n_7FAgTwtUncPbtyOnWzZMjoHLiHXnkFlNQS1uUlv0U7sdRNPVxi22ivOGxRZErqm2Dd2isIWfUyey6/s200/ViewDown.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372830668395513378" /></a><div>Most times though, the trail hovered at the edge of the cliffs looking out onto the water.</div><div><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Whenever there was a set of footholds or stairs leading down a cliff to a beach, the trail signs obligingly pointed it out for an arduous but worthwhile detour. What was so truly amazing about views and visits down to various beaches was the difference between high and low tides. At most beaches I know, the difference was simply several yards more or less of sand. </div><div style="text-align: left;">Not here.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN_rzHjYY2uW-EhenMD41IU0DE2dSYYX6Tl54Yw37oguYtkt0aqfmlOSAdyAxH1hLvrg5q_GeONRcw-lpL-yWepeWQ0atjcBKhFGow0bj34xH0ouHYDf292QSbfPy31qERuoV2tJU9R0sl/s1600-h/DisappearingStairs.JPG"><img style="float:center; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN_rzHjYY2uW-EhenMD41IU0DE2dSYYX6Tl54Yw37oguYtkt0aqfmlOSAdyAxH1hLvrg5q_GeONRcw-lpL-yWepeWQ0atjcBKhFGow0bj34xH0ouHYDf292QSbfPy31qERuoV2tJU9R0sl/s200/DisappearingStairs.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372833417806969762" /></a><div>This set of stairs, unusually formal for its setting, simply disappeared at a certain point during the tide. I so longed to sit there like Tiger Lily and let the sea rise to my throat. </div><div><div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtU8t9cu348QkkrdEPnGr2pRNHxJdDCr7fMz0JZf19imqu5ieBV5mBpQN3R4IWzCoAKb_MkFIsU7nxDqvdduTfA1QJ7ReS8Zi4Pr2sl8FUPeMb1S8tfrtBX8NVKEKvDDF3K6ObvO4FKvtf/s1600-h/AmazingHeartRock.JPG"><img style="float:center; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtU8t9cu348QkkrdEPnGr2pRNHxJdDCr7fMz0JZf19imqu5ieBV5mBpQN3R4IWzCoAKb_MkFIsU7nxDqvdduTfA1QJ7ReS8Zi4Pr2sl8FUPeMb1S8tfrtBX8NVKEKvDDF3K6ObvO4FKvtf/s200/AmazingHeartRock.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372835318220025250" /></a><div>This spectacular formation, accessible only at low tide, looked like where the world began, with a dark drill-bit heart and waves of golden rock undulating in a perfect display of centrifugal force, the most fluid, transitional movement caught in the hardest, most ancient substance. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">More to come (and with apologies for the layout) . . .</div><div><br /></div></div><b>Shushu</b>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06883124489703202706noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8884630147085863425.post-10077516513299076112009-08-15T09:00:00.008-04:002009-08-15T09:42:43.333-04:00Please Let Me Shout: My Photo on The New Yorker's Book Bench Blog!<i>The New Yorker's </i>The Book Bench has had a great feature this summer, with contributed photographs from around the world focusing on the summertime pleasure of books and reading. My Welsh bookshop photograph, which all of you trendsetting people saw <a href="http://rummagesaleinmyhead.blogspot.com/2009/08/my-summer-vacation-book-report.html">first on my blog</a>, is the <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/books/2009/08/1000-words-hidden-treasure.html">August 13th entry there</a>. <div><br /></div><div>And while we're on the subject of the manifold talents of the Rummage clan, Intrepid Theorist, one of the Chocolates, is the focus of an <a href="http://www.sciencemag.org/cgi/content/summary/sci;325/5941/673?maxtoshow=&HITS=10&hits=10&RESULTFORMAT=&fulltext=zvi+bern&searchid=1&FIRSTINDEX=0&resourcetype=HWCIT">article</a> in <i>Science </i>Magazine.</div><div><br /></div><div>I will let you quietly guess in your head which is the greater honor. (Hey . . .)</div><b>Shushu</b>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06883124489703202706noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8884630147085863425.post-38146526435234593612009-08-08T18:42:00.001-04:002009-08-09T09:42:36.479-04:00My Summer Vacation Book ReportVacation time travel is best if you end up behind where you started. <div><br /></div><div>My time in England and Wales began smack in the 21st century with a presentation on semantics and content architecture at University College London. It ended smack in the 18th century with an antiquarian edition of <i>The History of Sir Charles Grandison </i>from Charing Cross Road. Most definitely the right direction!</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Vision of the Future (Hint: It's broken.) </b></div><div>Blackwell's bookshop in London has the famous Espresso "books on demand" machine. The first image shows the "Books on Demand" center with its samples on display. The second is a close-up of the machine itself. You might not be able to see the sign saying that it's broken. </div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyX9zm5br7s6pqO5-5ikLgcKjiveaJPXnweqSlPgpxHEXDijkJVEJvwEW6lFI7sdxPouxoRtRN27h5KoV0qm51qXPTkC6MY4FW6PM1bld5d2zKy7tlBgH8H_Ev9dBUC0IR9LT7gmoe1357/s1600-h/Books-Espresso.