A less than triumphant return

But a return nonetheless. Let us see if this piece of silliness nudges open the floodgates more healthfully than last winter’s deluge.

Oh, seductive sloth
Too far up the tree to reach.
I, too, am slothy.

Indelible

A full chest swan tattoo, via Sang Bleu

A documented favorite, the New York Times’ T Magazine blog The Moment, recently featured Maxime Büchi, the founder of tattoo magazine Sang Bleu. He and his multifarious editorial team, comprised of prominent art and design tastemakers, are shifting the paradigm from a banal and base genre to one that values fully articulated thought as much as it does expressive body art. Click on for a brief interview with Büchi as well as more startling and captivating images from the magazine.

I may not have any tattoos myself, but I do admire those who can commit to a concept.

Middle School with Tina and Adrian

Tom Tom Club, "Wordy Rappinghood" (1981)

I recently listened to “Wordy Rappinghood” closely for the first time in ages, and it occurred to me that at least one entire school year’s worth of comprehensive educational material for the 10 – 12-year-old set could be extracted from the lyrics. A few examples, in order of reference:

• Wordsworth and the major Romantic poets
• Nutrition
• The death penalty (auxiliary skill: debate)
• French language
• Global religious studies (with required reading)
• Economics
• Censorship
• Philosophy
• Environmental studies

General lessons to be gleaned from the song:

• Music appreciation
• Gender studies due to Tina Weymouth’s panoramic awesomeness
• Vocabulary (see: nuance, strife)

(Full Disclosure: In my mind instead of “Wordy Rappinghood” I always say “Woody Rappinghood,” which sounds like the alias of the world’s WASP-iest vigilante.)

Phrase of the day

Sci-Fi-Lo-Fi by Rob Da Bank

Lo-fi porn

as in

Low fidelity pornography.

That sounds like an oxymoron, but I don’t know why. While I figure it out, I’ll be listening to some lo-fi surf rock:

Wavves, “Beach Demon”

Mom, I know what I want to be when I grow up.

And that is the Official Pronouncer of the Scripps National Spelling Bee. Click on to read an interview with the man who has held this coveted position (coveted to me, at least) since 2003.  He has a lot of charming insights into the 83 year-old competition, most geeks’ only chance of getting on ESPN.

Currently Reading

Jessica Valenti's The Purity Myth

When Marghet described The Purity Myth to me as  “a soft lullaby telling you you’re normal” I knew I had to rush out and buy it. Despite my documented aversion to  purchasing new books, any piece of writing that affirms I am “quirky,” “interesting,” or even “normal” as opposed to “a freakshow” is worth my $24.95. Jessica Valenti, the founder of Feministing.com, has written yet another well-researched, sensitively rendered exposition into contemporary gender disparity in the United States. In this book she explores the crippling dichotomy presented to so many young women today, who struggle either to fulfill patriarchal standards of purity or a more attainable hypersexualization. Both fates are equally dismal, and Valenti opens up a thoroughly modern and frank dialogue about how both of these standards are unattainable.

Late to the party.

Semicolons by Doug Savage, via Savage Chickens

I came across this post on Utne.com via Jezebel, expressing fervent support for the semicolon; evidently, it’s has fallen out of favor in recent years. Clearly, my finger is not on the pulse of fashionable punctuation, as I had no clue that the em dash had taken its place as the de rigueur punctuation mark.

Good; grief.

Cover Art

Emerson's Nature via The Book Cover Archive

I’ve already sung the praises of The Book Cover Archive, and now I have another brilliant excuse to post lovely book covers. I’m newly obsessed with aquiring all of Penguin’s “Great Ideas” titles. The Moment, T Magazine’s design blog, tipped me off to the new series, guaranteed to stimulate mentally and aesthetically. A stack of green, green spines will complement my stack of blue, blue Steinbeck swimmingly.

My image is better than The New Yorker’s image

Blind Melon Poster, circa 2007

If you live on the Eastern seaboard of These United States, then you probably haven’t seen even a ray of sunlight for an eternity, minimum. (Excuse my hyperbole: it’s the vitamin D deficiency talking.) Until May decides to show itself, enjoy this Humor piece recently published in The New Yorker, about a bumblebee that’s had a touch too much fun in the sun.

“Her volatile hands flew together like a pair of love birds.”

I never would have come across this documentary series on Carmen Miranda, Bananas Is My Business, were it not for Lacey’s ever-stimulating “Sows American” influence (watch the video for the correct pronunciation of “Sows.”) Well-aware of my love of English as spoken by foreigners, she nudged me towards the first two minutes of this fourth segment, wherein a woman of indiscriminate nationality talks about the swirling dervish of sensuality that was Carmen Miranda. I have to admit that I’m less intrigued by Carmen Miranda than I am the mysterious voice-over woman, with her voice  so commonplace in another era, an accent that could be English or French, replaced more recently with the broad stroke drawls and clipped vowels that sharply define our roots. “Volatile hands” is but one of the mystifying, alluring turns of phrase the narrator uses, lively enough to spark a conversation about the volatile presences in our own lives.