A podcast about books, art & life — not necessarily in that order
Amazing (and long) story from the NYTimes offering a behind-the-scenes of the Ukrainian election crisis, detailing the tug-of-war among the Interior Ministry, the KBG-successor, and the army.
It includes on the great ass-coverings of all time, by someone who ordered troops to attack his own citizens.
We held my belated birthday party last night, at Rain West in NYC. About a dozen friends of mine came, including a couple of unexpecteds, who made up for a couple of no-shows. Thanks to all; I had a blast, mixing up people from all different parts of my life. Here are some pix.
Yer humble correspondent, in his smoking jacket.
Chin(s) music: My buddy John hasn’t realized that, after 30, we need to stop taking pictures like this one.
That’s better.
Chris, Kerstin and Sleepy Tony.
Kerstin looks pretty angry, but I bet she’s just trying to speak up loudly enough for Bryn to hear. Mark, meanwhile, looks on with heavy-lidded resignedness. Sure, I’m making up this stuff, but it certainly looks plausible.
John, Mark and Bryn, who’s traveled around the world twice in the past year or so.
Holding court.
The back of Sharon’s head. And what’s that in my hand?
This shot of me and Kerstin is less scandalous than it looks.
That’s better. And it provides a better look at what I was carrying all evening. Yes, I’m now the proud owner of my very own Pimp Cup. YYYYYYYEAH!
As Mickey Rourke sez in Barfly, “to all my friennnnnnnds“.
Some people complain that America exports too much of its culture (TV and movies) to foreign countries. I think the Prince Harry flap demonstrates that we haven’t exported enough of it.
After all, if Harry had just watched enough South Park, he would’ve understood “Dressing like Hitler isn’t cool.” And it’s certainly not badass.
The Huygens probe is set to land on Titan, one of Saturn’s moons. Here’s an artist’s rendering of the landing. Or is that a new album cover from Yes?
I was going to have a nice dinner in the city with about a dozen friends of mine for my birthday tonight, but we’re getting smacked down by snow here in NJ, and half the contingent (including myself) won’t be able to make it in. It’s a pity, because I was really looking forward to the mix of people, and the ensuing conversations and company. Oh, well.
So it looks like I’ll be staying in tonight, with a winter wonderland outside, and curling up with either a good book or a movie.
To make up for it, here’s a beautiful picture (link courtesy of Andrew Sullivan).
Tomorrow’s my 34th birthday, and my presents-to-myself from Amazon just showed up!
Gillian Welch – Hell Among the Yearlings
Sam Cooke & the Soul Stirrers – The Complete Specialty Recordings
Philip Roth – The Plot Against America
Confessions of a Dangerous Mind
Duncan Watts – Six Degrees: The Science of a Connected Age
Chris Hitchens – Love, Poverty and War
Not that I expect you to get me anything . . .
Last month, as I was walking through the parking lot to my office, I wondered, “Whatever happened to Mathias Rust?”
There was no significant provocation for this. No one was running a “history of punk-rock Cold War pranks” or “I Love the ’80s” special. It was just the idle maunderings of this brain of mine.
For those of you who don’t remember herr Rust, here’s the skinny:
In 1987, a certain someone flew a little Cessna plane into Moscow and landed it in the middle of Red Square. The Russians immediately arrested the 19-year-old German pilot, and threw Mathias Rust into jail for an 8-year sentence. He served 18 months before getting out.
The damage to the Soviet rep was done, though. There are some who read this act to mean that the great Soviet military wasn’t All That, and that Gorbachev’s double-whammy of trying to keep up with Reagan’s SDI initiative and getting hit with Rust’s merry prank were the kickers that led to Glasnost.
The rest of Rust’s story is filled with some lowlights, but he’s supposedly living in Berlin with his 2nd wife, and maybe he’s got his house in order. There’s a website called “Whatever Happened To” that relates stories like Rust’s, a service for which I’m quite appreciative.
I wonder how tough it is to live a normal day-to-day after your crowning achievement comes at the age of 19. I mean, since I live in my hometown, I used to wonder this about some of my high-school classmates, who kinda epitomized Springsteen’s Glory Days.
But it’s one thing when that achievement was making a great touchdown catch, and another thing when you’re known for pantsing a world superpower that was devoting 25% of its GNP to its military.
I hope he’s living pretty peacefully, maybe having a kid or two, and getting them ready for flight lessons.
I knew the coffee was strong out in Washington state, but I had no idea it was strong enough to make the dead rise up and vote in the last election.
