Fosco Lives!

We'll always have Lawrence v. Texas

2009-04-30T20:46:00.000-07:00

I can't quit you, David Souter.

Fun with Juxtaposed Pictures

2009-04-29T19:24:00.001-07:00

From today's Huffington Post:

From the Chicago Tribune:

You're no mystery to me, Miss California.

2009-04-27T04:45:00.000-07:00

On occasion, "Music Monday" requires a bit of setup.

Sometimes it feels like we meet someone loathsome every week. Last week, it was Miss California, Carrie Prejean. Prejean, who looks like nothing so much as a vinyl effigy of Elizabeth Berkley, was the frontrunner in last week's Miss USA Pageant--until, as you know, she was asked about her position on same-sex marriage. Her answer has become famous by now, especially in courses on how NOT to win Miss USA.

Indeed, Carrie's plea for "opposite marriage" (only, of course, in "[her] country"--wherever that is...) seems to have cost her the crown. Instead, our bronzed rack of lamb had to settle for First Runner-Up. Unfortunately, her consolation prize was merely to co-host the "Today" show for a couple of days. This is particularly sad as, if she had won the crown, she would gotten a much better gig. Like, um, cutting the ribbon at the new Food Lion in Greensboro, NC. Hang in there, Carrie--you'll make it someday!

Naturally, she immediately became a political figure. Insane people loved her "courage." Equally insane people hated her. Prejean herself attempted to crazy up her image a little, blathering about being "biblically correct." Eventually, someone finally noted that she had her facts wrong anyway. And somehow, we all cringed to discover that she casually dates Michael Phelps (has he made one good decision outside of a swimming pool?).

Now Fosco doesn't want to hate on Miss California too much. After all, asking beauty queens about politics is a recipe for disaster--as far as I'm concerned, she just mostly made herself look bigoted and stupid for posterity. (Although, whether we should be taking her "opinion" seriously for the rest of the week is a different question altogether.) And besides, no one has been able to adequately explain to me why two infinitely more loathsome people were on stage with her that evening (that would be Perez Hilton and Billy Bush). Carrie's clearly the distant third in that trio of repulsiveness.

What the hell does any of this have to do with music? I am pleased that you asked. Fosco's annoyance with Miss California last week was decidedly attenuated by his discovery of the song "Miss California" by his beloved Jack's Mannequin. Somehow, Fosco had managed to overlook this song (which is a bonus track on The Glass Passenger) until last week. For some reason, imagining Carrie Prejean as the Miss California named in the song makes Fosco laugh--a lot. Perhaps it has something to do with the lyrics:

But I'm gonna take you to my boxcar on the beach
And I'm gonna hang the sun above your bed
And soak your hair in bleach

You'll be missed Miss California
You'll be kissed by only me
When they can't find you, you'll turn into a mystery
but you're no mystery to me, Miss California.

Yes, these lyrics are a little creepy (or, as Oz suggested, a little "kidnap-ey"), but the song itself is really a great sing-a-long pop jewel. And of course, I'm not advocating the abduction of Carrie Prejean; however, these are the kinds of silly fantasies that stupid people have about beauty queens (and that Jack's Mannequin is clearly mocking in this song). It's just a funny song that is made funnier when you imagine Prejean's semisynthetic face in the middle of the narrative.

Sadly, the best version that I've been able to find online is this live video from YouTube. It's not a terrible performance (the energy is high), but you should probably find a way to listen to the studio version.

Also, why does he keep trying to stand up? Sit down!

Oh, and if you'd like a "bonus track" from Jack's Mannequin, listen to this excellent cover of MGMT's "Kids"--good stuff.

Sunday in Venusburg

2009-04-26T06:39:00.000-07:00

Fosco has been listening to Wagner's opera Tannhäuser this week. The music is absolutely ravishing (Don't believe me? Get a hold of the Overture--an easy download from anywhere.), but I had never really paid attention to the plot before this week. Guess what? The plot is stupid. Even so, the opera's a pretty thrilling listen.

Another thing I never knew about Tannhäuser: the overture is referenced in the title of an almost-equally ravishing Cézanne painting.

This is Cézanne's Girl at the Piano (Overture to Tannhäuser) (1868-70). It lives at the Hermitage in St. Petersburg. It is entirely possible that this young woman is playing the piano transcription of the overture by Franz Liszt (although there seem to have been versions by several composers).

I wish you a restful Sunday, filled with wonderful music (and perhaps some needlework?).

Saturday Story Hour: Wells Tower

2009-04-25T07:39:00.000-07:00

After taking a week off to reload, "Saturday Story Hour" is back. With a BANG.

This week, we're focusing on an author who is entirely new to Fosco! Just a few weeks ago, Fosco semi-randomly clicked on a story on the NY Times front page about a short story collection by an author named Wells Tower. The name of the collection is Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned, which is a pretty catchy title. Fosco decided to buy the book (from his local independent bookstore--thus paying almost $10 too much), after reading these paragraphs in the Times piece:

Wells Tower’s book of short stories, “Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned,” has attracted a great number of vivid descriptions from admiring critics in the few weeks since it came out, and “strange” is perhaps the most commonly employed.

Also: “lurid”; “crammed with more pathos than a 400-page potboiler”; “bittersweet,” “beautiful” and “ardently conflicted” (in the same review); and “sad-funny-disturbing” (all in the same hyphenated clause). The last came from Michiko Kakutani of The New York Times, who wrote that the book “decisively establishes” Mr. Tower “as a writer of uncommon talent” and drew comparisons to Sam Shepard’s social radar, Frederic Barthelme’s ear and David Foster Wallace’s eye.

To me, those paragraphs pretty much sold it.

When Fosco got the book home and cracked it, he was surprised to discover that one of the stories had originally appeared in The New Yorker last November. Apparently, that one slipped past me. The story is called "Leopard" and I'm glad that I got this second chance to read it, because it's great.

The story is written in the second person--which is somewhat unusual and, in the hands of some writers, very show-off-y. However, in this case, I found it very easy to slip into. By the third or fourth paragraph, the oddness of second person address had entirely disappeared. At that point, I was comfortably living inside the head of Towers's teenage protagonist.

The story is also, in places, extremely funny--and poignant at the same time (just like your own teen years, right?). Consider this section that describes a small fungus spot that has appeared on your upper lip (wasn't Junior High absolute torture?):

A tiny hamburger is what the fungus resembles, cracked and brown and perfectly centered in the little fluted area between your septum and upper lip. Yesterday, in the cafeteria, Josh Mohorn pointed out the similarity before a table of your friends. A painful thing, considering how much you would like to be Josh Mohorn. He turned to you and said, “Hey, Yancy, do me a favor.”

“What’s up?” you said, excited by the rare pleasure of Josh’s attention.

“Could you take that seat down there?” he said, gesturing toward the far end of the table. “I can’t eat my lunch with your fucking burger in my face.”

Even you had to admire the succinct poetry of the line, which launched an instant craze of everyone jeering and calling you Burger King, or Patty, or All Beef, the name that stuck for the rest of the day and that will surely greet you this morning at school. You are eleven years old, the age that our essences begin revealing themselves, irremediably, to us and to the world. Just as Josh Mohorn is irremediably a soccer ace and a clothes ace, with feathered hair and white bucks, you are irremediably a fungus man.

I don't know about you, but for me that passage pretty much sums up my life during the years 1985-1989.

Sadly, it turns out that you live with your loathed stepfather. By the end of the story, you'll be silently praying for him to be devoured by a renegade leopard. How does the story go from your fungus to the leopard? That's what makes it so amazing--the strange chain of contingency that seems so perfectly normal for a day in the life of a misfit eleven-year-old.

You can read "Leopard" here.

If you would like to purchase Towers's collection from Amazon (thus saving almost $10), you can do so by following this link:

The Primatology of BBQ

2009-04-24T12:28:00.001-07:00

"Foodie Friday" returns (a little late in the afternoon) with something mouth-watering.

The first week of April brought Fosco's friend Todd on his annual pilgrimage to the Bay Area. You may not know that, in recent years, Todd has become something of a BBQ expert. Because of his travels around this country (and a group of very food-obsessed friends), Todd pretty much has recommendations for good BBQ in almost any major American city. I never travel without asking Todd if there is a good BBQ place to visit at my destination. Todd was particularly excited this visit, as he finally had a lead on some good Bay Area BBQ. And so we drove to the small town of Pacifica, just south of San Francisco along the coast, to find Gorilla BBQ.

Gorilla BBQ turns out to be notable for several reasons. First off, there is its location in a bright-orange boxcar. Second, there is its theme song (listen to it at the website). Third, there is the fact that the owners spent $26,000 on a smoker. Fourth, the place recently appeared on punk bear Guy Fieri's "Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives" on Food Network. And perhaps most interesting: one of the co-owners has the words "PORK" and "RIBS" tattooed on his knuckles. Indeed!

Let's check out the setup. This is boxcar (and over that hill is the ocean--that's Highway 1 right there).

The sign is perhaps slightly misleading, as I have yet to see much smoke coming from the place. Too much smoke is probably against local environmental restrictions anyway.

This is Jeff, one of the co-owners (and apparently the primary chef). Notice all of the monkey tchotchkes on the counter.

This is Rich (aka "Gorilla"). He's the one with the tattooed knuckles. He takes the orders.

As you can see, there isn't much space in the boxcar to run the whole operation. Of course, it's takeout only.

So let's talk about the food. The menu features the standard smoked meats: pork ribs, chicken, beef brisket, pulled pork, hot links. There are traditional sides (mac and cheese, red beans and rice, corn muffins, potato salad) and NorCal-inspired sides (portabello mushrooms, grilled eggplant). When Oz and I went with Todd, I opted for the three meat combo: brisket, pulled pork, and hot links. It came in two containers: one for the meat, one for the sides. Plus sauce on the side. Here's the meat:

The pulled pork is fine. The hot links are spicily delicious. The brisket is EXTRAORDINARY--crusty, smoky, tender, cut-able with a spork (yes, a spork is what they provide you to eat with...). The BBQ sauce (appropriately served on the side) is tart and wonderful--best I've had outside a hundred-mile radius of Memphis. One thing I liked: the attention to the sides, which were pretty much all delicious. The Mac N Cheese is absolutely awesome, and the corn muffins are the Platonic ideal of corn muffins--best I've EVER had. Seriously.

Oz and I were smitten and we returned the next week (with Todd in our memories...). This time, we concentrated all of our attention on the brisket and mac n cheese:

At this point, I am absolutely obsessed with this brisket. Apparently, however, I am not alone. This was the line at 11:45 on Saturday (for the opening at noon):

Sure, it may have taken half an hour to get to the counter. But it was worth it. Brisket!

Of course, Gorilla may not compete with the best of Memphis (or Texas and North Carolina, for that matter), but I suspect it's the best in Northern California--and that's not too shabby. If you are ever within 50 miles of this place, it is worth a trip.

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Did Jesus ever rebuke "Ankle Biters"?

2009-04-22T16:12:00.000-07:00

In yesterday's post, I published a photograph of lovely Christian gentleman and his informative sign listing all of the groups of people who will be judged harshly by God. Here, again, is a closeup of his sign:

In my previous post, I helpfully turned this poster into an easy-to-read list and my readers responded--by determining how many of these categories are going to contribute to their own eternal damnation.

However, as you may recall, there were two groups that Fosco couldn't quite read. With the help of some new bionic eyes (and some other pix of this guy from other sources), Fosco is pleased to announce that he can now complete the list:

ADDITIONAL People Who Will Be Judged (Presumably Unfavorably) By God

Thieves
Ankle Biters (what does that even mean?)

Do these additions cause any revisions in your personal number, readers? (Especially if any of you are small dogs...)

Postcards from the Counterculture: A Fosco Lives! Special Report

2009-04-21T22:27:00.000-07:00

Unless you live in a college town, you may not be familiar with yesterday's 4/20 holiday (it's "clever" because yesterday's date was 4/20). It's that day of the year when pot smokers come together at 4:20 PM to celebrate "cannabis culture" by smoking up--often in public. It is a particularly popular holiday at two major US public universities (as noted in this article in the NY Times): University of Colorado at Boulder and (wait for it) Fosco's own University of California, Santa Cruz (UCSC). In fact, the holiday has become so closely associated with UCSC that a picture of UCSC's 4/20 event is used to illustrate the 4/20 entry on Wikipedia. (And yes, the above picture is of UCSC's mascot, the Banana Slug, smoking pot.)

The event has always been unsanctioned by UCSC, of course. However, as the holiday has become larger and more public in recent years, the UCSC administration has become more concerned about the questionable PR. This year, UCSC sent an email to the parents of all first-year students asking them to discourage their sons or daughters from participating. As the email suggested (with keen insight into the mind of today's youth):

"I encourage you to talk with your student about his or her plans for 4/20. Ask direct questions about the choices they make and express your expectations regarding marijuana, alcohol or other drug use. Although students may not initiate discussion on this topic, your opinions and expectations can influence their behavior."

"Golly, Beaver, I sure hope you aren't planning to take the pot on April 20th. Remember that anyone who offers you drugs is not a true friend."

But that was just Prong ONE of UCSC's two-pronged attack on 4/20. Prong TWO was to essentially shut down the campus for the whole afternoon, in an attempt to prevent easy access to the Porter College Meadow (traditional home of the gathering). This meant shutting down the bus routes, closing the West Entrance to campus, and beefing up parking enforcement. Of course, there was added benefit of inconveniencing any non-pot-smokers who remained on campus: "Can't get home? Blame the potheads!"

