by: someguyfromcanada · 3597 days ago
Bob had (I think) seven children through affairs. His wife Rita also had an affair that produced a child that Bob adopted.
My sister lived in Jamaica back then and knew all the "reggae royalty". She disliked Marley for being a misogynist but hated Peter Tosh even more for the same reason. She also says the local culture was that it was absolutely normal for both men and women to have many children with many different partners regardless of marital status. But she still likes the music.
I have no problem separating professional from personal lives unless it is a politician who is being hypocritical.
by: kleinbl00 · 3800 days ago
I've been championing Paul Carr, Mark Ames and John Dolan since The eXile. They get themselves in trouble by being snarky assholes... but sometimes, snarky assholes speak more truth than polite assholes.
I champion them because they're doing the same sort of stuff as Consortium News, who I used to support but sort of stopped because Bob Parry stopped writing about things I consider important. I championed Bob Parry because Bartcop told me to.
I read Pando because when NSFWCorp went tits up, it got absorbed into Pando... which meant 10% NSFWCorp, 90% Silicon Valley bullshit. However, since they've decided that the (failed) NSFWCorp model was the way to go with Pando, they're about 50% NSFWCorp, 50% Silicon Valley bullshit. They shuffled off a few great people in that Pando thing, in particular, Olivia Nuzzi. She's now writing for The Daily Beast but her stuff isn't nearly so interesting. It's a shame.
Anyway. I back Brecher/Dolan because of this article. He was the one guy who actually said "holy shit - Warsaw pact heavy armor vs. NATO heavy armor and nukes aren't even flying. It's a brave new world."
- See, this is the war that I used to see in the paintings commissioned by Defense contractors in Aviation Week and AFJ: a war between two conventional armies, both using air forces and armored columns, in pine-forested terrain. That was what those pictures showed every time, with a highlighted closeup of the weapon they were selling homing in on a Warsaw Pact convoy coming through a German pine forest. Of course, a real NATO/Warsaw Pact war would never, ever have happened that way. It would have gone nuclear in an hour or less, which both sides knew, which is why it never happened. So all that beautiful weaponry was kind of a farce, if it was only going to be used in the Fulda Gap. But damn, God is good, because here it all is, in the same kind of terrain, all your favorite old images: Russian-made tanks burning, a Soviet-model fighter-bomber falling from the sky in pieces, troops in Russian camo fighting other troops, also in Russian camo, in a skirmish by some dilapidated country shack.
by: am_Unition · 1865 days ago
I feel like young Bob Dylan would be disappointed in old Bob Dylan.
by: kleinbl00 · 1913 days ago
One of the side effects of the Trump White House has been forcing the close collaboration of states Attorneys General in order to accomplish anything at a national level. They've gotten pretty good at this; WA's attorney general has his kills painted on the side of his fighter plane:
- Bob has filed more than 40 lawsuits against the Trump Administration, and has not lost a federal case. Judges have ruled on 21 of these cases. Washington state’s legal record under Bob’s leadership is 21-0. Twelve of these decisions are final and cannot be appealed.
I haven't looked nationally, but I'll bet other states are similar. If they join on with Barr, they have to
- Give Barr all their work product
- Surrender the direction of their suits to Barr
- Eat shit if Barr settles with Google
So no - there's no reason for the states to join the lawsuit when it is openly, transparently about Trump being a distraction and making your parents wonder the exact same thing. You can tell them that this is like Cartman showing up at the last minute and demanding Kyle make him leader and give him all the materials for their group project because he ran out of Cheesy Poofs.
by: kleinbl00 · 4704 days ago
________________________________________________________________________________________ “Do you think they're dreaming?”
Marco and Jennifer watched the steadily-spinning SkyArc on the coilscreen. A countdown timer marked the hours in the upper right. In the upper left an endless parade of bright and earnest young men and women ticked by, one face after another.
“It's more like being in a coma,” Marco responded, then sipped at a full glass of bordeaux. It was their second bottle.
“People dream in comas, don't they?”
“Yeah, I guess. Some of 'em.”
“What do they do if something goes wrong?” Jennifer's brow furrowed. She dropped the expression immediately; she'd done it in the mirror the other day and had seen far too much of her mother staring back. Damn crow's feet.
“What can they do? It's not like they can up and launch a rescue mission off the Skyhook or something.”
“But I mean, with them all asleep like that...”