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyX9zm5br7s6pqO5-5ikLgcKjiveaJPXnweqSlPgpxHEXDijkJVEJvwEW6lFI7sdxPouxoRtRN27h5KoV0qm51qXPTkC6MY4FW6PM1bld5d2zKy7tlBgH8H_Ev9dBUC0IR9LT7gmoe1357/s320/Books-Espresso.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365503408885850034" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF0WXFw_Fh6mGXTLqrkWea2Di2HRAUILXnXO7FL8kb-Wp06TC-BwAScclAnkhj_VqlSN26pbGvhpj5wsxS5zPwkIgu1sx7ylXpu_XPkGS_OTKDVhNUZ95N2dkvqYj4tDMzvGZ8JWqERvYg/s1600-h/Books-EspressoDoubleShot.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF0WXFw_Fh6mGXTLqrkWea2Di2HRAUILXnXO7FL8kb-Wp06TC-BwAScclAnkhj_VqlSN26pbGvhpj5wsxS5zPwkIgu1sx7ylXpu_XPkGS_OTKDVhNUZ95N2dkvqYj4tDMzvGZ8JWqERvYg/s320/Books-EspressoDoubleShot.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365503711637190306" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Vision of the Past </b></div><div>This little bookshop in Wales had sedimentary layers of books, just like the rock formations there did. It was the hidden treasure in a town with several antiseptic bookstores. This shop had odd hours, delightfully treacherous aisles snaking between stacks and layers of books, and a knowledgeable and charming owner who smelled gently of liquor early in the morning. The one other customer in the store turned around and sent huge piles of books tumbling from several directions. I bought my book of Welsh fables here. </div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWjapC5A78Bwq8HMgm_JFxGAjPMEDar3zcDqygdFT0nXXMotLatFZ4WiK_gf7HeJCS8SOlGxIi_mT070Le_xWP7J5SgoN3o760NVjm12FBCabyuHgTfnQEeIJ_bcU0NU3CYL966ALtbpYe/s1600-h/Books-TohuBohuFav.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWjapC5A78Bwq8HMgm_JFxGAjPMEDar3zcDqygdFT0nXXMotLatFZ4WiK_gf7HeJCS8SOlGxIi_mT070Le_xWP7J5SgoN3o760NVjm12FBCabyuHgTfnQEeIJ_bcU0NU3CYL966ALtbpYe/s320/Books-TohuBohuFav.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365503962744547554" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>What I Read on My Summer Vacation</b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; ">I read my first <i>No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency </i>novel<i> </i>on my Kindle while on my Welsh walkabout. I was predisposed to like it because a friend recommended the series and because the possessive is always used correctly. This was probably an overwrought vacation reaction, but it reminded me a little of Trollope in its style, at once masterly and deceptively simple.</span></b></div><div><br /></div><div>I also looked for a book that I would never see in the United States. My find this time was <i>Madresfield,</i> a historical biography of the house that inspired Evelyn Waugh to write <i>Brideshead Revisited </i>and that was subject to the lawsuit that inspired <i>Jarndyce and Jarndyce </i>in <i>Bleak House </i>(a very very favorite novel). I never imagined those two authors in the same sentence, let alone the same house!</div><div><br /></div><div>Alas, now I am reading my bills for my trip.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><b>Shushu</b>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06883124489703202706noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8884630147085863425.post-25229824855971016152009-07-29T20:47:00.012-04:002009-07-29T23:06:16.579-04:00Sign, Sign, Everywhere a SignI need to start writing about my wonderful time in London and Wales before my vacation glow becomes, um, a vacation glower, which is <b>not</b> the comparative form.<div><br /></div><div>So I'll begin with a few UK signs. Ever since a long ago trip to Japan, where a friendly little carp icon meant "EARTHQUAKE!"--something, quite honestly, I never would have translated correctly because there's no hope for anyone if fish aren't safe from land tremors--I have paid attention to signs when traveling.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Misfortune Awaits</b></div><div>I loved this unambiguous little guy, telling me that if I continued on (or actually <i>off</i>) my Welsh hiking trail, misfortune awaited. I really like the fact that he so clearly has five fingers on each hand. </div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh25Q_lLEZYNBzI7zl1Qxyf-4tCQ72IwhZ-yeP9AvGUbOUgkhv-dACOah2oBAs3UrspdO9eDsM2diYpi_hJESpWpKWsCBN1L3v5OwT9crYhK13mn_Lk_er2WPm2OfbTfbi9LA9goH7oGMa8/s1600-h/Sign-Misfortune-Awaits.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh25Q_lLEZYNBzI7zl1Qxyf-4tCQ72IwhZ-yeP9AvGUbOUgkhv-dACOah2oBAs3UrspdO9eDsM2diYpi_hJESpWpKWsCBN1L3v5OwT9crYhK13mn_Lk_er2WPm2OfbTfbi9LA9goH7oGMa8/s320/Sign-Misfortune-Awaits.