Normally, Fosco would strenuously avoid an event like this, considering that he considers any group larger than twenty-five people to be an unpleasantly large crowd. And when that group is made up of pot-smoking hippies... well, let's just say that Fosco has aesthetic objections to "cannabis culture." However, this year found Fosco in class at Porter College until 4 PM on 4/20. Essentially, Fosco was a within an easy quarter-mile walk of the whole gathering: could his inner anthropologist resist a glimpse of the spectacle? Would a giant crowd of pot-smoking hippies be enough to convince Fosco to stay on campus for an extra half hour?

Yes, of course, I went to look. You would have too. And this is what I saw...

By 4 PM, the people walking toward Porter Meadow had become a steady line (see Monterey Bay in the background?).

It's kind of like watching pot-loving ants, no? And look at the smoke cloud.

Here's a view of the line looking back from the Meadow:

One thing I didn't mention yet: this was the hottest day we've had this year. It was 97 fucking degrees. (And yes, even with my canteen of water, I was regretting the quarter-mile walk by this point--anthropology is hard.) Of course, the heat did give the Santa Cruz Sentinel the opportunity to use the "twice-baked" pun in their coverage, so I suppose it was worth it.

One option for beating the heat was to smoke in the woods that surrounds the meadow:

Other heat-beating options I observed: umbrellas, parasols, shirtlessness, sweating profusely. These photos were taken around 4:05 or so--note the giant crowd and smoke cloud.

For the first time in the history of UCSC's 4/20 event, there were some party-crashers: local Christian nutballs showed up with signs to protest. Seriously!

Don't these guys have something better to do? Like picketing AIDS funerals? Or throwing blood on abortion doctors?

This guy was my favorite:

Who would have thought that God could hate so many things! Luckily, this guy has made a list for us. Can we go to a closeup? Yes?

Let's just take a moment and convert this sign into a list.

People Who Will Be Judged (Presumably Unfavorably) By God

Sex Addicts (tough luck, David Duchovny)
Baby Killers
Witches
Dikes [sic] on Bikes
Pencil Neck Weak Kneed Gutless Men (hmmm...)
So Called Christians
Pot Smoking Little Devils (Bingo!)
False Religions
Lewd Women (well, duh!)
Porno Freaks
Homos
[something I can't quite read]
[another something I can't quite read]
Sports Nuts (Seriously?)
Perverts
Racists
Money Lovers
Two Faced People (sorry, Harvey Dent)
Rebellious Women
All Non-Homemakers (wow, I bet these guys get lots of dates)
Party Animals
Drunkards
Jesus Mockers
And Catholics...

Whew. I don't know about you, but that's the kind of God I could really get into. Watch out, Sports Nuts.

Anyway... the golden moment, 4:20 PM PDT, finally arrived and the smoke got even thicker:

These pictures don't quite capture the moment adequately--for one thing, you can't hear all of the drums. Consequently, allow me to offer the brief video that I recorded (and uploaded to YouTube):

Sadly, I cannot make this experience available to you in "Smell-O-Vision" because, as my college roommate David noted, the whole thing "must have smelled unspeakably awful." I cannot disagree.

All in all, I managed to stave off incipient heat-stroke until about 4:30 when I gave up and walked back to my car at Porter. I wasn't the only one leaving:

Caption: "We'll always have these stupid memories."

Walking back, I passed the only official UCSC presence at the event:

And what did I learn? Well, for one thing, I thought there would actually be a more communal atmosphere at this thing. I had envisioned people passing joints and conversing. Instead, everyone just broke up into their own friend groups--and most of them weren't actually very nice about it. I had kinda been expecting to be offered some smoke (not that I would have indulged), but that didn't seem to be the vibe. I've been to much friendlier football tailgates. And I've had more pot offered to me at concerts.

For another thing, I wonder how many actual UCSC students were there. Walking down, I was in front of a group from Berkeley. In the Sentinel coverage, they interviewed students from everywhere but UCSC: UC Berkeley, UC Davis, CSU-Monterey Bay, Cabrillo College. N.B., some kid from Berkeley was named in the Sentinel coverage as "Skittles." Delightful! Also suprising: I didn't see anyone I knew there. I've been at this school for three years and have a pretty large circle of acquaintances: colleagues, grad students, current students, former students, etc. Of course, it's possible that my students saw and avoided me...

Random 4/20 observations:

You could not pay me enough to eat the vegan food being sold onsite by the Hare Krishnas.
Hippie guys are not very attractive.
God is surprisingly wrathful. That's probably bad news for my afterlife plans.
Too many people brought their dogs (which are prohibited on campus). And too many of them were pit bulls.
I thought there would be more music (of the non-bongo variety). Where were all the people I saw walking with acoustic guitars?
It was SO FUCKING HOT.

All in all, I think I learned some important lessons. And I hope that I have created a precious anthropological record--especially for those of you who wonder what undergrad life is like nowadays.

Oh, and of course, I will NEVER do this again.

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A Programming Note

2009-04-21T14:13:00.001-07:00

You've probably noticed that my blogging has been sporadic lately, and I think you (the loyal FL! reader) deserve an explanation.

You see, Spring Quarter (stupid quarter system!) started recently and Fosco has a couple of abnormally time-consuming activities to deal with right now. For one thing, Fosco's teaching assignment is a course that has two sections a week. This means that I have to prep for section twice a week (Monday and Wednesday). And because I am constitutionally opposed to subjecting my students to time-wasting activities like "everyone get in small groups and talk about your papers while I sit at the front of the room and take a little nap," the extra prep time adds up. Not to mention that the professor for this course has allowed the TAs complete freedom in planning the course for their students (which is, in many ways, a good thing); however, this means that I don't have predetermined activities or assignments to fall back on.

The second time-consuming activity for me this quarter is the final course that I need to satisfy my language requirement. I read French pretty well and my previous French course (last year) was not a huge burden--we read the novels in French and had our discussion in English. However, the French course I am taking this quarter is not just French readings: the entire seminar (including discussion) is conducted in French! This is both difficult and terrifying (although the professor is perfectly understanding). I find myself planning in advance the simplest discussion comments (I frequently write out what I want to say in discussion the night before, so as to double check the grammar, etc.). It's getting a little easier every week, but I still spend almost every class (and it meets twice a week) feeling either panicked or embarrassed. You should have seen my deep blush today when I very publicly misunderstood one of the professor's directions. In addition, there is a passage translation due every week and I, with characteristic conscientiousness, try to make my translation perfect (while I regularly watch the undergrads in the seminar just sight-translate a passage). It's been a long time since I've felt so academically inferior in a class (well, since college physics) and while a humbling experience is always useful, it can also be painful.

I don't want all of this to sound like a bid for sympathy, because it's not--at least not primarily. I recognize very clearly the following things:

I chose this life.
I still have it pretty good.
Lots of people have to work much harder than I do.
At least I have a job.
It's a privilege to be doing something that I (mostly) enjoy.
It's all part of the process of becoming a professor.
It will all someday be worth it.
I could always quit and get a job waiting tables.

So there is no need to repeat any of these things, Dad. :) However, I did want to explain why my blog has been so empty lately (and why I've been so bad about reading and commenting on the blogs of some of my favorite people [esp. Jill!]).

The good news: I have a plan! My blogging may not reach pre-Spring-Quarter levels for a while, but I am going to try to ramp up my posting--starting now. Once again, thanks for your patience! My love to you all.

Queer Crucifixion

2009-04-20T05:59:00.000-07:00

"Music Monday" was always sorta queer, don't you think?

Today we have the second installment in Fosco's series of "The Queerest Music Videos Ever!" Today's video is from those ultraqueer Swedes, Army of Lovers. This is "Crucified"--a song which is, I suppose, slightly blasphemous--especially if you don't have a sense of humor. If you watched a lot of MTV in the 90s, you may recognize this video from an episode of "Beavis and Butthead." Surprisingly (or not so surprisingly), I think this video is funnier without their commentary.

I've still never watched this video without laughing out loud at least once. Usually, it's the Elvis bit, but sometimes it's also when the dark-haired guy raises his eyebrow so provocatively. I don't know about you, but I can't help but appreciate a video where everyone seems to be having so much fun!

And good luck getting this song out of your head today.

It's (Once Again) the End of the World As We Know It

2009-04-18T23:24:00.000-07:00

I've been remiss, I know. I'll see if I can be a better blogger this coming week.

As an amuse-bouche for a good week, here's a late-night/early-morning treat for you: a weather forecast of doom from the San Jose Mercury News!

This is slightly sinister, no? I'm not sure what is even sunnier than sunny, but I don't think it's a good thing. What is "and then some"? A tanning bed? A UV storm? A supernova? Twenty-four hours of daylight? Human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together, mass hysteria!

It's clearly going to be a week of Biblical significance in the Bay Area. I'll try to keep you posted.

Don't Keep It in the Closet

2009-04-14T23:23:00.000-07:00

Put on your eyeliner, because here comes the first installment in the ?-part series called: "The Queerest Music Videos Ever!" (And if the songs happen to be really good, well that's just gravy...)

Today's entry wasn't particularly queer when it was released, but has become much queerer in the (nearly) two decades since. When Michael Jackson's "In The Closet" video was released, the buzz was mostly about Jackson's heterosexual shimmying with supermodel Naomi Campbell. And yes, it is a sexy video (and song)--in its way. However, watching the video today, I certainly don't see much heterosexuality in it. What I do see is Naomi Campbell grinding with a (not entirely convincing) drag king. Maybe it's Michael's ponytail or maybe it's his little girl breasts, but I'm not seeing this video as anything other than lesbian dirty-dancing. And that's pretty queer.

I still love this song, too. And his hand gestures are absolutely priceless.

Amazon Glitch Roundup

2009-04-13T19:19:00.001-07:00

This has certainly turned into the internet obsession of the day, no? I wrote two posts in haste last night and called for a temporary boycott of Amazon.

More news came out today. I am grateful to the intrepid AEJ for doing updates in the comments here; in fact, I think her comments are so useful that they deserve a place in an actual post. I reprint them, in order, here:

This is an interesting wrinkle - a hacker is claiming credit for this whole thing, saying he created an exploit that takes advantage of Amazon's "Mark this as inappropriate" tag. Of course, I'd be happy to hear that this was indeed not something Amazon did itself, so I'm trying not to allow my preference for this to be true to outweigh reasonable skepticism; still, I would say it's plausible. (Both because this type of filtering would be idiotic as a business move, and Amazon isn't usually idiotic, and because there is a whiff of mischief about the whole thing - from the beginning I've thought this had to be the work of an individual, whether within Amazon or not, rather than corporate policy.)

More at Ars Technica.

This will be my last comment - sorry to keep coming back, but I've been really bothered by this so I keep looking for news and I'm just passing along stuff as I hear it... Anyway, there are now conflicting stories - see these two posts on Salon - coming out of Amazon (not surprising, since as others have noted they hardly want to admit either to being hacked or to doing this intentionally) - but the upshot is that there are apparently something close to 58,000 titles affected and they're fixing it now. Whether someone outside actually found a vulnerability and pranked them or someone in France (really? France is our scapegoat?) mistagged stuff or whatever, I think the possibility that this is a corporate policy is vanishingly small. As the Amazon spokesperson put it, "embarrassing and ham-fisted," definitely; the good news is I think it really was a coding debacle rather than a homophobic salvo. So while I'm still irked, as others have noted, that they haven't just apologized to the writers and readers affected, I'm taking some small solace in the current look of things.

Nice work, AEJ. You've convinced me to suspend judgment for a bit, especially as I agree with your suggestion that that the likelihood of this being a corporate policy is "vanishingly small." Of course, I would like to see all of this get fixed within a reasonable amount of time.

Of course, one of the annoying things here is that we are unlikely to get a thorough and accurate explanation of what actually happened--or, at least we are unlikely to get that explanation anytime soon. Until we know for sure, Gawker/Valleywag offers this handy guide to the possible causes. And if you have wondered whether there are ways to analyze this whole debacle using anthropology, allow me to recommend this post by Ted Gideonse. Ted seems to have taken a page from Obama's book, because (as you'll see in his post) he's clearly the coolest head in the room right now.

There is a good lesson from this, though: gays and their allies are finally mad as hell and we're not going to take it anymore. We're coming for you next, Mormons!

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Oops, I Don't Know Where I Am

2009-04-13T15:48:00.000-07:00

A brief, late entry on "Music Monday."

Britney Spears brought her spectacle to San Jose last night. I would say "concert," except, as the review in the Mercury News reports, Britney did precious little singing. And judging from that photograph, apparently Margaret Cho was one of her backup dancers, which would indeed be a spectacle. Not to mention the dancing midgets--seriously.

Britney is on tour to promote the Circus CD and, interestingly enough, she actually seems to be... promoting it--as opposed to touring based on her greatest hits:

To Spears' credit, the 27-year-old mother of two has left her teeny-bopper roots behind. This is no nostalgia act. Though the two CDs she recorded as a teen are among the biggest sellers of all time, only "... Baby One More Time" from that era made the cut here.

That means that instead of charming teen trifles like "Oops — I Did It Again" we got a lot of dark, erotically charged 21st-century dance music like "Hot as Ice" and "Get Naked." (In this context, "If U Seek Amy," Spears' cheekily naughty current single, came across as a pop gem.) So if you only knew Spears' music from the radio, there wasn't a lot to sing along with.