“They ain't all asleep. There's a pilot that supervises the switchover from launch laser to ramjet. Then he goes under and wakes up on the flipside.”
“One pilot?”
“Sure. Eating, breathing, pooping people consume a lot more resources than the sleepers. Why?”
“I dunno. Sounds like a terribly lonely job.”
“Sounds like an awesome job.”
“Why didn't you try out, Marco? You're the right age,” Jennifer asked, then sipped her wine.
Marco set down his glass and walked towards the dishes. “Not a lot of call for Le Cordon Bleu out in deep space, let alone the Santa Rosa Culinary Institute,” he said, the vaguest tinge of regret in his voice. “Shoulda kept at the algebra.”
“Well I'm glad you're still here,” Jennifer confided, her eyes warm. “That was the best damn mac'n'cheese I've ever had.”
“Damn right,” Marco responded. “I'll bet he likes the apple pie, too.”
Jennifer blanched then set down her glass and straightened her apron. “Did I really just leave him out there?”
“Relax!” Marco responded. “He didn't look like he was eager to go.”
Jennifer shot Marco an uncertain look and skulked through the double doors. Dining Alone sat staring into space, one hand idly playing with his wedding ring.
“I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to keep you waiting - “
“No problem,” Dining Alone said, and folded his napkin on the table. “I enjoyed the space. And the meal – Tragideli's has nothing on you.”
Jennifer smiled wide. “That means a lot, thanks.”
“So is it always this busy?”
“No, some days we've got two tables going at once.”
“That's a shame. You deserve more business than that.”
“It's not all that bad. Or it didn't used to be anyway. Tony told me that before all the space commerce headed out to Star City, lotsa folks from Virgin and SpaceX and NeoOrbital called this neighborhood home. Maybe after this SkyArc thing blows over some of it will sweep back here.”
Dining Alone fixed her with a penetrating gaze. She found it invigorating – and she couldn't look away.
“Are you going to make it that long? Say, nine months or so?”
“You know something I don't?”
“Yes.”
There was no jocularity in his tone and no mirth in his eyes. She smiled her smile and shrugged off his seriousness.
“I can always lay off another waitress, I guess.”
“I don't see any waitresses around.”
“Drat. He sees through my subterfuge. Guess you better tip pretty big then. My chef really wants you to try the pie.”
Dining Alone fixed her with a smile of his own. “And the tab. I'm late as it is.”
“And I'm guessing you can't exactly keep them waiting, can you?”
“You know my boss?”
“I've had my run-ins,” Jennifer said, and turned gracefully on one heel. The bordeaux put a twitch in her hips as she walked away. Right. Blame the bordeaux.
“They stopped the countdown,” Carlo said as she walked through the double doors. He was busily whipping up a crème Anglaise in a small saucepan.
“Why would they do that?” Jennifer asked as she pulled the completely un-cut pie from the walk-in.
“Nobody knows. But they sure are exercised about it. I haven't seen this many talking heads since the invasion of Kashmir.”
The coilscreen had switched to an expensive, frenetic newsroom where talking heads dueled each other for supremacy. SkyArc still spun in one corner, two tickers of non-information playing out beneath a white man with a beard and an earnest Asian woman with perfect English. Jennifer cut a generous slice of pie and put it on a plate, then walked towards the microwave.
“Are you kidding me?” Marco said, stopping her. He had the broiler fired up. He opened the door – it was blast-furnace hot. “How's a microwave gonna caramelize the sugar? What kind of kitchen do you think I run?”
Jennifer let Marco take the plate from her and, without missing a beat, return to his Anglaise. He deserved to work more than he did. He deserved to earn more than he did. She felt a familiar pang of guilt then put it down with a familiar swig of wine.
“Don't they, like, miss their launch window or something if this goes on too long?”
“Yeah, probably,” Marco responded, “But nobody knows for sure what that is. Virgin's been pretty cagey about the launch profile. They won't even say who's flying the thing.”
“Maybe he got cold feet,” Jennifer said reasonably.
“Fat f'ing chance! You know how many guys would kill for that job? How many they must have standing by?”
“No, how many?”
Marco glared at her. Smartypants. “Well Virgin ain't sayin' but prolly lots. Prolly dozens.”
“Prolly!” Jennifer responded, the gleam in her eyes goading Marco just a little.