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364076304530522226" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>The Polite Ashtray</b></div><div>For some reason, this seemed so British, compared to our dirty lumps of sand. </div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcSPjiKvBT9LqpmmYNnBtlgFN2LkI5X-jILGtuF-Y0eWh_h03-B97K69NFXkB_AOkgLY_t1k3pMdq9FGLjCfN-kcE35D9sg3C5S7XkswnhfULwYBKw6q00uiK6eq5vY_Cxhp75HiqAKraX/s1600-h/Sign-Ashtray.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcSPjiKvBT9LqpmmYNnBtlgFN2LkI5X-jILGtuF-Y0eWh_h03-B97K69NFXkB_AOkgLY_t1k3pMdq9FGLjCfN-kcE35D9sg3C5S7XkswnhfULwYBKw6q00uiK6eq5vY_Cxhp75HiqAKraX/s320/Sign-Ashtray.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364077291911623474" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Restaurant Dumpster</b></div><div>Alas, you can't really tell from the photo, but this sign reminding patrons to choose this pasta eatery was pasted on the side of a <i>dumpster. </i>And I think we all know why the pasta is brown . . .</div><div><div></div></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWJ8yibqbpZFvpw95pGk50K1csWhTxqbkqyp_dVCFR2TWwK_IAHgv2ur4UUlDmiXFnvtcwxU5CIe9OuKMIBbcFxdfEaaZuxPenBjVy9CRwKwiQz-fs6R8YwZl3EUKa4whRnxKPoWa-TSBw/s1600-h/Sign-PastaDumpster.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWJ8yibqbpZFvpw95pGk50K1csWhTxqbkqyp_dVCFR2TWwK_IAHgv2ur4UUlDmiXFnvtcwxU5CIe9OuKMIBbcFxdfEaaZuxPenBjVy9CRwKwiQz-fs6R8YwZl3EUKa4whRnxKPoWa-TSBw/s320/Sign-PastaDumpster.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364079197126085426" /></a><br /><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>The Powerful Construction Lobby</b></div><div>Don't you love the idea of a "Considerate Constructors Scheme"? It sounds like something from <i>Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.</i></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBs98OMREKHFIl0C4lPCiB-SUgzBUHhhAgyzquIUmqo7BXueymoWkYe86Gyi8rbqUobXZk9FUlN14OykSetZ2LSTd5WBI9c0BJTKUjdX042AE-lsQxQ4CC1Zgq1qHP7w67BnYXssGsSQzu/s1600-h/Sign-Construction.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBs98OMREKHFIl0C4lPCiB-SUgzBUHhhAgyzquIUmqo7BXueymoWkYe86Gyi8rbqUobXZk9FUlN14OykSetZ2LSTd5WBI9c0BJTKUjdX042AE-lsQxQ4CC1Zgq1qHP7w67BnYXssGsSQzu/s320/Sign-Construction.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364080016699490418" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Sign of the Times</b></div><div>What could be sadder? (If I didn't bring you something from London, now you know why.)</div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPOFz6Wi_4r8WpDnWFwyxxq3NWEeh2t_FIneGAHT8XpWOKDg95p6aBSqjCJVIZLEYk9-pXgDpBQz1nnqjqifObA37pMcYw5CaVVihI2nYL7fYFD7zex3PRaZknynikgBoDuSRI6MSmS5iC/s1600-h/Sign-ChocolatetoLet.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPOFz6Wi_4r8WpDnWFwyxxq3NWEeh2t_FIneGAHT8XpWOKDg95p6aBSqjCJVIZLEYk9-pXgDpBQz1nnqjqifObA37pMcYw5CaVVihI2nYL7fYFD7zex3PRaZknynikgBoDuSRI6MSmS5iC/s320/Sign-ChocolatetoLet.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364080808810619314" /></a><b>Shushu</b>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06883124489703202706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8884630147085863425.post-32045673051399355322009-07-18T16:39:00.003-04:002009-07-18T16:51:36.535-04:00Two Days Ago, There Was a Little Incident Involving Flip-flops and 3 MilesI am going to write about my own stellar trip to England and Wales soon, but first, I want to share a few details coming in from the Chocolates, currently in France after a sojourn in Italy.<div><br /></div><div>The title of this blog comes from a postcard that Cupcake of the Chocolate family sent me. I must wait for details of the "incident," but the postcard otherwise tells me that pastries and art are the order of the day. </div><div><br /></div><div>I also have a postcard of Louis XIV that Rat of the Chocolate family sent me. He has been given big red lips, fishnet stockings, and eyelashes because Rat admired this painting until she discovered it was actually supposed to be a painting of a man. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sacher Mom of the Chocolate family tells me details of the eclair tasting that the family conducted in the heart of Paris. Or the heat of Paris. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's good to be related to the Chocolate family. </div><div><br /></div><b>Shushu</b>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06883124489703202706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8884630147085863425.post-73722589816447749352009-06-10T23:02:00.009-04:002009-06-13T09:15:25.379-04:00Art and "Art"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">Social engineering is a funny thing. I usually think of it in terms of government policies where people with families get more benefits from their employers, people with mortgages get tax deductions, and things like that. Rewards for certain behavior. </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">In Brazil, according to the </span></span><a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/06/07/AR2009060702401.