I think that's a surprising and not unadmirable approach; however, if I had paid $150 to see Britney last night, I would have expected to hear some of my old favorites.

My favorite part of the Mercury News review? This gem (remember: this show is in San Jose):

On this night, it was 40 minutes into the set — the same set she moved her lips to at every other tour stop — before Spears finally addressed the crowd, with this heartfelt sentiment: "Sacramento, how are you doing?!"

Oh girl... I would have paid $75 for that line alone.

Amazon's Attitude Toward Homosexuality

2009-04-12T19:52:00.000-07:00

[Fosco thanks his former student Laura for pointing out the following problem.]

Something is seriously amiss at Amazon. As I noted earlier, Amazon has removed many gay/lesbian books from its ranking system because they are considered "adult." While this is repulsive in and of itself, there is a further problem. Apparently, these books are being excluded from searches at the site. Otherwise, how might you explain the results of an Amazon search for the word "homosexuality"? Here is the screen shot (click to see it full-sized):

Yes, it appears that the top search result for "homosexuality" is a book that claims to be a guide to preventing homosexuality. Note, this book's Amazon sales rank is #119,767. And yet, somehow it is the top hit for a search of the term "homosexuality." Does this seem problematic to you? Yeah, me too.

Please join the Amazon boycott until this problem is resolved.

N.B., for those of you who are wondering, the only way to prevent possible homosexuality in your kids is to not have kids. For any parents who are worried about this, I highly recommend that solution.

UPDATE: As AEJ notes in the comments below, this does not seem to be a policy decision on Amazon's part. As of 4/14/09, I am rescinding my call for a boycott. Hooray! I can spend 10% of my income at Amazon again!

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How Will We Know When Judith Butler Cracks the Bestseller List?

2009-04-12T19:47:00.000-07:00

Remember when you were a horny teenager and you went to websites like Amazon.com to look for really sexy adult content, like books on Queer Theory? Then, remember how you used to order boxes of those books, hoping your mom wouldn't open the telltale smiling box?

When I was twelve, my good friend C used to keep a dog-eared copy of Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick's Epistemology of the Closet under his mattress. Sometimes, late at night, we would read (by flashlight) sentences like the one below, barely able to keep our hands off our pubescent erections:

At the same time, however, just as it comes to seem questionable to assume that cultural constructs are peculiarly malleable ones, it is also becoming increasingly problematical to assume that grounding an identity in biology or 'essential nature' is a stable way of insulating it from social interference.

Wow, I get hot just hearing those words again.

A few years later, I used to sneak out of the house to attend late night "Queer Theory" parties with some of the more sexually-advanced students at my high school. We never had one of our teen orgies without a copy of Same-Sex Unions in Pre-Modern Europe. Trust me, there is nothing that gets teens off like a careful historical study of gay marriage in the Middle Ages.

Okay, okay: why am I doing this whole facetious riff? Well, because, as the LA Times reports, Amazon.com has a quiet new policy of labeling certain books as containing "adult" content. As the LAT blog notes, an "adult" content tag removes the book from sales rankings, Amazon's bestseller lists, and "in some cases, being de-ranked also means being removed from Amazon's search results."

At first glance, this may seem reasonable enough: maybe you don't want your tween coming up with Bukake porn when she's searching for the new Jonas Brothers CD. However, the execution of this policy seems to be suspiciously homophobic. As the LAT reports:

Our research shows that these books have lost their ranking: "Running with Scissors" by Augusten Burroughs; "Rubyfruit Jungle" by Rita Mae Brown, "Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic" by Alison Bechdel, "The History of Sexuality, Vol. 1" by Michel Foucault, "Bastard Out of Carolina" by Dorothy Allison (2005 Plume edition), "Little Birds: Erotica" by Anais Nin, "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly" by Jean-Dominque Bauby (1997 Knopf edition), "Maurice" by E.M. Forster (2005 W.W. Norton edition) and "Becoming a Man" by Paul Monette, which won the 1992 National Book Award.

Books that remain ranked include: "Naked" by David Sedaris; "Tropic of Cancer" by Henry Miller; "American Psycho" by Bret Easton Ellis; "Wifey" by Judy Blume; "The Kiss" by Kathryn Harrison; the photobooks "Playboy: Helmut Newton" and "Playboy: Six Decades of Centerfolds"; "Naked Lunch" by William Burroughs; "Incest: From 'A Journal of Love'" by Anais Nin; "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly" by Jean-Dominque Bauby (2007 Vintage International edition), "Maurice" by E.M. Forster (2005 Penguin Classics edition).

Certianly [sic] many of the books that are no longer ranked are no more "adult" than many of those that are -- as the list above shows, the same book, by different publishers, might meet either fate. And Kindle editions of some books remain ranked. "Unfriendly Fire," for example, is #1 in Gay and Lesbian Nonfiction on the Kindle -- even as the hardcover of the book, which was released on March 3, does not show up at all when searched for.

For those of you who are keeping score at home, there is a suspiciously large number of gay-themed books that end up being labeled "adult"--including academic works like Foucault's History of Sexuality.

Fosco decided to pursue this line of inquiry, testing which books in his academic specialty of queer theory/gay and lesbian studies made it onto the "adult content" list. According to my research, the following important academic texts have been removed from Amazon's ranking system:

Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick: Epistemology of the Closet and Between Men: English Literature and Male Homosocial Desire
Judith Butler: Bodies That Matter: On the Discursive Limits of 'Sex'
Lee Edelman: No Future: Queer Theory and the Death Drive
Carla Freccero: Queer/Early/Modern (a book that may or may not be by one of Fosco's advisors).
Thomas Laqueur: Making Sex: Body and Gender from the Greeks to Freud
Michael Warner: Fear of a Queer Planet: Queer Politics and Social Theory
Marjorie Garber: Bisexuality and the Eroticism of Everyday Life
Leo Bersani: Homos
John Boswell: Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality and Same-Sex Unions in Pre-Modern Europe

Please note that every one of these books is an academic book, dealing with literary interpretation, historical research, or sociological analysis. Some of them are pretty difficult to read--theory-wise, that is. However, there is nothing particularly "adult" about most of these books, unless by "adult" you mean containing language that is over the head of your average teenager (or, for that matter, your average American adult). But that's not what Amazon means, is it?

I suppose it is hard to be too upset about a policy that may prevent teens from learning about obscure academic books. Even so, I would suggest that there are plenty of queer teens who could find books like those of John Boswell to be meaningful and/or useful. A rigorous history that reveals the lies that the Catholic Church tells about the Church's historical attitudes toward homosexuality? For that right teen, that kind of book could even be life-saving.

Even more upsetting is my discovery that Beth Loffreda's Losing Matt Shepard: Life and Politics in the Aftermath of Anti-Gay Murder is also included in this "adult" list. Loffreda's book is not academic: it's beautiful and sad and political. It's an extended meditation on anti-gay hate and how the Matthew Shepard murder revealed certain fault lines across our culture. It's a complicated book that refuses the easy answers. And it is certainly not "adult" or obscene--unless, of course, you consider anti-gay murder to be obscene (but that's not what Amazon means, is it?). What it is, for everyone--gay, straight, youth, adult, is a must-read. And yet, Amazon has tried to make this book harder to find. I think that is unforgivable.

Though I'm not computer scientist, it's pretty clear that Amazon's identification of a book as "adult" is based on some sort of text-based algorithm that presumably scans the titles or descriptions of books for certain "adult" words. And yes, I recognize that any algorithm of this sort will never provide a perfect discrimination between "adult" and "non-adult" books. What is equally clear, however, is that this algorithm is using words like "sexuality" and "queer" and "gay" to define a book as adult. And that is unacceptable. I'm not demanding that Amazon stop using an automated process to determine "adult" books; however, I do demand that Amazon fine-tune this algorithm to reflect the fact that gay themes are not "adult."

And so, until Amazon can demonstrate that they have improved this practice or until they stop doing this at all, I will not purchase anything from them. Nor will I provide Amazon links at this website. I would encourage you to join me in this project. (Besides, this might provide a good temporary excuse to shop at your local independent bookstore!)

UPDATE: As Jeremy notes below, Amazon is calling the whole thing a "glitch." However, as Gawker reports, there are several reasons to question the "glitch" explanation. One of them being that, before this became a PR nightmare, Amazon called the whole thing a policy decision. Oops!

UPDATE (4/14/09): It now seems pretty clear to me that this was either an honest mistake on Amazon's part or an act of malicious hacking beyond Amazon's control. Consequently, I'm going to re-embed my Amazon links on this site.

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Fanks Easther Bunny, Bawk Bawk!

2009-04-12T06:01:00.000-07:00

I don't quite recall the religious significance of Easter, but I'm pretty sure it has something to do with Jesus bringing his son's pet rabbit back from the dead. Of course, free thinkers question whether Jesus actually resurrected said rabbit or whether he just managed to find an almost identical one at the local pet store. Even so, pretty much everyone agrees that the rabbit was named "Mary Magdalene."

At any rate, here are some Easter-related titbits.

First, a photo that cracks me up every time:

Is it wrong to root for the bunny?

Second, for all of you Goth readers of Fosco Lives!, here's a rabbit funeral dance, choreographed by the morbid and talented Wade Robson. Oz and Fosco have loved this dance ever since they saw it last summer, particularly the leg hops that start around 2:21.

Yes, Virginia, bunnies can be terrifying!

Finally, because no day is a holiday without Fosco's adored Patti Smith, here is her song "Easter" (with one of those strange homemade videos that happen on YouTube):

On Easter, Fosco is always reminded of one of Patti's best lines: "Jesus died for somebody's sins, but not mine." Word, Patti.

Saturday Story Hour: Boxing with David Schickler

2009-04-11T04:28:00.000-07:00

It's Saturday Story Hour--even when it's a busy week.

Last week's story left at least one of you feeling melancholy, so this week I want to make up for that with a story that approaches romantic comedy(!).

Believe it or not, sometimes a writer publishes his or her debut story in The New Yorker--after which, of course, pretty much everything else is downhill. For example, the author of today's story, David Schickler, debuted "The Smoker" in TNY and (sadly) has never written anything nearly as good or successful. Fosco's writer friend NR was so enamored with "The Smoker" that he looked forward eagerly to the publication of Schickler's first collection (Kissing in Manhattan); however, after reading the collection, NR literally threw the book out the window--he was that disappointed. Fosco would never dispose of a book, but he agrees that the rest of Schickler's collection was not nearly as good as "The Smoker."

What makes "The Smoker" so good? Well, for one thing, it's a humorous and quirky take on the old teacher-student romance cliche. Charmingly, it plays that scenario without resorting to cheap sexual thrills, favoring instead awkwardness and sweet incomprehension. And there are some gems of dialogue:

"Is this real? I mean, are you . . . in love with me?" He couldn't believe what he'd asked.

"I'm ready to be," said Nicole. "And I mean this as a compliment, but I've got nothing better to do."

I must say, that's kind of a good line.

Now if still think the story sounds a bit odd and creepy, that's because I haven't sprung the story's surprising twist on you. I don't want to give things away, but this isn't really your typical teacher-student romance story (no "Don't Stand So Close to Me" here). I would suggest you give the story a chance: see if it doesn't charm you by the end...

You can read "The Smoker" here.

And if you must discover David Schickler's other work, please do so by following these links:

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YEEEAAAAHHHHHHHH!

2009-04-09T16:29:00.000-07:00

Okay, instead of hiding in my bed as promised, I opened Photoshop and had fun with the whole "communication blackout" thing. Because there is nothing more fun than homemade "CSI: Miami" comics.

This is how you turn fear into empowerment!

Listen all of y'all...

2009-04-09T15:34:00.000-07:00

...it's a SABOTAGE!

Phone and internet in a large area of the South Bay have been completely down since 2 AM this morning. Fosco is completely without phone service (both landline and cell). His internet is down; he is only getting internet from an unprotected wireless network (which runs on a cable connection) in his apartment complex. The UCSC network is down, so no email. Supposedly, most of San Jose and its suburbs are down as well. If that's true, that could mean something like one million people are currently without phone service.

If you think this sounds absolutely crazy, you're right--especially since the 911 network is also down and has now been down for more than 24 hours. What makes things even worse is that we are now learning that, as the Beastie Boys lyric that titles this post suggests, the cause of the outage is SABOTAGE.

According to this article,

Four AT&T fiber-optic cables in an underground vault were severed shortly before 1:30 a.m. along Monterey Highway north of Blossom Hill Road in south San Jose, police Sgt. Ronnie Lopez said. Four more underground cables, at least two of which belong to AT&T, were cut about two hours later along Old County Road near Bing Street in San Carlos, authorities said.

And lest you think that this was an easy task, consider how this had to be done:

In both instances, saboteurs had to use a piece of equipment to lift heavy manhole covers and climb down several feet to get to the cables. They would have to have been equipped with heavy-duty cutting equipment to slice through the thick cable coating.

Translation: this was an organized and professional act. We're not quite talking Ocean's Eleven-type professionals, but maybe something close. No media outlet I have seen has been willing to speculate about the reason for the sabotage yet, but I think you have to wonder about whether this served as cover for some sort of criminal act (robbery, murder, etc.)