Marco glowered and grabbed the slice of pie out of the broiler. Hot, steaming, golden, perfect. He drizzled it with the crème Anglaise. Jennifer grabbed the POSPad off the counter and touched its screen – Dining Alone's much-too-meager bill registered in the lilting and whimsical fonts her designer had picked out for her back when she had money. She debated charging him more for the macaroni – but that wasn't like her. Anything she made off of him tonight was more than she would have made otherwise and you just don't tempt karma like that.
Jennifer walked through the doors and presented the pie with a flourish. Dining Alone gazed appreciatively at it and picked up a spoon.
“Fabulous. Thank you.”
“Let me know if you need anything else,” Jennifer said. She left the POSPad discreetly at the edge of the table and turned to give him some space.
“Jennifer.”
Jennifer turned around. He was studying the POSPad.
“Yes, sir?”
“I'm at a point in my life where my assets are... liquid. You seem like a good investment. How much to get you through June?”
“I thought you weren't coming back for a long, long time.”
“I'm not.” Dining Alone bit into the pie. He nodded, pleased. “But I'd like to dine here again. And if all goes well, Virgin is going to announce the construction of a second Skyhook about ten miles off the coast. Jobs and commerce will follow with groundbreaking to commence next February.”
“If all... what goes well?” Jennifer pursed her brow at the man. He did not look at her.
“You're going to be in the middle of a boomtown if you can hold out. I'd like to help. Consider it an investment.”
“And you know this how?”
“I just do,” he responded. “That's enough to keep us both out of trouble.”
“Right,” Jennifer said. “Which is why I would love to entertain any offers at the office of my lawyer in the morning, mister...”
“I won't be here in the morning,” Dining Alone said flatly. “Like I said, I'm going away. This is a one-time, non-negotiable offer.”
Something's rotten in the state of Denmark, she thought to herself. This doesn't happen to people.
“Like I said, leave a big tip.” Jennifer smiled at the man.
He smiled back, calculating. “I've always been fond of Jennifers,” he said as he picked up the POSPad and gestured on it. “Have it your way.” He pressed the POSPad with his thumb with a flourish and set it down next to his fork. His eyes returned to the far horizon, a mischievous glint giving them new light. Quite clearly, Jennifer wasn't to take the POSPad – she returned to the bar and polished the glassware. Again.
Jennifer discreetly watched Dining Alone polish off the rest of his pie. He set the spoon down and very clearly didn't make a move for the door.
“I thought you had somewhere to be,” Jennifer asked him.
“My ride will be here any minute, don't worry,” Dining Alone responded, then returned his attention to infinity.
“Well thanks for coming in. I hope wherever you're going isn't too awful.”
“Me too.” Dining Alone fixed her with a smile. Two tall, official and unforgiving men walked through the front door, their eyes on Dining Alone.
“Good evening, gentlemen. Is my plane ready?” Dining alone turned and glanced at the men. They did not favor him with any humor whatsoever.
“You were expected over an hour ago - ” the shorter of the two started.
“You can't leave without me,” Dining Alone said. He stood up and straightened his coat. He turned to glance at Jennifer, watching.
“I hope to see you again, Jennifer. Good luck with your endeavors.”
And with that, Dining Alone walked out of Jennifer's Bistro, a thug on either arm. Jennifer watched him go then grabbed the POSPad. Glanced at it. Stared at it.
Cursed inwardly. Roger E. Erickson, whoever the hell that was, had tipped her a million dollars. Which would never go through of course. Her uncle Bob had done that when the tax-man was finally about to catch up with him. Ran around the country running up his cards like crazy, then headed into the desert on a one way journey with a .38 caliber hollow-point. Took her dad six months of legal wrangling to rid himself of Bob's debts. Victimless crime her ass.
Jennifer stomped into the kitchen, storming. Carlo turned to her. “They started the countdown again,” he said.
“Like I care,” she growled.
“What bit you in the ass?” Carlo asked. “Prince Charming turn you down or something?”
“Prince charming NSF'd his tab,” Jennifer shot back, thrusting out the POSPad.
Carlo took it from her. He studied it. His eyes grew wide.
“No... no he didn't,” Carlo said softly.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Like some shady inside trader headed off to prison has that kind of cash kickin' around - “
“I just cooked for Commander Erickson,” Carlo said with wonder in his voice. A childlike smile crept across his face.
“Who the hell is Commander Erickson?”