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">Washington Post</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"> and </span></span><a href="http://idbdocs.iadb.org/wsdocs/getdocument.aspx?docnum=1856122"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">Inter-American Development Bank</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">, telenovelas--the super soaps--are responsible for social engineering: lower fertility rates, higher divorce rates, and other social and family life phenomena. What's the corollary in the United States? Will people become really diligent about vacuuming up their hair and fibers after watching all those CSI episodes? That might not be too far from the truth, now that I think about it, because some studies have shown a change in jury behavior because evidence is always so fully determinative on shows like CSI. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">This isn't quite social engineering, but a neat experiment about art and news. The Haaretz newspaper in Israel, which is like the Economist, with a small but very elite readership compared to other newspapers, used National Book Week to create a day where almost</span></span><a href="http://www.forward.com/articles/107571/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"> all of its news was reported and written by novelists and poets.</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"> You've got to love a TV column that begins, "I didn't watch TV today," a weather report written as a sonnet about summer being an unsharpened pencil, and a business report written by a children's book and cookbook author. One of the only beats not surrendered to artists was sports. I will brush up on my Hebrew and report further. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">יום אחד</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">And in other Kindle-related news, there are some funny tweets from Mark Glaser who is being </span></span><a href="http://twitter.com/mediatwit"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">tormented by the crappy teenage material</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"> being "whispernetted" to his stolen Kindle.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:27px;"><br /></span></div></div><b>Shushu</b>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06883124489703202706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8884630147085863425.post-88506791663433144622009-06-05T18:58:00.003-04:002009-06-05T20:49:49.019-04:00My Week Was So Bad that THIS Is What Cheered Me Up<div>Newspapers accounts of </div><div><br /></div><div><ul><li>a "Parents Council" listserv war where one woman called the leaders "purveyors of evil" and "inebriated beavers"</li><li>a Humane Society report on a "tormented guinea pig," where the reporting officer had to rescue said pig from a child trying to groom and dress it like a doll<br /></li><li>a nearby restaurant closed by the Health Inspector because of a "gross unsanitary occurrence"<br /></li></ul></div><div><div>I guess this is the fun side of newspapers no longer having a lot of real reporters to provide stories. I guess that doesn't cheer me up so much after all. <br /></div><div><br /></div></div><b>Shushu</b>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06883124489703202706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8884630147085863425.post-58934595479215414732009-05-18T00:56:00.008-04:002009-05-18T01:06:48.185-04:00Duel, Citizenship<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Times;"><div style="border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 3px; padding-right: 3px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 3px; width: auto; font: normal normal normal 100%/normal Georgia, serif; text-align: left; "><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Chorus vs. Diva</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Who beeped at me while I was walking in the giganto-mart parking lot the other day? I need to know so I can apologize for delaying your trip to the stop sign by 5 seconds. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I am by no means a gritty urban person, but industrialized suburbia is not my culture. Cities, like my fair city of 97% Obama, are choruses. Yes, often it is practicality and not brotherhood that makes it so, but still. Industrialized suburbia, though, are a bunch of greedy soloists who beep at you when you dare to wander into their spotlights. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Homo sapiens</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> vs. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Homo Xapian</span></i></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">A dear friend once said that I had a novelist's imagination, his delicate way of pointing out that I might not remember facts, but I could always be counted on to supply the analogy or metaphor for what a fact should mean. Imagine me now in an environment peopled by </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">H. Xapian. </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">A literal world of cause and effect, where dots need to connect. A world that does not recognize that declaring a positive or a negative should also convey something about its opposite state. A world of the trivial and the non-trivial, where trivial is the positive. A world of the eye-roll for </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">H. sapiens</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">It's a marriage that needs to work, even if it can't be saved. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Silicon Valley vs. Feudal Lords</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">It's open plan and open ideas until the fiat. </span></div><div><br /></div></div></div></div></span><b>Shushu</b>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06883124489703202706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8884630147085863425.post-88513302720503019712009-05-09T13:33:00.008-04:002009-05-09T14:13:30.016-04:00The DX Version: New-Fangled Devices and Old-Fangled Human Nature (suckers!)<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Now that you might have invested some mindshare in reading </span></span><a href="http://rummagesaleinmyhead.blogspot.com/2009/05/new-fangled-devices-and-old-fangled.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">my earlier post</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">, I hope you won't feel duped at the new larger DX version I'm posting mere hours later. </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Times;"><div style="border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 3px; padding-right: 3px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 3px; width: auto; font: normal normal normal 100%/normal Georgia, serif; text-align: left; "><div><div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">It's been fun to follow all the articles and debates about the Kindle lately, or rather, ever since I bought one a few months ago. Apparently, the Kindle <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/08/business/media/08kindle.html?_r=3&ref=technology">can't pronounce Barack Obama</a> correctly<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> in the "text to speech" function, the same way Microsoft Office thinks I meant to type "barrack boatman." Of course, I checked this out directly, and it's not that bad. It just sounds like the kind of McCain supporter that embarrassed even McCain. I happen to use the "text to speech" function mainly for New Yorker poetry, which can be vastly improved with an inept vocalization, so I hope that any fixing of the Kindle won't fix the poetry too. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">The </span></span><a href="http://www.businessinsider.com/cnbc-host-furious-about-new-amazon-kindle-2009-5"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">outrage</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> over the newer bigger Kindle is kind of interesting because it proves the law where the scope of indignation is inversely proportional to the magnitude of the actual transgression. (And this is from a journalist who kept silent for years about all the real outrages being perpetrated on Americans.) There's another fascinating article about how Kindle users actually </span></span><a href="http://www.niemanlab.org/2009/04/kindle-users-skew-older-does-that-impact-news-bizs-revenue-hopes/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">skew much older</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> than Amazon thought or wanted, and for some reason, I see a connection. What this means for the coveted student audience, I can only guess. What it means for Amazon is that they might have scorned their pool of finicky retail-Americans. </span></span></span></span><br /></div><div><div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></span><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">The new Kindle is called the DX just like it's a car, so I'd love for Amazon to act like a carmaker (let's say Fiat, not Chrysler) and roll out its different skins for the same chassis: the CX, the DX, the high-end S series, and then the Hummer series, which can be the final generation when the screen is actually the same size as an opened newspaper. Seriously, technology-makers need to version differently and to understand that there isn't one vanishing point in the horizon. I don't want one Ring to rule them all, although clearly others do. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">If you have a good name for the "high indignation to trivia" law, let me know. I would also like to propose the occasional return to "inrage," where you stay quiet outside your head when you know you're being seriously ridiculous.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></span></div><b>Shushu</b>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06883124489703202706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8884630147085863425.post-42493990322138986402009-05-09T09:51:00.005-04:002009-05-09T11:44:28.530-04:00New-Fangled Devices and Old-Fangled Human Nature<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">It's been fun to follow all the articles and debates about the Kindle lately, or rather, ever since I bought one a few months ago. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The </span><a href="http://www.businessinsider.com/cnbc-host-furious-about-new-amazon-kindle-2009-5"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">outrage</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> over the newer bigger Kindle is kind of interesting because it proves the law where the scope of indignation is inversely proportional to the magnitude of the actual transgression. (And this is from a journalist who kept silent for years about all the real outrages being perpetrated on Americans.) There's another fascinating article about how Kindle users actually </span><a href="http://www.niemanlab.org/2009/04/kindle-users-skew-older-does-that-impact-news-bizs-revenue-hopes/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">skew much older</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> than Amazon thought or wanted, and for some reason, I see a connection. What this means for the coveted student audience, I can only guess. What it means for Amazon is that they might have scorned their pool of finicky retail-Americans. </span></span></span></span></span></span><div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The new Kindle is called the DX just like it's a car, so I'd love for Amazon to act like a carmaker (let's say Fiat, not Chrysler) and roll out its different skins for the same chassis: the CX, the DX, the high-end S series, and then the Hummer series, which can be the final generation when the screen is actually the same size as an opened newspaper. Seriously, technology-makers need to version differently and to understand that there isn't one vanishing point in the horizon. I don't want one Ring to rule them all, although clearly others do. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">If you have a good name for the "high indignation to trivia" law, let me know. I would also like to propose the occasional return to "inrage," where you stay quiet outside your head when you know you're being seriously ridiculous.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><br /></div></div></div></div></div><b>Shushu</b>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06883124489703202706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8884630147085863425.post-41592264989746011272009-05-03T08:33:00.004-04:002009-05-03T10:17:07.444-04:00The Last Single Taskers<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Saw first professional soccer game last night, just after the rain, at a 50-year-old stadium holding 20,000 fans and families in a space for twice that many. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">For a neophyte like me, I was in the perfect group: Friends who <i>knew</i> soccer and <i>played</i> soccer, with the added bonus of knowing the history (and suspecting the future) of the team. I lucked out on this score. We live in an age where knowledge often substitutes for experience, and when the experience of playing is limited (football or hockey, for example), people heckle because they think they could do better or coach better, never having tried. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Before the game, the announcers ran through a litany of elementary and junior high school soccer teams as the players and coaches walked around the stadium. My favorite team was the Midnight Turtles, perhaps channeled from Marianne Moore. But the list was truly so long and so repetitive that you could hear the announcers lose sense of the words within the rhythm: blah blah blah grade 4 girls, blah blah blah grade 4 girls, blah blah blah grafergirls, blah blah blah grafergs. And that might be as close to a petscan of my own brain functioning as I'll ever get for free.