Even scarier, as I write this, I can hear a major confluence of emergency sirens nearby--police, I think. This is not comforting. I think I'm going to draw my blinds and hide in my bed until cell service returns. It's amazing how only a few simple technologies stand between us and complete anarchy. Maybe I should buy a gun.

But hey, you know what might be fun? Watching the video for "Sabotage." It was directed by Spike Jonze, remember? It never fails to put a smile on my face.

UCSC Tapas!

2009-04-07T05:40:00.000-07:00

Some brief updates on life here at UCSC:

The giant UCSC campus 4/20 pot festival approaches. Watch the video from last year. This year, the Admin plans to get even more difficult about the whole thing (and I guess it is bad publicity for the U): UCSC has already contacted the parents of first-years. As the email to parents notes:
"I encourage you to talk with your student about his or her plans for 4/20. Ask direct questions about the choices they make and express your expectations regarding marijuana, alcohol or other drug use. Although students may not initiate discussion on this topic, your opinions and expectations can influence their behavior."
If only UCSC would contact my parents. I would love to have that conversation.
Sad news from budget-cut land: UCSC's uber-liberal Community Studies Department may get the axe. Sure, it's a crazy radical major that creates community activists, but then again, community activists do more good in this world than almost anyone else (especially white trash governors).
This past week, Fosco discovered the beauty of the Porter Koi Pond. Did you know that koi live 25-35 years? That's longer than most dogs, cats, and Community Studies departments. True.

Sadly, there is this old story about two UCSC fratboys who caught and grilled one of the koi several years ago. Luckily, those frat boys are now dead.

Aren't they gorgeous?

Fosc Olives Tapas

2009-04-06T08:35:00.000-07:00

Greetings, my friends. I fear that I will be testing your loyalty this week. This will be a difficult week for me work-wise (you know that thing I do that [barely] pays the bills?). But rather than abandoning you entirely to the uncivilized wilderness of most of the non-Fosco Lives! internet, I will be offering a selection of very brief posts this week in lieu of the more traditional FL! features. Call it "blog tapas"--which is, not coincidentally, one of the best ways to savor olives (including Fosc Olives).

Because we usually talk about music on Mondays, allow me to offer you today several photographs from the recent Bruce Springsteen concert in San Jose that I attended with my friend Todd. These photos were taken with my pathetically inadequate cell phone camera; however, at least I didn't hold a digital camera over my head for the whole concert like the jackass standing in front of me. Tradeoffs.

We were actually standing pretty close, no?

Also, I may have been standing next to tween sensation Zac Efron during the set. Judge for yourself from this surreptitious photo:

Okay, it probably wasn't him. But what if it had been?

Gallant Link

2009-04-04T10:38:00.000-07:00

Oops. Sorry, folks, for the broken link. You can download the Mavis Gallant story here. Enjoy!

Saturday Story Hour: Mavis Gallant

2009-04-04T06:24:00.000-07:00

With "Saturday Story Hour," Fosco provides you with some of his favorite selections from the world of contemporary short fiction.

Fosco is going to stretch the meaning of the word "contemporary" today, in order to bring you an absolutely beautiful story from the Canadian expatriate Mavis Gallant. Mavis Gallant is one of those short story writers who is beloved by other short story writers, but who is much less well-known by the reading public at large. As a Canadian, she is also somewhat in the shadow of Alice Munro (as if Canada were allowed to have only one contemporary master of the short story...). She was born in Montreal in 1922 and has lived in Paris since the 1950s.

The story we're reading today is an absolute jewel. It's called "The Ice Wagon Going Down the Street." It was originally published in The New Yorker in 1963 (hence the stretching of the term "contemporary"). If you are a New Yorker subscriber, you can access the story here. If you are not a New Yorker subscriber, do not fear: Fosco has procured the story as a .pdf file. You may download it here. It can be opened by any .pdf reader (including Acrobat).

The couple at the center of "The Ice Wagon Going Down the Street" are Peter and Sheilah Frazier. They are living the good life, traveling the globe, depending on the generosity of their friends and families--all the while, dragging two dull children behind them. They are charming and they are hapless. Neither of them wants to grow up, to become responsible adults. They wear silk kimonos from Hong Kong at breakfast and consider their one great fortune to be Sheilah's Balenciaga gown. If you think these people sound horrible, well you're right; but they are also sympathetic and psychologically nuanced. As they move from absurd scheme to absurd scheme, you can't help rooting for them: after all, the alternative, as Peter thinks to himself, is to be one of the "white-hot Protestants," living "with a load of work and debt and obligation" (and who wants that?).

There are some amazingly delicate explorations of marriage and love in this story. Consider this bravura passage, as Peter and Sheilah arrive at a cocktail party in the Geneva snow:

She was born in an ugly city, and so was Peter, but they have this difference: She does not know the importance of the first snow--the first clean thing in a dirty year. He would have told her then that this storm, which was wetting her feet and destroying her hair, was like the first day of the English spring, but she made a frightened gesture, trying to shield her head. The gesture told him he did not understand her beauty.

"Let me," she said. He was fumbling with the key, trying to lock the car. She took the key without impatience and locked the door on the driver's side; and then, to show Peter she treasured him and was not afraid of wasting her life or her beauty, she took his arm and they walked in the snow down a street and around the corner to the apartment house were the Burleighs lived. They were, and are, a united couple. They were afraid of the party, and each of them knew it. When they walk together, holding arms, they give each other whatever each can spare.

I think that last sentence is absolutely exquisite.

What provides the dramatic conflict in this story is a mole-like young Canadian woman named Agnes, who becomes Peter's boss. Agnes comes from a hard-working poor family and finds herself increasingly repulsed by the Fraziers and the expatriate community in Geneva. Agnes is a fascinating study in the Protestant work ethic and Gallant is surprisingly sympathetic to a character that could have been nothing more than comic relief. Agnes's speech of accusation to Peter, after a particularly iniquitous party, is remarkably insightful and sad:

She said, "I'm from a big family. I'm not used to being alone. I'm not a suicidal person, but I could have done something after that party, just not to see anymore, or think or listen or expect anything. What can I think when I see these people? All my life I heard, Educated people don't do this, educated people don't do that. And now I'm here, and you're all educated people, and you're nothing but pigs. You're educated and you drink and do everything wrong and you know what you're doing, and that makes you worse than pigs. My family worked to make me an educated person, but they didn't know you. But what if I didn't see and hear and expect anything anymore? It wouldn't change anything. You'd all be still the same. Only you might have thought it was your fault. You might have thought you were to blame. It could worry you all your life. It would have been wrong for me to worry you."

This lament is impressively complex: it's pathetic, yes, but also quite funny--as much as she hates Peter and the other pigs, she still can't bring herself to "worry" him by killing himself. The mix of resentment and consideration is extraordinary. As someone who has had a somewhat similar upbringing to that of Agnes, Fosco can assure you that there is psychological verisimilitude here (note to Agnes: just give in and become one of the pigs--trust me, it's the only way out...)

And so, I hope you enjoy this story as much as I do. There is just something about it that seems strangely appropriate to our times. I hope you agree.

You can purchase Mavis Gallant by following these links:

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Rounding Up Food, Because Why Not?

2009-04-03T05:14:00.000-07:00

Even though it's the first week of a new academic quarter... And even though Fosco is still groggy from Wednesday night's Springsteen concert... "Foodie Friday" must go off without a hitch. But it may be a bit uninspired...

Forgive me for doing a "roundup" post today. However, there are some things about food that you should know:

Fosco's delightful college roommate Jeremy is currently in Hong Kong, eating better than anyone could imagine. He has recently discovered some fascinating fruits that Fosco has never heard of. While the langsat sounds appealing (because it is a member of the soapberry family, after all), the sugar-apple sounds best to Fosco. How can you go wrong with a fruit that, as Jeremy describes it, tastes like
a milky, sweet egg custard or ice cream. Eat it cold. Beware its high sugar content, and be prepared to have sticky fingers for a while even after washing.
Beware the high sugar content? Not in this lifetime.

This makes me wonder why Americans are so stuck on the same old fruits. There are only like seven fruits that appear regularly at the supermarket and in restaurants. While Fosco has nothing against the lowly apple or the stolid banana, wouldn't you like to eat more fruit that tastes like "milky, sweet egg custard"? And how can you resist eating something that is called a "soapberry"? I don't know--I guess Fosco just has a thing for Asian fruits.
The redoubtable Maggie offers this excellent meditation on Mark Bittman's Food Matters. From her description of the book, I'm actually quite fascinated by Bittman's argument. As I understand it, he suggests a non-dogmatic way to eat healthier and more eco-consciously (while still reserving plenty of room for delicious things like meat). As Maggie glosses it:
To improve your body, you have to improve your diet, which means long-lasting change, not just abstaining from sugar until your next weigh in. Bittmans' approach is interesting - essentially you bulk up on the veggies and plant matter, remaining vegan (or so) until dinner, when you can eat as you will.
As someone who is habitually struggling with his weight, Fosco finds this idea to be pretty appealing. Imagine feeling virtuous about yourself and the planet for most of the day and then enjoying a normal meal in the evening (although as Fosco noted last week, "normal" no longer includes fast-food). I think I need to pick up this book. (Once again, Maggie tells me what to read!)
Some San Francisco-related food news. First, the (soon-to-be-history?) Chronicle reviews Absinthe, the restaurant of "Top Chef" contestant Jamie Lauren. You remember her: she's the lesbian who always cooked scallops. Strangely enough, the Chronicle found Lauren's scallops to be completely repulsive:
When the scallop dish was placed before us I thought someone had an accident and tried to reshape the presentation because the sunchoke puree was smeared and the four quarter-size grilled scallops were unevenly spaced around a pile of wilted chard, fennel and artichokes. There was a glaze over everything that reminded me of leftovers from a photo shoot. It unfortunately tasted like that too. The scallops didn't even pretend to be warm and the vegetables tasted tired.
Yuck. Even though a few other dishes were fine, on the whole, this was not a good review. Sorry, Team Rainbow.

Second, the extraordinary No Salad As A Meal has reviewed Charles Phan's new Chinese restaurant in SF. You may know that Phan is the culinary wizard behind Fosco's beloved Slanted Door. The review is kind of lukewarm about the new place, but Fosco would much prefer to focus his attention on the name of Phan's new restaurant: Heaven's Dog. Is it me, or is this a terrible name for a Chinese restaurant? (Although it is better than the name Fosco misremembered when he told this story to David: "Dog Heaven.") After all, "Heaven's Dog" sounds like nothing so much as the name of something on a Chinese menu (in China at least).
Thanks to the BeeMaster for this tip: a Grand Rapids, Michigan minor-league baseball team is offering a 4,800 calorie burger. Yes, that's the geographical region of Fosco's early life--is it any wonder that Fosco's genes and eating habits have conspired to produce a tendency toward heaviness? But back to this burger:
The 4-pound, $20 burger features five beef patties, five slices of cheese, nearly a cup of chili and liberal doses of salsa and corn chips, all on an 8-inch sesame-seed bun. That's a lot of dough!

The Grand Rapids Press reports that anyone who eats the entire 4,800-calorie behemoth in one sitting will receive a special T-shirt. Saner fans can divide it up with a pizza cutter and share.
Umm, sign me up? Sure, eating one would probably mean certain and immediate death, but... wow. Just wow.

Wait until you see what it looks like:

Of course, Mark Bittman would be appalled by this burger for several different reasons. But even recognizing that it's probably edible evil, aren't you just a little in awe of it? I mean, haven't you ever thought what it might be like to eat something like this? I just can't look away. But, does it need a warning label?

Teens Can Make Anything Evil

2009-04-02T05:12:00.000-07:00

Fosco, like pretty much everyone else, is on Facebook. Indeed he feels a small measure of pride that, as a Harvard alum, Fosco can remember when "The Facebook" was actually a book (that's what the annual "Freshman Register" was informally called--it was the way that you got to know all of your freshman classmates, before you even arrived at school). Interestingly enough, copies of these old Freshman Facebooks can go for a pretty penny online. I'm sure Fosco's year will eventually be worth even more when one of his classmates becomes President or Pope or Bono.

But as Facebook the website continues its relentless incursion into all of our personal lives, some new questions are coming to the fore. Like:

What's the best way to de-friend someone? (I'm looking at you, Linda.)
Should I "friend" my boss/advisor?
How many ex-boyfriends/girlfriends on my Friendlist is too many?
If I were a Supreme Court Justice, which one would I be?

And, perhaps most importantly: "Should my teenager use Facebook?"

As far as Fosco is concerned, the answer to any question that begins "Should my teenager use..." is always NO. But I guess not all parents are as well-prepared as Fosco. And for those parents who want to consider the possibility that their teens should use Facebook, Fosco would like to recommend this article on HuffPo. The author, Kari Henley, is interested in how the cognitive development of teens may prevent them from using Facebook in an appropriate way. She tells this story:

Jill is a mother of three children ages 10-14, who are fully into the digital generation. All have iPods, computers, Wii games, cell phones, and are addicted to Facebook. They are like most middle school aged kids in America today who have their hands on toys most adults only recently acquired themselves.

One day, a call came from the principal informing Jill and her husband, their middle daughter was being given in-school suspension for creating a Facebook group used to make fun of another student. Called something like, "Eric is a Hairy Beast," the group quickly filled with loads of kids making fun of a quiet Armenian boy, uploading cell phone pictures of him and becoming more brazen by the day.