Carlo glanced meaningfully into Jennifer's eyes then pulled out his phone. He tapped a series of keys and the coilscreen changed. SkyArc, SkyArc with colonists, SkyArc with inset of Skyhook, SkyArc with long-angle shot of a business jet, SkyArc with file photo of Dining Alone...
“Turn it up,” Jennifer said, flatly emotionless.
“...and now that all crew have reported in Virgin Enterprises has released the names of the non-colonist crew. As you know, intense secrecy has surrounded the actual operations of the Virgin SkyArc but we are able to report that Mankind's first interstellar mission will be piloted by a Commander Roger Erickson, USAF Retired. We're scrambling to gather information about Commander Erickson to bring to you but we can report at this time that anonymous sources are telling us that last hour's delay was in some way related to staffing. We now go to Rebecca Jung in the field - “
The announcer gave way to a smart young woman standing pointlessly in an unnamed suburb somewhere. Neither Jennifer nor Marco heard a word she said.
“He... did say he was going away for a while,” Jennifer offered up lamely.
“Now you gonna let me put mac'n'cheese on your hoighty-toighty menu?” Marco asked, pleased with himself.
Jennifer looked up at the rollscreen and the troubled countenance of Commander Roger Erickson, the man who dined alone. Then she looked down at the the one and its associated zeroes on the POSPad. Karma.
“Anything you want, Carlo. Anything you want.”
by: OftenBen · 2547 days ago
Hit me with quotes.
I finally got around to reading The Laundry Files and I'm loving it.
Book three, The Fuller Memorandum, opens up with
- “I wish I was still an atheist. Believing I was born into a harsh, uncaring cosmos – in which my existence was a random roll of the dice and I was destined to die and rot and then be gone forever – was infinitely more comforting than the truth. Because the truth is that my God is coming back. When he arrives I’ll be waiting for him with a shotgun. And I’m keeping the last shell for myself.”
It's super new-atheist-edgy at first, totally admitting that. However it also connects to this sub-theme of a lot of other urban fantasy taps into in different ways, the idea that there are incomprehensibly powerful, negative forces at play in the world and there is real bravery in opposing them with every possible resource. In The Dresden Files this comes across as Dresden's cheek and wise-cracking even in the face of titanic magical opposition like Faerie Queens, literal fallen angels and dark hoary old gods, as well as their literal conflict. Butcher plays this off as just a character quirk but it's a great piece of characterization (That worked really well for Spiderman) that serves to give an extra layer of meaning to the various challenges that Dresden overcomes.
Bob Howard of The Laundry Files is damn close to British Harry Dresden. There is even a scene in The Fuller Memorandum where Bob is having a contemplative moment on a train after finishing a book that is blatantly described as being about a wizard private eye in Chicago, so this whole thing is very self-aware. Charles Stross knows his audience and caters heavily to the 'geek' crowd in that way. In fact there has been a case made that a lot of urban fantasy is essentially a power fantasy for kids who grew up reading Harry Potter.
Anyways, post your quotes. If you've read Dresden or The Laundry recently I'm happy to discuss. I'm starting The Apocalypse Codex today.
Cheers
by: humanodon · 4255 days ago
The lady that first taught me how to swim now works at a grocery store near my parent's house. From what I recall, swimming lessons were done early in the morning before school, starting in spring and held in the concrete WPA era pool that is now being torn up to make way for a modern pool with better filtration. I think I was six. It was shortly after pre-school, which I remember because I was able to take swimming lessons with two of my friends from pre-school who went to other elementary schools in the district.
At that time of the morning it was often foggy and the shaggy trees surrounding the pool dropped needles and helicopter seeds into the dark green water, which smelled more of pond and less of chlorine. We'd practice kicking in the "guppy" section of the pool and wear styrofoam "bubbles" strapped to our backs to practice bobbing in the "whale" section of the pool, where a dangerous looking diving board was located.
After swimming lessons, my dad would give us juice boxes and feed us cheese curls before dropping us off at school. I guess this is a fond memory because I've always liked swimming. And cheese curls. I'm still a strong swimmer and whenever I do bobs in the pool I feel like I'm six again.
by: kleinbl00 · 807 days ago
- Quite a few people posted variations on, “what is even the point of art critics?” So let me say what purpose an article like the one I wrote might serve.
First: With regard to the paintings themselves, simply repeating press-release hype isn’t healthy for anyone. It happens all the time that artists get stuck doing whatever first brought them success, and dealers or marketers encourage them to just do the same thing because it’s the easiest thing to sell, thereby undermining what could be a more enduring career.
This is patently false. Art and art critique is entirely about repeating press-release hype, particularly if you're writing for ArtNet. This is very much as if eBay wrote an article saying "Beanie Babies are hyped and not worth collecting, as the hype is part of the art." I mean, yes? But eBay doesn't exist without Beanie Babies, and art doesn't exist without hype.
- That brings me to the second point, which is where the case of Devon Rodriguez is specifically interesting. Basically, I’m arguing that we should think of his social media posts as part of his practice, to be reviewed in and of themselves. These are, after all, not just how he got famous; in some sense they are what he is really famous for. And they are in many cases clearly staged.
This is ArtNet arguing that the art itself lacks value because the value is in the TikTok posts. Which, also, duh. But the whole of the article makes the point that art such as this is flash-in-the-pan bullshit and that any collector might as well go buy jpegs.
So the surprise at the backlash is disingenuous, particularly when the artist straight-up calls out the author for "gatekeeping." Which is exactly what he's doing. That's all fine art is, really; does Charles Saatchi vouch for it? Well then it's worth a bajillion dollars. Try and explain Warhol's valuations to the Instagram audience, I dare you. That's the whole point: if rich people think it's worth money and you don't, then it's worth money. They are rich, therefore their tastes are refined, and the further from your tastes their tastes are, the more refined they are.
UTA spent a lot of money to convince the public that their flash-in-the-pan street busker was actually a prima ballerina because UTA is all about convincing the public. The art world went "nah" because the art world is all about eschewing the public. I reckon Ben Davis doesn't much write for the public, or he'd realize that his whole role in this affair, as far as UTA and Devon Rodriguez are concerned, is to make Youtube Reaction Face to his brilliance. Except I think Ben Davis knows this, and knows that the hoi polloi losing their minds over the fact that Maxfield Parrish still isn't a "true artist" is the whole schtick.
Rich people get to anoint their artists while alive by buying early and selling to their hangers on (IE, the crypto ICO model). Poor people get to anoint their artists by pointing out that their shit is still good when they're decades dead.
That's a David Hockney. It sold for $26m in 2020.
That's a Bob Ross. They sat in PBS offices around the US until the early 2000s, when the wave of nostalgia finally convinced some to try selling them on the open market to make ends meet.
Ben Davis is in the business of telling the world that the David Hockney is worth $26m and the Bob Ross is not for the express purpose of pissing off Devon Rodriguez fans, so that David Hockney fans can see how unlike Devon Rodriguez fans they are celebrate their fine appreciation of Jeff Koons and gossip about bananas duct-taped to the wall of Art Basel which is in Miami for grift purposes.
by: thenewgreen · 5232 days ago
Do any of you know of examples when actual warfare between two classes has occurred as a direct result of increased taxation on the wealthy?
I’m curious what the GOP think this phrase can do for them? I can only guess that its design is to confuse the electorate much like the phrase ”death panels” during the Healthcare debate. Unfortunately, it’s always about marketing and rarely about solutions.
There’s a great line in the movie “The American President” when Kirk Douglas’ (President Shepherd) gives his big speech at the end and says… “We have serious problems to solve and we need serious people to solve them. And whatever your particular problem is, I promise you Bob Rumson (GOP) isn’t the least bit interested in solving it. He is interested in two things and two things only, making you afraid of it and telling you who is to blame for it. That ladies and gentleman, is how you win elections” –I for one, hope President Obama can do as effective of a job in calling out the “Bob Rumson’s” of the moment.
Here is the link to the speech from the movie:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mWRVbWMvi7c
As an aside: At the end of the speech he references a bill to congress about cutting emissions to solve the “global warming crisis”. –This was 1995, can you believe we still have people in politics that refuse to believe it is occurring?
[edit] the actor is Michael Douglas, not Kirk Douglas
by: mk · 1745 days ago
Panama City. That might be the reason. Good to hear that the entire state isn't like that. As a matter of fact, probably 2/3 of the people I saw weren't locals.
- Painting is incredible, by the way. You always do good work, but that has to be one of my favorites you've shared here.
Thanks. That surprises me. I have been very non-commital in my process with this one. Maybe I should try to preserve that.
My brother just bought me a talking Bob Ross bobblehead that I put next to my easel. Last night I listened to a couple of Ross affirmations before getting to it. I think Bob completed the cycle and ascended to Nirvana.