I get a lot more done at work. This site is my favorite place to waste time dreaming about the Phillies.
in reference to: 509 Bandwidth Limit Exceeded (view on Google Sidewiki)Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Our Modern World
When Rachel's brother Mark and his family came to town for a weekend, we tried to make a plan to do something fun. Rachel and Mark's wife Abby voted for the Cezanne exhibit at the art museum. I was in favor of this plan until I checked the web site for tickets and realized they cost $25 apiece.
"I don't think I could enjoy this exhibit now. I'd be thinking about the price the whole time," I said. Mark agreed with me.
I suggested that perhaps instead of going to the museum, we could just drink coffee out of our Cezanne mug, a relic of the exhibit that came through in 1996. And we could listen to the "Cezanne, Father of Cubism" song from the 1980s.
Everyone looked at me with looks of uncomprehension. On Internet forums, people sometimes write "whoosh" to indicate a concept that has flown over their head. This was a whoosh moment.
Fortunately, in the Internet age we have Songza.com. I used it to search for "father of cubism" and it found the song I remembered, by The Special Guests. I played it for the assembled company, none of whom were remotely impressed with my results.
I listened to the song a few times and fondly remembered the video from MTV. Then I did some Google searching and found the Special Guests have long since been forgotten, but there was an article from 1987 in the New York Times reviewing a show and mentioned their main artistic force.
I Googled his name and found his MySpace page, which had a blog. That blog had a link to another, more personal blog, started about a year ago. I read the whole blog - the guy is a very funny writer - and sent him a note on Facebook explaining the morning and my happy rediscovery of his song.
Then I sat back and waited for him to respond with a "I'm so glad you wrote to me" note. I am still waiting.
"I don't think I could enjoy this exhibit now. I'd be thinking about the price the whole time," I said. Mark agreed with me.
I suggested that perhaps instead of going to the museum, we could just drink coffee out of our Cezanne mug, a relic of the exhibit that came through in 1996. And we could listen to the "Cezanne, Father of Cubism" song from the 1980s.
Everyone looked at me with looks of uncomprehension. On Internet forums, people sometimes write "whoosh" to indicate a concept that has flown over their head. This was a whoosh moment.
Fortunately, in the Internet age we have Songza.com. I used it to search for "father of cubism" and it found the song I remembered, by The Special Guests. I played it for the assembled company, none of whom were remotely impressed with my results.
I listened to the song a few times and fondly remembered the video from MTV. Then I did some Google searching and found the Special Guests have long since been forgotten, but there was an article from 1987 in the New York Times reviewing a show and mentioned their main artistic force.
I Googled his name and found his MySpace page, which had a blog. That blog had a link to another, more personal blog, started about a year ago. I read the whole blog - the guy is a very funny writer - and sent him a note on Facebook explaining the morning and my happy rediscovery of his song.
Then I sat back and waited for him to respond with a "I'm so glad you wrote to me" note. I am still waiting.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
everyone plays by the same rules
Last Friday, a coworker mentioned to me a particular "girl rule", part of a larger girl code that all girls instinctively know. This is the rule: when you bring a man to a party, if you want to signal to all the other females in the room that this man is taken, you eat off his plate without asking. I filed this away as possibly useful knowledge.
On Sunday evening, Rachel and I were at a live music event at a cafe in Philadelphia. While we listened, she stabbed an olive out of my bowl of farfalle putanesca. I looked around the room. The audience for the band we'd gone to hear trended distinctly lesbian. I gave Rachel a long look. Was she telling me that I needed to snag some food from her plate? Because I was very sure that I was not in play at this event.
The next day I asked for clarification. Rachel said she just wanted my olives.
On Sunday evening, Rachel and I were at a live music event at a cafe in Philadelphia. While we listened, she stabbed an olive out of my bowl of farfalle putanesca. I looked around the room. The audience for the band we'd gone to hear trended distinctly lesbian. I gave Rachel a long look. Was she telling me that I needed to snag some food from her plate? Because I was very sure that I was not in play at this event.
The next day I asked for clarification. Rachel said she just wanted my olives.
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