While this story may seem upsetting, Fosco would like to note that he has actually seen the pictures of Eric the Armenian boy and Eric is indeed a hairy beast (in fact, Fosco has been a member of this group for months).

But seriously, why would supposedly "good kids" do this kind of thing on Facebook? The suggestion is that it has something to do with adolescent brain development, or lack thereof:

Dr. Jay Giedd is the chief of brain imaging in the child psychiatry branch at the National Institute of Mental Health, and an expert in adolescent brain development. His research shows the brain is not fully developed at age 12 as was believed, but reaches full maturity in our mid-twenties. Adolescence is a time of profound brain development, surpassing that of toddlers. The area of the pre-frontal cortex develops last, which is in charge of higher reasoning and understanding consequences. The emotional centers of the brain that control happiness, fear, anger and sadness often over-compensate, and can be 50% stronger during adolescence.

Which means, as anyone who has ever met one knows, teenagers have terrible judgment--all because of their brains. And so, while teenagers certainly have the ability to recognize how repulsively hairy Eric the Armenian Boy is, they tend to lack the ability to understand why it's a bad idea to talk about it on Facebook.

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I'm working on a dream

2009-04-01T15:56:00.000-07:00

Even as you read this, Fosco is already in San Jose, waiting in a line for tonight's Bruce Springsteen concert! Tonight is the opening show of the "Working on a Dream" tour, which is kind of a big deal for lowly San Jose. Even better, Fosco's good friend Todd is in town for the show. Look for a concert review from Fosco sometime in the next week. Read a great story of a Bruce fan's journey here.

You know what Fosco would love to hear tonight? "Working on the Highway." A very underappreciated song. Fingers crossed.

Birthday Panda for Jeremy

2009-04-01T10:51:00.001-07:00

As Fosco mentioned, today is the birthday of his college roommate Jeremy. Of course, in Hong Kong, Jeremy's birthday was already yesterday. Or tomorrow. I can't quite tell.

At any rate, as a web-based gift, Fosco would like to offer this song by Deerhoof:

Warning: those who hate pandas will not appreciate this song.

"Panda panda panda panda pan. China!"

My Favorite April Fool

2009-04-01T05:05:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday to Fosco's college roommate, Jeremy! Come home from Hong Kong soon--Miss Tabby misses you.

If you don't know where Fosco got this cake, you're missing out.

"Tastes Like Vanessa..."

2009-03-31T12:45:00.000-07:00

You know what I'd like to see today? How about supertan teen star ZacFron eating moisturizer?

Wish granted. Thanks, Do You Like It Like That?.

Autism, Visual Thinking, and Justifying the Humanities

2009-03-31T03:37:00.000-07:00

You may recall that Fosco has been interested in the question of whether Ben's cat Isis (and all cats, for that matter) is essentially autistic. Fosco got this idea from animal researcher Temple Grandin, who is herself autistic and finds that her condition allows her to understand animals better than neurotypical observers. (Additionally, Fosco is actually pretty impressed with Dr. Grandin's jaunty style, as seen in accompanying picture.)

Well, a couple of weeks ago, Fosco picked up (at his local library!) one of Grandin's books, Animals in Translation. Grandin makes some pretty fascinating claims in the book, relying on both her experiences and insights from neuroscience. For one thing, she provides a model of animal perception that can account for some of the stranger aspects of animal behavior (although not all of them--she still can't explain why slowly-moving fans creep out cows).

One of Grandin's claims is that she and animals both think entirely in pictures (this is not a surprise for animals--what else would they think in? Words?). Grandin tries to explain what it is like for her to do complex human cognition entirely in pictures. It all sounds completely horrible to Fosco, who is highly verbal and cannot imagine trying to do justice to Derrida or Levinas without making use of words and abstract concepts. However, Grandin wants to argue that there are indeed benefits to entirely visual thinking:

Other times thinking in pictures is an advantage. During the 1990s I knew all the dot-coms would go to hell, because when I thought about them the only images I saw were rented office space and computers that would be obsolete in two years. There wasn't anything real I could picture; the companies had no hard assets. My stockbroker asked me how I knew the two stock market crashes would happen, and I told him, 'When the Monopoly play money starts jerking around the real money you're in trouble.'

This is a cute story, of course (although maybe not one I would have left in the manuscript were I Grandin's editor). I suspect that Grandin may have profited handsomely from our recent economic troubles as well--there are certainly no good mental pictures that can represent hedge funds and credit default swaps (although: most of this bubble seems to have been based on the housing market and houses are indeed "real" and easily pictured).

But I think this anecdote raises an interesting question: in what ways is it possible to value non-concrete (i.e., not easily pictured) things? Sure, the original dot-com bubble did burst; however, this didn't mean that the web itself is completely worthless. There are still plenty of companies that are "nothing" but office space and soon-to-be-obsolete computers (like Google, perhaps)--and while Google may (or may not) be overvalued, the services it provides are not valueless.

And yet, at the same time, there is clearly an anxiety about the possibility of valuing things like knowledge, information, content, etc.--and not just for autistic people or visual thinkers. As someone who is (supposedly) in the "knowledge business," I think these issues are worth meditating on, especially as the humanities are increasingly called upon to "justify their worth" in the modern world.

You can purchase several Temple Grandin books by following these links.

Fosco will receive a small percentage and will be grateful.

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Musical Abuse (I just don't argue any more.)

2009-03-30T12:40:00.000-07:00

Sometimes "Music Monday" is about obsession.

Several weeks ago, Fosco had some fun at the expense of singer-songwriter Suzanne Vega. However, even writing the title of Vega's song "Luka" was enough to remind Fosco how much he loved listening to that song on the radio in 1987. Well, now "Luka" has had Vega's revenge on Fosco. Last Thursday, Fosco found himself jonesing for the song and had to download it. As of this writing, Fosco has already listened to the song thirty-five times. It's just so good.

Being totally obsessed with a song is not always (or even usually) a pleasant feeling. What makes this worse is that Fosco completely loathes "issue songs" like this. Each of the thirty-five times he has listened to "Luka," he has thought to himself: "Why did this song have to be about child abuse? Why would you write a song about child abuse?" Seriously, I really don't want to be listening over and over to a stupid song about child abuse. But there's just something about the god-damned music and her god-damned voice. And that god-damned mandolin line at the end. Help!

Even worse: an "issue video" to accompany it. Think you can resist it?

I think not.

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Every Thing That Lives Is Holy

2009-03-30T05:53:00.000-07:00

It's "Music Monday" at Fosco Lives! Please enjoy at a responsible volume.

Fosco hasn't yet really talked much about classical music in this feature. Until today.

Thanks to Alex Ross's excellent music blog, Fosco recently learned that the new, improved Boston Symphony Orchestra (under the new direction of James Levine) offers a number of recent recordings for download on their website. The prices are surprisingly reasonable--cheaper than on iTunes, actually.

A couple weeks ago, Fosco downloaded the BSO's disc of William Bolcom works, including his Eighth Symphony and Lyric Concerto for flute. Bolcom is a contemporary American composer who teaches at the University of Michigan. For Fosco, Bolcom runs hot and cold: some of his works are thrilling, but some don't quite hit Fosco's sweet spot. He is particularly good at writing snappy songs, as Fosco learned several years ago when he attended the premiere of Bolcom's opera A Wedding at the Chicago Lyric Opera. As Fosco recalls, there was an amazingly charming song about the city of Tallahassee.

Bolcom's Eighth Symphony is about as current as recorded music gets, having been premiered by the BSO in 2008. It's a choral symphony, based on poems by the visionary (and bizarre) William Blake. Each of the four movements of Bolcom's symphony is based on a different prophetic text of Blake's, including excerpts from The Marriage of Heaven and Hell and America a Prophecy.

The symphony is pretty remarkable, if uneven. As John Rockwell notes, the symphony is

gigantic and impressive, but to my ears angular and empty.

I think this is a pretty accurate description, particularly of the first movement. The second movement, which narrates a rape, is absolutely terrifying--but not really in a good way. The approximate pitches in the first spoken lines do most of the atmospheric work here. You could probably play parts of this movement in a haunted house.

The third movement, however, is where things start to get interesting. The movement opens with a gorgeous tenor line, from Blake:

This theme calls me in sleep night after night, & ev’ry morn
Awakes me at sun-rise, then I see the Saviour over me
Spreading his beams of love, & dictating the words of this mild song.

Different combinations of the chorus then take up the Saviour's song. The orchestral line is slow and sinuous.

And then we have the fourth movement. It begins with a twelve-tone theme in the strings; however, there is a frisson of excitement in the music. Something big is going to happen--and soon. The text is A Song of Liberty, a story of destruction of nations as a prelude to a new world. After about eight minutes, the movement reaches the height of its drama, and then something strange happens. As the chorus sings the final line of Blake's text, "For every thing that lives is Holy," we find ourselves in the musical equivalent of daybreak. As Bernard Holland notes in the Times:

If the universal calamities of his first three movements keep our attention, “A Song of Liberty” at the end does something more. With “For every thing that lives is Holy” as the text, rising scales and rich counterpoint in the chorus part create a deeply affirmative ending. Loud though it is, its loudness has substance. I was very moved by it.

I agree with Holland. As the chorus repeats the line ascending, accompanied by the brass, I feel like this heavy, powerful beast of a symphony is taking flight. With every repetition the music becomes more grand and the message more insistent, until we are left with nothing but the sheen of brass and the thrum of timpani. It's a heck of an ending, both poetically and musically, and it makes this symphony a welcome addition to the repertoire.

You may enjoy the poetry of William Blake:

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Keeps Your Brains Warm?

2009-03-29T16:18:00.000-07:00

Sure, most people in San Francisco are now broke or laid off (although things are still better here than in NYC); even so, this city still knows how to have fun.

A few days ago, Fosco erroneously reported that San Francisco had succumbed to a zombie attack and was no longer inhabited by the non-undead. Apparently, Fosco was misled by a performance of the San Francisco Zombie Swarm. Apparently, the Swarm organizes occasional zombie happenings, flashmob-style.

Why are zombies the flavor of the moment? Well, my colleague Ethan has recently written some theoretical reflections on the re-rise of the zombie in popular culture. See, theory can be fun!

But there is even more fun to be had in San Francisco, especially if you like to keep yourself warm. As this article on SFGate notes, Friday night was the first organized Snuggie pub crawl in SF. For those of you who don't watch television, the Snuggie is "The Blanket with Sleeves."^TM Apparently, Snuggies (like zombies) have captured the imagination of young urban hipsters (who may also be cold). Actually, to be accurate, Snuggies seem to have caught everyone's attention, as the article notes:

Buoyed by an inadvertently funny and rhyming commercial ("Blankets are OK, but they can slip and slide/ and when you need to reach for something, your hands are trapped inside"), Snuggies have sold more than 4 million units through online orders and Walgreens drugstores, where they go for a mere $14.99. (Blue is the only Snuggie color sold at Walgreens; online, red and green Snuggies are also available.)

The article reports that more than 200 people showed up in Snuggies for this pub crawl, which is pretty amazing when you think about.

Of course, the obvious question is whether these two trends, the Snuggie and zombies, can be combined. As Fosco discovered, it's not pretty. Here, as fodder for your nightmares, is a Snuggie Zombie:

[Shudder.] Stay safe and warm out there, my friends.

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My Heart with Pleasure Fills

2009-03-29T07:28:00.000-07:00

Happy Sunday morning to you. Fosco bought these daffodil stalks at Whole Foods this week. To my mind, nothing says spring like daffodils--just don't drink the water (I've tried it--it's poison).

"When we were in the woods beyond Gowbarrow park we saw a few daffodils close to the water side, we fancied that the lake had floated the seeds ashore & that the little colony had so sprung up--But as we went along there were more & yet more & at last under the boughs of the trees, we saw that there was a long belt of them along the shore, about the breadth of a country turnpike road. I never saw daffodils so beautiful they grew among the mossy stones about & about them, some rested their heads upon these stones as on a pillow for weariness & the rest tossed & reeled & danced & seemed as if they verily laughed with the wind that blew upon then over the Lake, they looked so gay ever glancing ever changing. This wind blew directly over the Lake to them. There was here & there a little knot & a few stragglers a few yards higher up but they were so few as not to disturb the simplicity & unity & life of that one busy highway--We rested again & again."

Dorothy Wordsworth, describing a walk she took with her brother William (apparently, the inspiration for his poem)
Grasmere Journal
April 1802

Dark in the city. (Night is a wire.)

2009-03-28T11:31:00.000-07:00

What are you doing tonight from 8:30-9:30? Might I suggest that you turn out your lights to participate in Earth Hour? In case you haven't heard, Earth Hour is one hour when cities, homes, and businesses around the world will turn off their lights to support action on climate change.

Any number of large American cities will be participating (all at 8:30 local time); be sure to check out the Earth Hour US website for photos, as iconic skylines and monuments go dark (including the Golden Gate Bridge). Caution: if you live in New Orleans, Camden, or Detroit, I would suggest leaving your lights on. And your doors locked.

But (you may ask) what will I do in the dark for an hour? Luckily, the Earth Hour folks have some suggestions:

Fosco would like to add another suggestion:

11. Masturbate.

Assuming that Fosco does not engage in #11, he may post photos from his Earth Hour here tomorrow.

[N.B., posting a comment on this blog during Earth Hour is not funny... :P ]

Saturday Story Hour: Foer on Heart Disease

2009-03-28T06:00:00.000-07:00

S-A-TUR-DAY! It's Saturday Story Hour!

There is a (small) part of Fosco that resents the fantastic success of literary wunderkind Jonathan Safran Foer. I mean, this kid was born in 1977 and has already written two powerful novels (Fosco particularly recommends his 9/11 novel, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close). Even more maddening, he has shown no evidence of writer's block or production anxiety or any of those other psychological impediments that haunt would-be writers of any stripe (including Fosco, alas). He seems to write effortlessly and that, in and of itself at his age, is a provocation.

His work, however, is so damn good that Fosco has a hard time remaining resentful. One of Fosco's favorite short stories is Foer's "A Primer for the Punctuation of Heart Disease," originally published in The New Yorker. The New Yorker version is available only to subscribers; however, fortuitously, the entire story appears in The Best American Nonrequired Reading 2003 and can be read here, courtesy of Google Book Search.

What you'll notice immediately is that this story would be very difficult to transcribe (Fosco briefly considered it). Basically, Foer's narrator in the story invents a supplementary punctuation that can be used to express ideas and emotions that are unavailable in traditional English orthography. Foer's narrator demonstrates the appropriate usage of each of these marks as he describes the conversations within his family. To me, these conversations are absolutely heartbreaking. I hope that you find this story as moving as I do.

You can purchase these books by following the links:

Thank you for your consideration.

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Getting Fish Wrong

2009-03-27T11:15:00.000-07:00

Should "Foodie Friday" be renamed "Fact-checking Friday"? Just a thought.

Ever since Fosco was a small child, his favorite fast-food item has been McDonald's Filet-O-Fish. Of all of the fast-food out there in the world, no single item is responsible for a larger percentage of Fosco's excess body weight than that damned Filet-O. It's kind of the perfect sandwich, really (especially if your goal is heart disease).

So you can imagine Fosco's surprise when he read of the so-called "Filet-O-Fish for grownups" available at an Italian fish restaurant in Manhattan. In this NY Times review, Jill Santopietro describes the sandwich:

Their fried fish panini is a grown-up Filet-O-Fish: a toasted brioche roll filled with large pieces of peppery fried fish fillets, mayonnaise-y tartar sauce, a sad little tomato slice (just like at McDonald’s) and twin leaves of iceberg.

Sure, the sandwich sounds great but did you notice the clear error of fact in this description? Anyone who has ever actually eaten a McDonald's Filet-O-Fish could tell you that the sandwich has never featured "a sad little tomato slice." Part of the point of the Filet-O-Fish is that it ignores vegetables (like lettuce or tomato) entirely.

Fosco sheds a tear for the once-proud New York Times. Is a front page correction too much to ask?

N.B., In the last eight months or so, Fosco has only eaten one or two Filets-O-Fish. When you reach a certain age, fast-food starts to do outsize damage to one's health. Sigh.

Umbrella Drinks and Other Nightmares

2009-03-27T04:34:00.000-07:00

We have clearly established that "Foodie Friday" can involve drinks.

A very entertaining post in this week's NYTimes alcohol blog. Anna Fricke considers all of the self-presentational concerns that go into choosing a signature cocktail. As Fricke notes, she wishes she could drink something other than what she does drink:

If I had my druthers, I would probably drink strawberry daiquiris all the time. But I don’t. Sure, they’re delicious. But the strawberry daiquiri is a youthful drink, the drink of a girl on spring break in Cabo. Much like skinny jeans and Flashdance tops, I can’t pull it off anymore. These days, I am compelled by circumstances to act my age and order a nice Bordeaux and pretend I know what I’m talking about.

In fact, Fricke sums it up nicely:

If I had to guess, I’d say that many of us aren’t drinking what we’d truly like to drink.

She chalks all of this self-denial up to all of the social pressures that have sprung up around alcohol. There are clearly "adult" drinks. There are clearly "cool" drinks. Neither strawberry daiquiris nor Zima would fall into either category. And because most of our drinking occurs in the presence of other people (real or imagined), we end up ordering things like Scotch or dirty martinis that seem adult but that many of us don't really like all that much.

Fosco will cop to some of this self-presentation, of course. He doesn't like martinis (of any variety) but will occasionally order one under extreme duress. His interest in wine is almost non-existent, but he still pretends to read wine lists carefully at the nicer restaurants (and to make informed decisions based on something other than price).

However, Fosco is lucky that several of his preferred beverages are actually both "adult" and "cool." Thanks to his partial Irish heritage, Fosco has a taste for whiskeys (although he actually prefers Scotch)--no fakery needed there. And luckily, if Fosco could only drink one alcoholic beverage for the rest of his life, it would be the perfectly respectable gin and tonic.

In fact, Fosco is in the happy position of a complete coincidence between the hedonic and self-presentational aspects of his "signature cocktail." Hedonism: he loves the taste of gin and tonic above all other drinks. Self-presentation: he likes what a preference for G&Ts says about him. What exactly, you may ask, does a G&T say about someone? I'm glad you asked:

Slightly traditional? Check.
Intertwined with British history? Check.
Possibility for some snob appeal (different brands of gin), without going overboard? Check.
Mild historical association with dissolution? Check.
Threat of colonial violence? Check.

I think we have a winner!

When it comes down to it, though, life is too short to be drinking a cocktail that you don't like. Obviously, people should feel free to order their favorite drinks regardless of what other people think. Of course, Fosco will still make merciless fun of anyone who orders a Cosmopolitan in his presence.

Breaking (My Heart) News

2009-03-26T22:44:00.001-07:00

Very busy tonight and for the next few days with my (never-ending) Levinas paper. But had to break these two stories for you:

1. Remember that English thirteen-year-old who got his girlfriend preggers? The kid who looked like he was ten? The story that was so sordid that Fosco had to write about it not just once but twice?

Well, the DNA test is back and poor little Alfie is NOT the father! While that is certainly good news for little Alfie (whether he sees it that way or not), I'm not sure the story gets any less sad by this revelation. For one thing, the question of the father of Chantelle's baby, is going to get a lot more complicated. Incredibly, other reports note that

six other local boys came forward soon after the baby’s birth and said that they had also had sex with her and could be Maisie’s daddy.

Let's remember: Chantelle is 15. Jesus H. Christ.

And even if Alfie hasn't been saddled for life with a bouncing baby mistake, he seems unlikely to have a sparkling future ahead of him:

Before he took the test, he said: "I didn't know about DNA tests before but mum explained it's when they do a swab in your mouth and it tells if you're the dad. So if I have it, they can all shut up."

Sigh. Bright kid.

(However, as of this writing, the original story has disappeared from the website of the British tabloid The Mirror. Are they backing off on this story?)

2. Fosco's beloved city of San Francisco appears to be under attack by a zombie swarm. Still no word about affected areas of the city, but Fosco thinks it reasonable to assume that most of San Francisco is now uninhabitable by anything but undead.

This is the most tragic death of a great American city since GW Bush bombed the levies in New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina.

Eraserhead 2: The Geithnering

2009-03-26T11:52:00.000-07:00

Following a suggestion from his old friend Keith, Fosco offers for your consideration: Jack Nance in David Lynch's Eraserhead and Treasury Secretary Tim Geithner.

Spooky, huh? I'd make a joke about something from the plot of Eraserhead, but

I have little confidence that many of my readers have seen it.
I don't really remember much about it myself.

To the best of my recollection, I think there was some dancing involved. And some horrible worm creatures. Actually, the film is probably not too much different from recent meetings at the Treasury.

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Scooby Doo and the Case of Molestation Mansion

2009-03-26T04:18:00.000-07:00

If any of you ever wanted to open a "Haunted Attraction" (you know, like a Haunted Summer Camp or a Haunted Amusement Park) and sell tickets during the entire month of October, then I've got a real estate opportunity for you! It's Michael Jackson's Neverland Ranch, of course, which will soon be auctioned (although you'll probably have to outbid Prince).

Sadly, the once grand property is no longer in good repair:

Buildings, amusement rides, industrial equipment, personal automobiles, and Jackson's personal zoo and Tipi village were falling apart. Gardens and lawns were overgrown.

However, this does make it a perfect setting for a scream entrepreneur who wants to appeal to both teens and ironic Scooby-Doo-watching adults. No word on whether the animals or Native American residents of the Tipi Village are included in the auction (you would probably want both to make the haunting more authentic).

Just think of the possibilities: Ghosts in bumper cars! Pale children wearing veils! Emaciated rhinoceroses! Naked audio-animatronic boys! It will be the molestiest amusement park ever!

Oh, and clearly this, um, thing should receive pride of place:

As reported in HuffPo, this weird "tombstone-looking thing" is engraved with an original poem by Michael Jackson himself. Hey, you know the best way to combat the suspicion that you're a child molester? Well, not by writing a poem with a refrain that begins: "Children of the world, we'll do it." You can read the full poem at the HuffPo link above, but allow me to excerpt first verse and the refrain:

Children of the world, we'll do it
We'll meet on endless shores
Making sandcastles and floating our boats
While people fight and defend their point of view
Forever putting on masks that are new
We'll swing the tide of time and do it.

Children of the world, we'll do it
With song and dance and innocent bliss
And the soft caress of a loving kiss
We'll do it.

I understand that poetry is not like everyday language in terms of its truth content; however, don't you think the author of a poem like this should be taken into preventative custody? All I know is that I would never let one of my children go to the beach with Uncle Michael.

Besides, to be a true expression of MJ's feelings, shouldn't the poem actually have contained an asterisk?

Children* of the world, we'll do it

* boys only

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Santa Cruz Trivialities

2009-03-25T12:31:00.000-07:00

This was a big week in news here in Santa Cruz. What did you miss by not living here (other than sun and surf)? I'm glad you asked.

After a series of horrifying attacks on UCSC biomedical researchers last fall, four animal rights activists were finally indicted this week (including at least one UCSC graduate). You may recall that one of the attacks involved the four mask-wearing activists shaking the door of a researcher's home during a child's birthday party; when the researcher's husband opened the door, they hit him on the arm and yelled "We're gonna get you." So naturally, the defense here is free speech. Wait, what? Yes, apparently it was all free speech:
Khajavi was the only defendant to speak at the rally. Reading from a prepared statement, the 20-year-old UC Santa Cruz graduate said she has never been in trouble before and is only being punished for trying to express her point of view.

"I'm a victim of free speech suppression," she said.

[...]

Well-known civil rights lawyer Tony Serra, who is representing Khajavi, said his client and the other defendants are idealist kids whose free-speech rights are being curtailed. Punishing youth for dissenting leads to the downfall of a society, Serra said.

"We represent the voice of tomorrow," he said.
Which may be true: especially if the voice of tomorrow is threatening, masked, and (frankly) not too bright. Actually, maybe that is the voice of tomorrow. While Fosco has complex and ambivalent feelings about biomedical research that involves animals, he does know one thing: what these activists did is not protected speech. And, in all likelihood, they have set back their own cause.
Hey, remember that HBO show where all the characters had sex and stuff? That doesn't narrow it down? Well, remember the one about sex therapy that had like old people doing it and stuff? It was called "Tell Me You Love Me," remember? Fosco saw an episode once and it was, ummm, not exactly very sexy--which I guess was the point. However, Fosco did recognize one of the leads, Adam Scott, from his appearance as the hip seducer teacher in one episode of "Veronica Mars." And while seeing Adam Scott masturbate into a cup on "Tell Me You Love Me" really didn't float Fosco's boat, he does think Scott is a somewhat appealing actor. Well, it turns out that Scott is a lead in some new series on Starz (as if Fosco will ever watch that--he's never even heard of that channel!); but more interestingly, Adam Scott is originally from Santa Cruz. As the Sentinel article notes:
Scott, who turns 36 in April, first moved to Hollywood from Santa Cruz in the early 1990s fresh out of high school. He now looks back in wonder at the blind optimism and naivete that sustained him in those early days.

"If I had known then that it would be 2009 before I started actually feeling the repercussions of success, I would have moved back to Santa Cruz a long time ago."
You go, Adam. Reprazent!
Finally, you may have heard that Northern California is in a bit of drought. Well, now it's official: there will be water restrictions in Santa Cruz this summer. That sounds bad, right? Fosco was very discouraged by the headline, picturing a summer filled with two-minute showers and toilets full of unflushed urine. But then he actually read the article. Guess what "water restrictions" means?
According to a proposal from the Santa Cruz Water Department, about 90,000 county residents served by the agency could be limited to watering on two assigned days of the week, and only before 10 a.m. and after 5 p.m. beginning May 1. Days of the week have not been assigned, but all residential customers should have one weekend day on which to water, said Toby Goddard, the district's conservation manager. Commercial customers also will be restricted.
Considering that Fosco lives in an apartment, this will have exactly NO effect on his life this summer. Water restrictions? Bring 'em on!

It does raise another question, though. If water is scarce in NorCal (and it is), why don't we always have such obvious commonsense restrictions on lawn watering? And who are the idiots watering the grass at noon every day of the week?

America's Most Backward State: Oklahoma!

2009-03-25T04:44:00.000-07:00

Last week, Fosco was outraged by the head of the Texas State Board of Education and his love for a book that claims to disprove evolution. Because what kind of state allows that kind of moron to be in charge of education? Well, then Oklahoma had to go one better (thereby winning the appellation "America's Most Backward State").

