The dog days of summer require extra-entertaining links, just to raise us from our doldrums! Good thing I have a bunch for you, dear readers!
Continue reading “Unrequired Reading: Aug. 10, 2007”
Magnetic fridge
Over at 2Blowhards, Michael Blowhard wants to know if the publicity site for Miranda July’s new book is “refreshing and creative, or is it the twee-est, most over-whimsical thing ever committed to pixels?”
I can see why people would opt for the latter, but I think it’s an awfully cute idea. Not that I have any interest in the book, but hey.
New reads
In lieu of writing my substantive take on the idiocy of the subprime loan crisis — do ya think they were called subprime borrowers for a reason? — I’ll fill you in on my latest readings.
I began reading two books yesterday, and am enjoying both of them immensely. Around 3am Tuesday morning, I gave up on trying to get back to sleep, and headed downstairs to my library, where I picked up one of last week’s purchases, 79 Short Essays About Design
The other book was a roundabout discovery. Years ago, I tried reading London Fields
A few weeks ago, I finished a new Mad Mix CD (I know, I know: I haven’t posted anything to that site in a while). It included a song I stumbled across in an iTunes shuffle session: Nicola 6 by Chris Connelly. I loved the Kinks / early Bowie sound to it, and tried to figure out a place for it on the new CD. The recipient of said CD, my buddy Mark, wrote, “The chorus in one of those songs involves ‘Nicola Six.’ Isn’t she a character in a Martin Amis novel?” I looked it up and, lo and behold, Nicola Six is one of the lead characters in London Fields.
“Well,” I thought, “it certainly was a long time ago and I’ve been awfully wrong about a lot of things.” So I checked with my local library online, picked up the book on the way home. I read 50 pages of it last night before turning in, and found that, yes, I was awfully wrong. I can’t say anything about Amis’ other books, but this one’s keeping me interested and engaged.
Of course, maybe that’s because its narrator is a man who hasn’t been able to start his novel in 20 years.
Best Possible News
There is no better way to start the week than to find out that R. Kelly is about release the second installment of Trapped in the Closet! The NYPost kindly provides a tongue-in-cheek synopsis of the first part!
Amy & I caught part of the first run on TV, and a friend kindly bought us the DVD
Bear Stearns: Bare, Stern
This NYTimes article provides the most detailed account of a firing I’ve ever read in a paper. Warren J. Spector at Bear Stearns got the boot because his unit controlled the hedge funds that imploded a few weeks back. The first hint that it’s a weird article is the description of the firing:
Sitting behind his half moon desk on which stood computer terminals and a large metal-box lighter, Mr. Cayne broke the news to Mr. Spector that he wanted his resignation.
Seemed like a little more info than we needed. Then it began exploring the two men’s history with the game of bridge:
Indeed, with Mr. Spector’s own talent for bridge — he achieved the rank of life master at age 16 in 1974 — and his expertise in all varieties of bonds, it was widely assumed that Mr. Cayne would pass on the reins to Mr. Spector. (The two men’s devotion to bridge is highlighted by the fact that they both attended the North American bridge championship in Nashville late last July, at a time of increasing turmoil in the credit markets.)
But while bridge might have functioned as a bonding agent between Mr. Cayne and his predecessor, Alan C. Greenberg, it could not do the same for Mr. Spector — especially in the wake of the hedge fund meltdown at the firm’s asset management division.
Did I mention there’s too much detail?
In part this was a function of their sharply different personalities. Mr. Cayne is a raw, cigar-chomping man who embraces the scrappy, street-fighting ethos of the firm. Mr. Spector, who wears his thick head of hair longer than that of the standard banker, has more of suave, relaxed affect.
I guess the big question is: which guy’s the better bridge partner?
(Update: The WSJ article on Spector’s firing adds even more details, including the facts that he “wears black-rimmed glasses and maintains a trim physique”. . . and that he attended St. John’s College, where I got my master’s degree)
Go, fish
I return to A River Runs Through It
I just finished re-reading it this morning. Here’s a piece:
As the heat mirages on the river in front of me danced with and through each other, I could feel patterns from my own life joining with them. It was here, while waiting for my brother, that I started this story, although of course at the time I did not know that stories of life are often more like rivers than books. But I knew a story had begun, perhaps long ago near the sound of water. And I sensed that ahead I would meet something that would never erode so there would be a sharp turn, deep circles, a deposit, and quietness.
The fisherman even has a phrase to describe what he does when he studies the patterns of a river. He says he is “reading the water,” and perhaps to tell his stories he has to do much the same thing. Then one of his biggest problems is to guess where and at what time of day life lies ready to be taken as a joke. And to guess whether it is going to be a little or a big joke.
For all of us, though, it is much easier to read the waters of tragedy.
–Norman Maclean
It’s funny but, as I look over that passage now, it lies flat and seems kinda preachy. I suppose you really need to read the whole thing.
Be mindful
Our friends John & Liz hosted a pool party yesterday, so Amy & I took her Mini for a spin up the NYThruway and had a lovely, relaxing time — surprising given the amount of small children present — meeting old friends and making new ones.
Oh, and we took pictures. I know you’ll be surprised to read that.
Here’s my photoset from the day. Amy’s should be posted soon are over here!
The final frontier
When asked what I drink, I usually respond, “Gin! Gin is my rocket fuel! Vodka, on the other hand, makes me explode on the launch pad.”
In that spirit, I’m pleased that Charles Krauthammer has joined me in celebrating astronauts who tip a few back before liftoff:
Have you ever been to the shuttle launch pad? Have you ever seen that beautiful and preposterous thing the astronauts ride? Imagine it’s you sitting on top of a 12-story winged tube bolted to a gigantic canister filled with 2 million liters of liquid oxygen and liquid hydrogen. Then picture your own buddies — the “closeout crew” — who met you at the pad, fastened your emergency chute, strapped you into your launch seat, sealed the hatch and waved smiling to you through the window. Having left you lashed to what is the largest bomb on planet Earth, they then proceed 200 feet down the elevator and drive not one, not two, but three miles away to watch as the button is pressed that lights the candle that ignites the fuel that blows you into space.
Three miles! That’s how far they calculate they must go to be beyond the radius of incineration should anything go awry on the launch pad on which, I remind you, these insanely brave people are sitting. Would you not want to be a bit soused?
Gore Smash!
At City Journal, Harry Stein has an entertaining review of Al Gore’s aptly titled Assault on Reason
But Al Gore is like one of those guys at a party with whom, once you get a few drinks in him, you never know what’s coming. He’s liable to strip to his underwear or start spewing expletives or waddle over with an outstretched hand and ingratiating smile and suddenly go for your ear like Mike Tyson. For just beneath that aging prep-boy facade, there’s an unmistakable anger and bitterness; where Bill Clinton has always seemed too comfortable in his skin, Gore has often seemed inclined to burst out of his, like some demented political version of the Incredible Hulk.
I don’t think “It is less an argument than an extended tantrum. Reading it is often like being locked in a room with a madman” is going to end up on the back cover of the paperback.
“Like an episode of Heroes”
I still consider the X-Games to be BS, but that doesn’t mean some of these guys aren’t tougher than nails: