When The Kitchen launched the New Music, New York festival in 1979, it created a "genuine landmark in the evolution of a genre" (The Village Voice).
N E W S O U N D , N E W Y O R K F E S T I V A L
25 Years Beyond New Music, New York
N E W S O U N D , N E W Y O R K F E S T I V A L
25 Years Beyond New Music, New York
The Memory Hole has a cool page up
Inside The CIA Museum
Some amazing stuff there, the place resembles The Museum of Natural History as much as it does Q's workshop.
Inside The CIA Museum
Some amazing stuff there, the place resembles The Museum of Natural History as much as it does Q's workshop.
mr wilson and his wunderkammer.
A scholarly Celtic blog from the Digital Medievalist. She also explains why the Mac is the Celtic computer (OK, maybe that one’s obvious....)
anybody know there were earlier silent film versions of books from the wizard of oz series? frank baum direct this one, only $3.99 for the public domain bad print dvd. theres also a fair amount of crap to browse through in their cheapie section.
Cory Doctorow's "impressionistic transcript" of the Zack Exley / Eli Pariser MoveOn keynote from the SXSW conference.
amy's mother's messages
Lagrimas y sangre--tears and blood.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/talking_point/3500774.stm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/talking_point/3500774.stm
Here's a long post, so long---I promise, I won't impose this way again. My apologies, and my thanks for this forum, in advance. .
No longer to see that ruined face, as I have seen it, off and on through a loop that has now stopped: At the back of "the house" at a professor's play done at wooster st.; at an early desk reading--I remember resenting the implacable image of "man at the desk talking about himself." Coming and going, walking, down through the years of New York---outside the "bad museum," on the bowery with shafransky in '87, to the monstrous box, which I didn't really find funny, only brackish, like my own family's peculiar humor, and sad.
In early December, I passed Gray and some of his friends walking down 1st Avenue, seemingly in fine fettle. I looked at him, and he returned the look, as he always did: I think it was a theatrical impulse, since although I had seen him around often throughout the years, I never knew him. In the past, I had seen him gaze back with either intense and impersonal amazement, or with a glance of acknowledged common humanity. In December, I observed the look of doubt, and I thought, "oh, but he's better now. . ."
If I continued to search, I'm sure I could come up with better poems to use instead of my own clumsy voice. I'm posting one by W.S. Merwin (before he got "soft"), and one by Wallace Stevens, both fellow New Englanders.
Beggars and Kings -- W. S. Merwin
In the evening
all the hours that weren't used
are emptied out
and the beggars are waiting to gather them up
to open them
to find the sun in each one
and teach it its beggar's name
and sing to it It is well
through the night
but each of us
has his own kingdom of pains
and has not yet found them all
and is sailing in search of them day and night
infallible undisputed unresting
filled with a dumb use
and its time
like a finger in a world without hands
Disillusionment of Ten O'Clock -- Wallace Stevens
The houses are haunted
By white night-gowns.
None are green,
Or purple with green rings,
Or green with yellow rings,
Or yellow with blue rings.
None of them are strange,
With socks of lace
And beaded ceintures.
People are not going
To dream of baboons and periwinkles.
Only, here and there, an old sailor,
Drunk and asleep in his boots,
Catches Tigers
In red weather.
No longer to see that ruined face, as I have seen it, off and on through a loop that has now stopped: At the back of "the house" at a professor's play done at wooster st.; at an early desk reading--I remember resenting the implacable image of "man at the desk talking about himself." Coming and going, walking, down through the years of New York---outside the "bad museum," on the bowery with shafransky in '87, to the monstrous box, which I didn't really find funny, only brackish, like my own family's peculiar humor, and sad.
In early December, I passed Gray and some of his friends walking down 1st Avenue, seemingly in fine fettle. I looked at him, and he returned the look, as he always did: I think it was a theatrical impulse, since although I had seen him around often throughout the years, I never knew him. In the past, I had seen him gaze back with either intense and impersonal amazement, or with a glance of acknowledged common humanity. In December, I observed the look of doubt, and I thought, "oh, but he's better now. . ."
If I continued to search, I'm sure I could come up with better poems to use instead of my own clumsy voice. I'm posting one by W.S. Merwin (before he got "soft"), and one by Wallace Stevens, both fellow New Englanders.