As Fosco's favorite cyber-crusader, Jonathan Turley, notes:

It appears that Oklahoma legislators are continuing their attempted crackdown on University of Oklahoma for the outrage of allowing evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins of Oxford University speak to its students. After proposing two resolutions denouncing the scheduled appearance, legislators are now demanding answers about the funding and communications with Dawkins.

For those of you who don't know, Richard Dawkins is one of the foremost evolutionary biologists. His writings on evolution for a popular audience are well-written and impeccably reasoned. He is one of the most persuasive theorists of evolution (and a frequent critic of creationism and religious fundamentalism). He is also, by any conceivable measurement, smarter and better educated that every single member of the Oklahoma State Legislature (or does that go without saying?). Oh, and if the above photo is to be believed, he is Buffy's Watcher.

But because some morons aren't happy unless they're fucking things up for everyone else, Oklahoma State Representative Rebecca Hamilton (apparently, in some sort of bizarro Oklahoma universe, a Democrat) tried to force the University to cancel Dawkins's speech. Dawkins was invited to speak to celebrate Darwin's 200th birthday. Hamilton (who is most certainly not a LILF and, as far as Fosco can tell, probably did descend from monkeys) first tried to squelch Dawkins's speech with two resolutions, one of which contained this paragraph:

WHEREAS, not only has the Department of Zoology at the University of Oklahoma been engaged in one-sided indoctrination of an unproven and unpopular theory but has made an effort to brand all thinking in dissent of this theory as anti-intellectual and backward rather than nurturing such free thinking and allowing a free discussion of all ideas which is the primary purpose of a university;

The "unproven and unpopular" part is certainly a hoot. Even if that were true (outside of Ms. Hamilton's church, that is), should we really be making decisions about scientific veracity based on popularity? As for making dissent seem "anti-intellectual and backward," I don't really think the Department of Zoology needs to do much work--Ms. Hamilton has done a good job of making her own dissent seem both anti-intellectual and backward (not to mention petty).

But because the University decided NOT to cave in to Ms. Hamilton's demands that they cancel Professor Dawkins's talk, she's moved on to Plan B: hound the OU administration to the extent that future "controversial" speakers don't seem worth the hassle. As Jonathan Turley notes:

Hamilton has reportedly demanded information relating to the speech from Vice President for Governmental Relations Danny Hilliard, including a list of all money paid to Dawkins and the entities, public or private, the total cost to the university, and an account of any “faculty time spent promoting this event.”

One can only imagine how she intends to use this information. However, I don't think you need to be a strict fundamentalist about academic freedom to recognize that a legislator has absolutely no business inquiring into the scholarly pursuits of any member of the university faculty (including any time they spend "promoting" an academic event). This is a blatantly transparent attempt to produce a chilling effect on scholarship at the University of Oklahoma (a place that, frankly, can use all the scholarship it can get).

I'm starting to think that, sometime in the last twenty years, large swaths of the American public (mostly, but not exclusively, in the "Bible belt") not only became complete idiots about science, but also lost track of what universities are supposed to do. Granted, beating Texas in football every year is an important goal for any institution of higher education; however, Oklahomans need to realize that there is actually a bit more involved in running a university. Nitwits.

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Are Pubes Making A Comeback?

2009-03-24T11:19:00.000-07:00

Fosco has made clear his policy on pubic hair (hint: he likes it animal style). Whether it's women or men, Fosco just can't understand why anyone would want (to have or to touch) the genitals of a ten-year-old. Maybe I'm abnormal, but I like having sex with people who look like adults. And no, the irony that Fosco Lives! is the Google destination-of-choice for Koreans searching for "pubic hair shave" is not lost on him. But last week, for just a few days, it finally looked like someone may have gotten Fosco's message.

That's because, as you probably heard, New Jersey was considering a ban on Brazilian bikini waxing. Granted the ban would have been for health reasons, after two NJ women were hospitalized for infections from Brazilian waxes. And, in a sense, it wouldn't have been a new ban so much as enforcement against an already prohibited practice (genital waxing was never actually explicitly allowed in NJ, but regulators tended to look the other way). But still, it would clearly have been a victory for the forces of follicular rationality.

Of course, this is the kind of story that bad newspapers live for. And so naturally, Rupert Murdoch's New York Post had an early Christmas party. Here are some choice excerpts from their story:

The Garden State may be extra lush this summer.
[...]
Two women were recently hospitalized for infections stemming from no-follicle-left-behind procedure
[...]
But New Jersey spa owners say officials have no business legislating what women do with their Pine Barrens.

Now that's classy journalism! Why do I suspect that there were some pretty sexist lines in the original draft of this article? Because anything that has to do with female genitalia is inherently funny! Women have different genitals! Teehee! Actually, I'll admit I kinda laughed at the "Pine Barrens" line.

But terrible jokes about lady parts aren't the only examples of regrettable rhetoric that appeared in articles about this ban. Consider how cosmetologists, waxers, spa owners, etc. (who, by all accounts, would have lost huge sums of money under the ban) decided to cast the potential effects of the ban on their clients (as per this AP article):

"It's huge," [a salon owner] said, adding that her customers don't think their bikini lines are anyone's business but their own. "It's just not right."

She said many customers would likely travel across state lines to get it and some might even try to wax themselves.

Sound familiar? Yes, standard pro-choice abortion rhetoric has been redeployed to conjure up images of back-alley waxing and home waxes gone awry. Of course, Fosco is entirely sympathetic to this rhetoric when it's applied to abortion; however, there is something about using this argument to talk about bikini waxing that seems a bit trivializing--especially since this is not government telling women what to do with their pubic hair, but rather, the regulation of a specific voluntary hygienic procedure which may, under certain circumstances, be dangerous. Women are free to wax, pluck, or shave themselves however they want; this ban would only affect practitioners who charge for a certain kind of service. In Fosco's eyes, this ban has more in common with the regulation of tattoo parlors than it does with the regulation of a woman's right to choose abortion.

But alas, in the face of opposition from the powerful salon and spa lobby, the NJ ban is dead. We can all rest assured that women in NJ are still allowed to pay people to pull out all their pubic hair by the roots! Hooray! This is a fine day for feminism. Well, except for that part where Fosco suspects that Brazilian bikini waxing is one big male fantasy (and not a very savory one) in the first place.

[Actually, to be honest, Fosco didn't really understand the difference between Brazilian and other styles of bikini waxing until he researched for this post. Shouldn't he have learned all about that in health class? Luckily, Wikipedia has pictures!]

Image Credits. Fosco actually had fun picking out the images for this post. They are

The album cover to Amorica by The Black Crowes.
Treasure Trail (2003) by fabulous American artist Marilyn Minter.
Bad Boy (1981) by the occasionally hilarious Eric Fischl. And yeah, that's probably like his mom.

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"Let's Go to the Phones... Anyone? Please?"

2009-03-24T05:44:00.000-07:00

Here's your monthly Fosco Lives! update from the narrow, narrow world of sports.

Today's story is kinda sad, actually. The head basketball coach at one of Fosco's previous academic pitstops, the ~~venereal~~ venerable University of Virginia, has resigned after the team's worst season since the late 1960s. Yes, Mr. Jefferson's basketball coach, Dave Leitao, is finally done in Charlottesville. Leitao's tenure was hardly legendary, with a 63-60 record over four years.

But whatever, right? Why should you (or Fosco) care? Well, mainly because of this pathetic little nugget from the ESPN article (italics added for extra pathos):

The Cavaliers routinely trailed by double figures at halftime, even at John Paul Jones Arena, where they went 9-8, and fan interest waned as the team's difficulties continued. The $130 million arena, opened just three years ago, seats more than 14,000 for basketball, but drew an average of just over 10,000 this season. Apathy was more apparent during Leitao's weekly hourlong radio show, which more than once attracted no callers.

That's right: a weekly hourlong radio show with a Division IA head coach in a marquis sport that more than once attracted no callers.

While it's true that we're not talking about a basketball powerhouse like Duke or IU, UVa is still a member of the basketball-crazy Atlantic Coast Conference (ACC). And when Fosco was on campus (pre-Leitao), there was still some interest in what (even then) was a pretty mediocre basketball team. Fosco recalls walking past a dorm block one year during a UVa upset of Duke and hearing a giant synchronized cheer of celebration from hundreds of individual student rooms.

And now, six years later, the UVa basketball coach can hold an hourlong radio program and have no callers. That's the kind of thing that makes you feel sorry for the poor guy.

Well, except for the fact that, despite resigning, Leitao will still receive $2.1 million. I don't know what's next for Coach Leitao, but I think AIG might be his kind of place. Come to think of it, the American public has been getting hosed by "failure bonuses" for years: they're just usually called "buyouts" and tend to be given to underperforming coaches of college football and basketball. (And indeed, it is often taxpayers who foot the bill.)

Is it any wonder that Fosco never responds to UVa's fundraising requests?

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Things To Do With Your Otter In Chicago

2009-03-23T04:13:00.000-07:00

When it's "Music Monday," Fosco encourages you to caress your favorite animal.

You may recall how Fosco feels about otters (particularly sea otters). Well, based on Fosco's otter affection, music hipster JennyT recently recommended the band Otter Petter. Although JennyT admitted that she

couldn't form an impression after just one song, other than that you might enjoy the name,

you can believe that Fosco was intrigued enough to pick up the whole CD. After all, a band that names itself after one of life's most rewarding activities must be worth listening to, right? Just like you would have to listen to music by any band named "Donut Licker" or "Tom Brady Fellator." But I digress...

Anyway, Otter Petter is a Chicago band that, by their own admission, blends Matthew Sweet with Death Cab For Cutie. Or, maybe we could just call them "indie pop." At any rate, it's sweet, it's sincere, and it's poppy. Falsetto is involved. And Fosco loves it.

You can listen to three of the (better) songs from their full-length debut album, Fireflies and Lamp Lights, here. I am particularly fond of "The Rest of the World."

Or, if you are a YouTube person (and don't mind sketchy sound quality), you can listen to "The Rest of the World" below, accompanied by occasional semi-relevant still pictures (you know the style...):

Otter Petter! How can you go wrong with a band named Otter Petter!

And please, if "otter petting" is some teen euphemism for something sexual, don't tell me.

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Wounding Your Cavaliers

2009-03-22T07:51:00.000-07:00

It's Sunday and, if you are like me, you would like to see something beautiful.

I finds this strange Pre-Raphaelite painting to be oddly gorgeous. This is The Wounded Cavalier by the delightfully-named William Shakespeare Burton (1824-1916).

Although this was painted around 1855, the depicted scene is from the English Civil War. Personally, I think it's reasonable to read the painting allegorically; otherwise, I'm not sure how you explain the presence of the dour, Bible-holding Puritan who looks on disapprovingly. Oh Puritans, is there anything you don't hate? Also, an allegorical reading may help to account for such oddities as the broken blade stuck in the tree and the small butterfly that is perched on it. (But no, I'm not going to do the allegorical reading for you.) Also, why in the hell is there a tree running down the center of the painting? And why is the Puritan hiding behind it? These are the kinds of questions that, to my mind, make this a worthwhile painting.

As far as I can determine, this painting is in the permanent collection of the Guildhall Museum of Art in London (although it does not appear on their website). There is a smaller "study" for this painting in the Tate collection, although its colors are very different and it is (on the whole) much less appealing.

A note on the coloration. There are numerous images of this painting online and the colors are different in every one. As Fosco has never seen the original (nor is it, apparently, on display except by appointment), he has chosen the version that is most appealing to him. You may find this image to be a little "washed out," but Fosco much prefers the faint mist in this image to some of the gaudier versions.

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Saturday Story Hour: Roorbach on Love in Big Bend

2009-03-21T04:34:00.000-07:00

This is your weekly dose of contemporary fiction. I call it "Saturday Story Hour."

This week, I'm inspired by Fosco Lives! reader Jill and her recent road trip into (what I imagine is called) the Big Bend country of Texas. Years ago, Fosco was floored by the 2002 collection of The O. Henry Prize Stories (seriously, if you can get a hold of it, it will be worth your while). One of the stories in that collection was called "Big Bend" by Bill Roorbach. At the time, Fosco had never heard of Bill Roorbach before. And, to be honest, he's never read anything by him since. Nor is "Big Bend" even the best story in that collection. However, there is just something about the story that has stuck with Fosco (going on seven years now).

When he read the story, Fosco had also never heard of Big Bend National Park. It's a huge national park that runs along the Texas-Mexico border, where the Rio Grande makes a very big bend (natch). It is extremely popular with birders, like Fosco's Aunt Merrill and Uncle Clark, because it's the home of dozens of species that are difficult to see anywhere else. And as for the terrain, the National Park Service notes:

Sometimes considered "three parks in one," Big Bend includes mountain, desert, and river environments. An hour’s drive can take you from the banks of the Rio Grande to a mountain basin nearly a mile high. Here, you can explore one of the last remaining wild corners of the United States, and experience unmatched sights, sounds, and solitude.

Roorbach's story is set in the park and he makes it sound absolutely gorgeous. After reading the story, Fosco became fascinated by Big Bend; however, sadly, he has yet to visit (he hasn't really had any good excuses to visit West Texas lately).

