Month: March 2007

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Lala

Speaking of world-building and cities (see previous post), I was oddly compelled by this Go Fug Yourself post. It wasn’t just because of the insane fashion choices of its subject (which are great), but because it discusses a phenomenon that’s wholly intrinsic to Los Angeles, a city I’ve managed never to visit and which may as well border Timbuktu, since no pharma-conference will ever schedule an event there (those conferences being the impetus for most of my travel):

Here in Los Angeles there is a group of people (mostly women) who attend almost every event, from premieres to charity functions to the opening of a shoe store. These women are photographed. And we have no idea who they are. Literally. They’re not studio or television or music executives. They may claim to be “actresses” or “models” but they’ve never appeared in anything notable, nor do they have a string of non-notable credits. If they do have credits, usually they’re consistently playing something like “Girl #3.” Sometimes they appeared in Playboy once, but not necessarily. They’re not married to any one notable, as far as we can tell. We really don’t know how they’re getting invited to anything, why they’re being photographed, or how they’re making the money that allows them to keep up with their Botox schedule. They are a mystery, that, until now, we have basically ignored, primarily because no one knows who they are.

And then it gets really funny. Enjoy.

I guess I revel in those things that seem completely normal to the locals but are utterly bizarre to anyone from the outside

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Ununreal city

I played a Grand Theft Auto game on my computer a few years ago. While I could take or leave the moral conundra of it, I really appreciated the idea of having a big city in which to meander around. One of the things that makes for good art, in my book, is that sense of a well-realized environment, a world for the reader/viewer to participate in (Little, Big and Dhalgren are both prime examples of that). I even liked having a bunch of different radio stations to listen to while driving like a maniac through the city.

So I’m tempted to cave in and buy one of those mega-consoles now that I’ve seen this post about the New York-based GTA that’s coming out in October. If the images from the trailer are part of the gameplay (and not just from the interstitial segments), it’ll be an amazing experience.

Of course, they may have to change the title of the game. After all, stealing a car in NYC would be more trouble than it’s worth, if the game accurately depicts the traffic in Manhattan.

Oh, and if you’re interested in that idea of world-building in art, check out some of the related posts at the bottom of the City of Sound post.

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Turning Japanese

Muji, “the Japanese Ikea,” is opening a store at the Time Warner Center (a.k.a., a little bit of New Jersey right here in midtown). You really need to check out this slide show of some of their impossibly minimalist products. The CD player (slide #5) just blows my mind. Not sure I’d trust them to build my house, though. . .

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Response and responsibilities

For a month or two, Slate has been running excerpts from Clive James’ new book, Cultural Amnesia, which it describes as a “re-examination of intellectuals, artists, and thinkers who helped shape the 20th century.” The excerpts are presented as A-Z profiles, and some are compelling enough that I put the book on my Amazon Wish List. (However, since I know I won’t get around to reading it for quite a while, I’m figuring I’ll end up buying the paperback in 2008 or ’09. Or I’ll find a remainder/surplus copy at the Strand, as is my wont.)

I thought the Terry Gilliam one went off the rails a bit, pursuing a discussion of torture that probably could have been written without including Gilliam’s masterpiece, but it’s still an engaging essay. With a number of the other essays, James appears to be pursuing the question of artists’ responsibilities in the world, vis a vis the political tumult of the 20th century. (It’s not only about artists, but they seem well represented in the 110 profiles the book contains.)

Thus, the discussion of Borges has to get at his relationship with Argentina’s junta, while the take-no-prisoners profile of Sartre posted today questions the nature of JP’s resistance during the war as well as his avoidance of the truth about the Soviet Union. (It also touches on the subject of the necessity of bad writing, a favorite topic of mine.)

The excerpt that I enjoyed the most — I haven’t read them all — is the one discussing Rilke and Brecht, even though I haven’t read much of Rilke beyond his poetry and know nothing of Brecht’s work. The essay contrasts Rilke’s art-for-art’s-sake with Brecht’s art-as-politics, and finds Brecht wanting. (Okay, it finds Brecht a noxious scumbag.) But James goes on to make an interesting and subtle point about the relation between the artist — particularly the ‘word artist’ — and his beliefs, and perhaps between the artist and the audience.

Give it a read (and go check out some of the others) and let me know what you think.

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Blood, fire, gravity

I gave blood after work on Monday. Since I do a double red cell donation, it’s a longer process than a standard single-unit of whole blood, typically around 35 minutes on the bed. I tried to read, but there was too much activity for me to focus on my book, so I was resigned to watching the local TV news.

Between reports about cell phone facial treatments at a spa (evidently, talking on your cell phone constantly can give you zits, not tumors) and the bizarre accidental death of a retired cop (in his old precinct house, “cleaning his gun”) was a piece about Sunday’s 96th anniversary memorial for the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire. The report was as sad as you’d expect, with a litany of the horrors and the number of dead women. When it wrapped, I noticed that the entire in-studio news-team was female, which makes some sorta point about advances in the last 96 years, but I’m not sure what.

The news report also brought up something I meant to write about a few years ago. In 2005, Amy & I watched Ric Burns’ New York documentary series on DVD. We enjoyed it plenty, even if Amy did drift off to sleep during some parts (it was weekend viewing, back before she moved in, so the combo of exhausting work-weeks and the soothingness of David Ogden Stiers’ voice took its toll). I learned a ton about the history of the city, particularly from the Robert Moses chapter, which relies heavily on the work of Robert Caro, a featured speaker throughout much of the documentary and possessor of one of the most seriously old-school websites ever.

Oy, with the flippant avoidance!

See, what I’m trying to write about is another aspect of 9/11, and I know that’s likely to cause you to tune out and go find some other blog to help you cruise through your workday. So, to make things easier for you, I’ll put the rest of this post under a “more” jump, so you can pretend you didn’t notice that and thought I was done writing.

Continue reading “Blood, fire, gravity”

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U.S. Pharmacopeia

A month ago, I mentioned the amazing tox breakdown from Gerald Levert’s autopsy. I felt like Steve Howe really let us down by only having meth in his system when he flipped his truck last year.

Fortunately, the Anna Nicole Smith tox report came out yesterday, and it’s restored my faith in drug-abusing celebrities:

  • Chloral hydrate: A drug typically used in hospitals for pre- and postsurgery patients struggling to sleep or in great pain
  • Diphendydramine: Over-the-counter Benadryl cures itching, sneezing and other allergy-related symptoms.
  • Clonazepam: Prescription Klonopin is used to treat seizures and panic- and anxiety-related disorders.
  • Diazepam: Prescription Valium is used as a sedative for panic- and anxiety-related disorders.
  • Nordiazepam: Metabolized Valium
  • Temazepam: Prescription Restoril is a sleep aide commonly used in hospitals.
  • Oxazepam: Prescription Serax is used as a sedative for panic- and anxiety-related disorders.
  • Lorazepam: Prescription Ativan is used as a sedative for panic- and anxiety-related disorders.

Evidently, some of this stuff was being injested because of a painful abscess in her butt, the result of . . . intramuscular injection of HGH or B12 for “longevity” treatments! Well played!