Fuck you,Oregon State Board of Examiners for Engineering and Land Surveying, I am an engineer. I am an engineer. I am an engineer. I am an engineer. I am an engineer. You are a parody of a state licensing board. Fine this, you dumb humans.
Love this piece in Wired about Steve Lacy, a pro who makes music on an iPhone, using an iRig and Garage Band. Super cool.
I love the linguistic descriptivism of this Morphine lyric; the riff is killer; and this video? “The middle won’t work, ring the one under.” Uh um. “She doesn’t get up as early as a baker.”
These guys rock the Tiny Desk studio space!
In Quartz, Pablo Piccato goes on at some length, analyzing the ways in which fake President Trump perpetuates the myth of the violent Mexican. And while that’s all great, all you really need to do is trace the history of the word “marijuana” to discover that, as Piccato argues, Norte Americanos have been scapegoating Mexicans with racist lies for decades.
The science of psychology, such as it is, is catching up with the intuitions of depth psychology and the probings of literary critical theory. Depression is about to have another day.
A new book by Svend Brinkmann, a psychology professor at Denmark’s Aalborg University, is called Stand Firm: Resisting the Self-Improvement Craze, is just out. In it, Brinkmann says that our insistence have-a-good-dayism is “almost totalitarian” in its rejection of the tempests of being, e.g., sadness at loss, depression generally (which we embrace only with a happiness cure: tea, but rarely any real empathy)–and anger is right out of there. It’s exactly happy-norming that the alt right cucks are using when they say “quit being a sore loser.” Brighten up, lighten up, it’s all great again! Putting the squeeze on unstable emotions is an attempt to reduce the friction of resistance. It works, sometimes. Continue reading
A cool band, Japancakes. This is their tune “Behind the Mountains,” from one of their many great albums, don’t ask me, I’m not the expert, but this song!
It’s about Coeur d’Alene! Kinda.
And, as is usual and great about Japancakes, it has sweet, sweet pedal steel guitar. “Behind the mountains, there are more mountains.”
Eight years ago today I quit smoking cigarettes. After 32 years of Camel no-rags, I met a woman who answered “yes” when I asked if smoking were a deal breaker. Granted, it was the first time I’d asked that question: is smoking a deal breaker?
I made that promise to this woman I’d fallen in love with right around Dec. 31, 2008. I read up on quitting, and realized I needed a plan, and a memorable quit date.
Barack Obama’s inauguration was my memorable quit date. January 20, 2009. I haven’t smoked a cig since, and have regained considerable lung capacity–and added almost a fifth to my vocal range.
Today I came home from work, heart sick. I had to be with my dog, and wait for the aforementioned woman to get done with science. The dog and me, we picked her up from work. He was glad to see her, painfully, his paws unintentionally scratching his lady’s face in a frenzy of howdies. Been at least nine hours, after all.
Enough time, as my work-friend said, “for the Father of Lies to swear an oath.”
And plenty of time, while we’re at work, at a university doing the people’s work, making things better for you and I, for whitehouse.gov’s faceless minions to leave a dirty “page not found” for LGBT rights, civil rights, and science. Entire reports: gone.
This octoversary of not smoking, the devil come up from the swamp.
“Zines are accessible, often friendly to the reader and easy and cheap to make. If you have a printer and a spare few hours and some ideas, you can become a zine publisher just like anyone else,” writes Jonno Revanche in The Guardian.
That anyone is still–or again–talking about zines is wonderful. But Revanche says that zines are an escape from surveillance and clickbait, which I think is only partially true.
We know that the Paris Review and other magazines were, back in the 1950s and 1960s, funded by the CIA. That’s not exactly surveillance, at least not in the sense Revanche means, but zines do have a history of extreme partisanship as well as of both overt and covert propagandising–clickbait, in a sense.
Revanche closes with a thought that, while I agree with its spirit, is a bit off in the letter:
The main, streamlined forms of online news and communication that young people have taken for granted have not existed forever. As citizens, as responsible humans who feel a need for justice and transparency from the media and from corporate monoliths, we shouldn’t hesitate to look towards old media as a way to alleviate our anxieties about online communication.
ZInes are great and yes, we should revive them for the purposes they’ve long served well: to spread good writing in a palpable form. Zines were replaced by blogs but, as Revanche points out, blogs have IP addresses and can be hacked. But if we’re looking for justice, transparency, and relief from fake news, zines aren’t the answer.
Newspapers, and the fourth estate generally, are what need reviving. Or, more specifically and accurately, it’s journalism–its ethics and methodologies–that need to be reaffirmed as ways of exposing truth when it is clouded by capitalism, politics, and partisanship.
Retreat from a Rising Sea: Hard Choices in an Age of Climate Change Orrin H. Pilkey, Linda Pilkey-Jarvis, and Keith C. Pilkey Columbia University Press
What’s going with our planet’s climate is going to make the bursting of the real estate bubble look like a picnic on a sunny spring day. Upside-down equity and underwater mortgages don’t begin to describe the scope of what rising sea levels are going to do to us.
The grim picture painted and the solid evidence presented by the Pilkeys in Retreat from a Rising Sea is one of inexorable foolishness and inequity. Through a combination of denial and greed—often interlocked, as with politicians and real-estate developers—we are doing pretty much the opposite of what we should be doing.
It’s a kind of willful blindness, as described by Margaret Heffernan in her book about why we ignore the obvious at our peril: “we could know, and should know, but don’t know because it makes us feel better not to know.”
Instead of buying people out of their repeatedly flooded coastal homes and businesses, we are, through the National Flood Insurance Program, forking over billions of taxpayers’ dollars to enable people to rebuild in the same spot. And then, after the next storm, we do it again, and again, and again… It’s a grotesque Groundhog Day. Continue reading