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">When the game started, each player walked on the field holding the hand of a small boy or girl from a school soccer team, which was so sweet. How cool must that have been for a little player? </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The game itself was really fun to watch, punctuated by smart comments and funny anecdotes. (Not mine!) These athletes play an amazing full-on 45 minutes each half, with very few player substitutions allowed throughout the game. Who does <i>anything</i> for 45 minutes at a time these days? Are these the only single taskers left in America? </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">And we won, thanks to two goals by a player considered past his prime just a few years ago and traded away before being brought back. What can't Obama do??</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I have to compare this to other sports I see live: No voiceovers throughout the game: Yea! No statistics blinking at you from around the stadium like the eyes of some virulent spider: Yea! No dancecam, kisscam: Yea! No plastic blaring trumpets or horns: Yea! A mad hatter walking around beating a huge drum for us: Yea! (This last guy, Salvatore, was a well-known fan with his own fan base and a drum the size of a tractor tire. He paused in front of one man on the aisle who was totally dead to the world and pounded and pounded and pounded his drum--to no avail. Blessed medicated sleep.) </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">It's also interesting to be in a place so unrefurbished. (Is there another word capturing more truly the opposite of onomatopoeia than "refurbish"?) Many things speak of an older age: The best views are still for the fans and not the corporations. The seats are narrow, built before the golden age of the American butt, but the leg room is vast. The seats are simply for sitting, watching, and disparaging or encouraging the teams--your choice--and not mini-cockpits with food and drink consoles.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> Not one of these things is a bother. </span></div></div><b>Shushu</b>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06883124489703202706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8884630147085863425.post-81737114446141264852009-04-26T09:20:00.006-04:002009-04-26T23:09:02.385-04:00OhFatalCrumbOh<a href="http://rummagesaleinmyhead.blogspot.com/2009/04/this-blog-is-not-kosher-for-passover.html">FatalCrumb</a>,Now<div>LodgedInMySpaceBar,YouMake</div><div>BreathImpossible</div><div><br /></div><div>ohfatalcrumb,now</div><div>shiftedlefttomyshiftkey,</div><div>silencedmycursing</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh Hallelujah!</div><div>To Be Free Again to Say:</div><div>%#*@#</div><div><br /></div><div>(ForToastandSP)</div><div><br /></div><b>Shushu</b>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06883124489703202706noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8884630147085863425.post-23889696204570749082009-04-21T21:16:00.010-04:002009-04-25T12:03:59.983-04:00Cursing Sasha Frere-Jones<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Yesterday, I had to sit in my car for a few minutes until the song I was listening to came to an end. A common occurrence for me and for all of us, I'm sure, except for the highly disturbing fact that it was only </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">playing in my head</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">This song isn't one I would ever have heard on the radio, and the artist isn't one I would ever have found in my head absent a seductive piece by Sasha Frere-Jones. His articles and blogs always teach me something about a singer or a band, but they are often a closed loop, piquing and then satisfying my interest. What he wrote about this particular singer and his music was no closed loop, but more like a rabbit hole.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Generally speaking, I hate singer-songwriters, too confessional or too genteel. But this singer-songwriter is raw and elemental, not merely naked. His harmonies are thrilling, not merely surprising, even after so many listens. I cannot come to understand how he writes what he does. He is an addiction, costing me a good 45 minutes and 46 seconds at least once a day, for many many days. I bless <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/musical/2009/01/12/090112crmu_music_frerejones">Bonnie "Prince" Billy</a>, but I curse Sasha Frere-Jones. </span></div><b>Shushu</b>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06883124489703202706noreply@blogger.com2