Beggars and Kings -- W. S. Merwin
In the evening
all the hours that weren't used
are emptied out
and the beggars are waiting to gather them up
to open them
to find the sun in each one
and teach it its beggar's name
and sing to it It is well
through the night
but each of us
has his own kingdom of pains
and has not yet found them all
and is sailing in search of them day and night
infallible undisputed unresting
filled with a dumb use
and its time
like a finger in a world without hands
Disillusionment of Ten O'Clock -- Wallace Stevens
The houses are haunted
By white night-gowns.
None are green,
Or purple with green rings,
Or green with yellow rings,
Or yellow with blue rings.
None of them are strange,
With socks of lace
And beaded ceintures.
People are not going
To dream of baboons and periwinkles.
Only, here and there, an old sailor,
Drunk and asleep in his boots,
Catches Tigers
In red weather.
Mr Wilson's review of The Passion Of Christ is the most considered and thorough I've come across.
animal instincts
adult swim
Miso soup invasion. BYOS (bring your own sake)
(sprung) i noticed in the park earthworm mounds. on the radio (npr) they mentioned that its time for the earthworms to start moving around and that the robins would soon respond (looking for food). any crocus sightings yet ?
'the [New York Times] paper's policy on "Ethical Journalism" states: "Staff members may not accept gifts, tickets, discounts, reimbursements or other inducements from any individuals or organizations covered by The Times or likely to be covered by The Times. (Exceptions may be made for trinkets of nominal value, say, $25 or less, such as a mug or a cap with a company logo.) Gifts should be returned with a polite explanation."
Most reporters at the Times make between $60,000 and $80,000.'
Most reporters at the Times make between $60,000 and $80,000.'
I am still feeling out this blog medium, and I think I ran into a personal boundary recently. I created an art criticism monster thread and the experience is nagging at me. At first I loved it that so many people got involved, but in the end it was unweildy and for some reason, that I can't pin down yet, disatisfying. Partly, the heavy, abstracted subject matter just got to be too much. Maybe I should have moderated more? Or maybe its a technical thing. I changed it from flat comments to threaded comments part way through, thinking it would help to lend clarity, but I think it actually broke up any coherent trains of thought that had been developing and made the whole exercise feel more futile. I'm trying to figure out just what I am getting/want to be getting out of this project, and having tons and tons of people post to a thread no longer seems like a big goal. Any thoughts or past experiences from Tree-ers would be much appreciated.
Have you people heard about Howard Stern being taken off the air in six different cities? The reason seems to be because he was talking about how much Bush sucks.
pullquote
dont have a cow, man.
DLC approved: Kerry's hair.
Oscar Wrap
I don’t usually care about the Academy Awards, but I must admit I was rooting for LOTR, for sentimental reasons, so it’s nice to see my misspent youthful intelligence justified by prizes (and millions of dollars, which of course justifies anything.) Still, the reflexiveness of the voting came out in the Best Song category, where the Annie Lennox number was easily the least of the nominated tunes, not even near as good as the Mighty Wind parody. Both of the aging rockers’ fake folk tunes were superior, and if you go by the live performances the cartoon should have won, but this was not the year to be French. I’m not sure whether the fact that LOTR set records without a single acting nominee is testament to the director’s prowess or failure, but I think Smeagol/Serkis might have warranted a nod. As it was, Sean Penn’s scenery chewing was a predictable winner, but I did feel sorry for Bill Murray, who looked genuinely crushed. They’re doing the Silmarillion next year, right?
I don’t usually care about the Academy Awards, but I must admit I was rooting for LOTR, for sentimental reasons, so it’s nice to see my misspent youthful intelligence justified by prizes (and millions of dollars, which of course justifies anything.) Still, the reflexiveness of the voting came out in the Best Song category, where the Annie Lennox number was easily the least of the nominated tunes, not even near as good as the Mighty Wind parody. Both of the aging rockers’ fake folk tunes were superior, and if you go by the live performances the cartoon should have won, but this was not the year to be French. I’m not sure whether the fact that LOTR set records without a single acting nominee is testament to the director’s prowess or failure, but I think Smeagol/Serkis might have warranted a nod. As it was, Sean Penn’s scenery chewing was a predictable winner, but I did feel sorry for Bill Murray, who looked genuinely crushed. They’re doing the Silmarillion next year, right?
i think this is an ad