The hero of the story is a retired widower who has decided to work as a park employee at Big Bend for a year. He spends his days doing minor physical labor with a diverse team of other men. When we meet him, he has fallen passionately in love with a visiting birdwatcher from Chicago--a woman who is almost thirty years younger, bulky, and married. Her name is Martha Kolodny. Suddenly, Mr. Hunter (our protagonist) is confused:

Another cause of sleeplessness was Martha Kolodny of Chicago, here in blazing, gorgeous, blooming, desolate Big Bend on an amateur ornithological quest. Stubby called her "Mothra," which had been funny at first, given Ms. Kolodny's size and thorough, squawking presence, but which was funny no longer, given the startling fact of Mr. Hunter's crush on her, which had arrived unannounced after his long conversation with her just this evening, in the middle of a huge laugh from Ms. Kolodny, a huge and happy, hilarious laugh from the heart of her very handsome heart.

There is something about the line "a huge and happy, hilarious laugh from the heart of her very handsome heart" that Fosco adores. For me, at least, there is no resisting Martha Kolodny once she's described that way. She is a bringer of joy--both to Mr. Hunter and to the reader.

The other thing about this story that thrills me is the sheer optimism of it. Here are two oldish, semi-unattractive people who lead extremely sad lives in extremely sad parts of the country falling in mad passionate love like giddy teenagers. It's about a second chance at passionate love--but not in a mawkish or sentimental way. I just find it hard to be cynical about love when I'm reading this story. Not to mention that this surprisingly big, bright love is what makes this story work--it makes the images shimmer in Fosco's imagination.

And so, whether or not I ever read anything else by Bill Roorbach, there is a part of me that will always treasure this story. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

You can read it here.

You may want to order the O. Henry Prize Stories 2002 from Amazon. Or one of Bill Roorbach's books. Please follow these links:

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Why Fosco Wears Gloves at the Market

2009-03-20T11:51:00.000-07:00

On "Foodie Friday," we shop at Whole Foods.

Big news in Santa Cruz this week: Whole Foods is open! Fosco is thrilled--finally, Santa Cruz can join world-class cities like Reston, Virginia and Sugar Land, Texas! Whee!

In honor of the local Whole Foods grand opening, Fosco would like to call your attention to this article from the HuffPo. Apparently,

One of the most deadly spiders in the world has been found in the produce section of a Tulsa grocery store. An employee of Whole Foods Market found the Brazilian Wandering Spider Sunday in bananas from Honduras and managed to catch it in a container.

Fosco read this report five minutes ago and he's still got the chills. He would love to include a photograph of this spider in this post, but as something of an arachnophobe, Fosco doesn't even want to touch a picture of a spider. [shiver]

In related news, equally venomous Oklahoma Senator Tom Coburn was sighted at the same Whole Foods, lurking behind the bulk bins. I find pictures of him to be equally shudder-inducing.

UPDATE: Thanks to Todd (I swear he's like FL!'s "citizen reporter"), some corrections are necessary:

There is now the suggestion that the spider was misidentified. The spider was probably a member of a different, harmless species. However, it will be impossible to say for sure as the original spider was destroyed by the University of Tulsa. (The funny part of this story is the surprise and outrage over the destruction of the original spider. As far as Fosco was concerned, that's exactly what you're supposed to do to spiders.)
Fosco does not actually wear gloves at the market. He also never buys bananas.

Venomous senator Tom Coburn was not seen at the same Whole Foods. Rather, according to eyewitnesses, he was spotted at Tulsa's Blossom Day Care Center, feasting on tender babies. We apologize to Senator Coburn for this error.

Lunch with David

2009-03-20T05:33:00.000-07:00

"Foodie Friday" is the name of the game today.

Last weekend, Fosco's well-connected and entertaining college roommate David was in town for a brief spring vacation. David and I were able to have a lazy lunch on Friday at San Francisco culinary fixture, The Slanted Door. As you may recall, Fosco is a fan of Charles Phan's local/organic Vietnamese; however, dining at the flagship (as opposed to one of the much cheaper Out the Door takeout spots) is a treat that Fosco generally reserves for special occasions (like his birthday last year, when Oz took him to Slanted Door for dinner).

Slanted Door is an excellent place to take an out-of-town guest. The dining room (as seen above) may be understated and casual, but the real attraction is the floor-to-ceiling views of SF Bay, the Bay Bridge, and Yerba Buena Island (view at right). There is probably no better restaurant view in the city, especially on a sunny day. Add an appealingly casual waitstaff (t-shirted with many tats and pierces), and you have a laid back atmosphere where you can pay attention to the important things in life: visual and gustatory pleasure.

At midday, neither David nor Fosco felt like a cocktail. However, David was intrigued by the appearance of the adjective "biodynamic" attached to the (non-alcoholic) Elderflower spritzer on the beverage menu. Our waiter was only too happy to explain that "biodynamic" refers to a specific organic agricultural method developed in the nineteenth century by Rudolf Steiner. As the waiter explained, it involves treating the farm like a completely closed system. Or something like that. The waiter also noted that "biodynamic" has "metaphysical and astrological connotations," but (thankfully) he declined to elaborate. An organic spritzer with astrological/metaphysical properties? Welcome to San Francisco, David! Actually, both David and I ordered the Elderflower spritzer and it was quite enjoyable (I tasted citrus, David tasted lychee).

Ever since Fosco's birthday dinner with Oz last summer, Fosco has been obsessed with Slanted Door's yellowtail sashimi. It is absolutely exquisite. It comes topped with crispy shallots (like high-end french-fried onions) and Thai basil. I can say without exaggeration that it is a true metaphysical and astrological experience. So of course David and I ordered it. Isn't it gorgeous?

I could eat it once a day. At least.

Slanted Door is family-style and the rest of our meal was a bricolage of yummy Vietnamese specialties, including

honey-hoisin pork shortribs (accompanied by extremely hot towels for washing your fingers after)
Fosco's favorite green papaya salad (which he's discussed before)
the shaking beef--made with tender filet mignon
sadly, some very forgettable noodles--why aren't the noodles at Slanted Door better?

Other than the shaking beef, Fosco thinks the best strategy at Slanted Door is, as recommended by No Salad As A Meal, an entire meal of appetizers. Damn, those honey-hoisin ribs were good.

Because it was a special occasion, desserts were ordered. We had beignets with a cinnamon sabayon (are doughnuts ever bad?) and the intriguing "black cardamom tapioca, kumquat geleé, black cardamom pudding and tapioca." Fosco is a big fan of cardamom (even for dessert) and this pudding did not disappoint. It was surprisingly elegant, actually.

After lunch, because Slanted Door is in the gourmet mecca of the Ferry Building (seen above), Fosco and David dropped by Michael Recchiuti for some boutique chocolates. Fosco's loves Recchiuti's rose caramels and bergamot chocolates. Mmmmmmm...

As we left the Ferry Building, the lunchtime line for high-end burger palace Taylor's Automatic Refresher was getting a bit out of hand:

Alas, we had no room for garlic fries.

[Several of these photos (guess which?) were taken by David himself.]

Keith Olbermann: Bust the Trusts

2009-03-19T20:04:00.000-07:00

Corporations are not our friends. They do not have our best interests at heart. They don't care about you or your economic well-being.

It's time we did something about that.

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

Amen, brother.

Tops and Bottoms

2009-03-19T12:46:00.000-07:00

Don't be dirty-minded... we're talking rankings, not sexual role preferences.

You may recall that Fosco loves rankings (especially of cities). And because Fosco is not alone, the media has realized that rankings always make popular news stories.

So what's new in the world of rankings? Well, there's a bunch of Bay Area-related news to share.

First, the good news: California's 14th Congressional District is the happiest in the nation. This district covers most of the Peninsula south of San Francisco and stops just north of Santa Cruz. Because Fosco lives in Santa Cruz and Oz lives in Daly City, Fosco ends up driving the length of the 14th District several times a month. He must admit that everyone in it sure looks pretty happy--and rich.

Speaking of rich, the district contains most of Silicon Valley, including Google, Apple and Mmm Carpets. However, as this article in the Santa Cruz Sentinel notes:

While higher income and greater opportunity associated with these districts didn't hurt their standing, Amy Neftzger, the lead researcher with Gallup's partner Healthways, said money didn't necessarily translate into happiness. Work, she cautioned, took a toll on physical and emotional health in many parts of the country.

Any guesses as to the least happy congressional district? No, not Indiana's 2nd, but close. It's the bleak Kentucky 5th, on the border with Virginia and West Virginia (median income $21,915).

But not all is pleasant in the Bay Area. As this piece on SFGate notes, San Francisco is one of the ten WORST cities to be unemployed in.

Forbes has compiled a list of the 10 best and 10 worst U.S. cities when it comes to stretching unemployment dollars -- calculated based on benefits versus the cost-of-living. Sadly, San Francisco is the fourth worst city to be on unemployment, better only than New York, Miami and Phoenix.

Phoenix? It turns out the problem there is stingy unemployment benefits (imagine that!). This is how it was all calculated:

In San Francisco, the maximum unemployment benefit is $450 a week, and the cost of living is $113,576 a year. That means the benefits only cover 20.6 percent of the cost-of-living, making getting by on the checks in San Francisco a pretty bleak prospect.

Sigh. And lest you think that the top of list is populated by cities that you would prefer not to live in (employed or unemployed), you should know that both Boston and Seattle somehow made the Top 10.

Let's wrap things up with some college rankings. According to this piece in the Sentinel, surfline.com has named UC Santa Cruz the second best campus for surfing in the nation. The top? UC San Diego. No surprise there, really. The worst surf campuses weren't ranked, but I'm pretty sure the University of Oklahoma is near the bottom.

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Hentai Goes High Culture

2009-03-19T04:20:00.000-07:00

N.B., there are parts of this post (farther down) that might be a little NSFW. Be warned.

Somehow, Fosco managed to ignore most of the hullabaloo around last year's Takashi Murakami retrospective which started at the MOCA in LA and traveled to the Brooklyn Museum (among other places). Sure, Fosco skimmed the New Yorker review, but didn't pay much attention. Murakami just isn't quite Fosco's style.

Takashi Murakami (not to be confused with Haruki Murakami, whose exquisitely beautiful novels Fosco does love) is something of an art sensation. To Fosco, T. Murakami looks eerily like the future version of Hiro Nakamura from TV's "Heroes." Murakami's art, however, is not from the future--it's insistently of the present. I guess you could call his work "pop art"--in that it owes much to popular forms of animation and illustration (especially manga). Yes, there are lots of anthropomorphic flowers, mushrooms, and god-knows-what:

It's like the materialization of an LSD hallucination--at least, that's what I imagine it would it be like.

It's also relentlessly, and intentionally, commercial. You may recall the frisson caused by the inclusion, in the middle of the actual exhibit, of a fully-functioning Louis Vuitton boutique dedicated to selling Murakami's designs for Vuitton. As this piece in the Village Voice notes, the Vuitton boutique was one of the principle draws of the Murakami show in the first place. You may recognize this Murakami design for Vuitton:

If you think this pattern is unforgivably gaudy, you should see this design translated into actual decor in Fosco's December photograph of the Manhattan Louis Vuitton boutique:

It's eye-catching, sure; but isn't it all a little... vulgar?

Apparently, in all of Fosco's studied ignorance of 2008's Murakami-fest, he managed to avoid knowledge of one sculpture in particular. Somehow, Fosco missed (in Peter Schjeldahl's review of the retrospective) this description of

another, “My Lonesome Cowboy,” is of a masturbating boy whose ejaculate twirls upward like a lariat.

If you're wondering what on earth this might look like, Fosco's got your back. Behold!

Hell's bells, that's disturbing! Are you repulsed, yet unable to look away? Well, here are some more views:

The title, My Lonesome Cowboy (referring to an Andy Warhol film), is pretty great. And sure, there's something cute about his face (he is an anime boy, after all); and yes, I would probably kill to have his hair. But that cum lasso? Freaky. Which I guess is the point.

[Note: in the Village Voice piece, the author claims that the boy "has some kind of disgusting gray effluvia shooting out of his wiener." Ummm, I think we call that "semen." Art interpretation: Ur doin it rong.]

Want to know how Takashi Murakami himself would explain this sculpture? You can take an online tour of this room of the exhibition (choose Exhibition Tour, Part 1).

But wait, this story gets even better: the sculpture just sold at auction for over $15 million (when commission is included). As this blog notes, Sotheby's was expecting the piece to go for $3-$4 million, so this was pleasant surprise. As the shape+colour blogger notes, Murakami is so popular right now that he can do no wrong:

And when you can do no wrong, your life-sized sculpture of a bright-eyed anime manga-boy jerking off and whipping his jizz into a gigantic lasso around his head will sell at auction for $13.5 million US.

I guess that's how you know you've "made it."

Thanks to Todd for bringing this story to my attention.

If you want to read more about Takashi Murakami (or read some novels by Haruki Murakami), you can click through on these buttons:

Fosco will receive a tiny percentage and he will be grateful.

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Parapraxis or Sheer Stupidity?: You Be the Judge!

2009-03-18T16:09:00.000-07:00

Fosco understands that people--including public figures--regularly misspeak. And I certainly don't want to ascribe deep meaning to every slip of the tongue (sorry, Uncle Freud). But sometimes, you just can't avoid the sneaking suspicion that the mis-speaker has unintentionally revealed something true.

From this article in the HuffPo, describing GW Bush's plans for his (not yet contracted) book:

"I'm going to put people in my place, so when the history of this administration is written at least there's an authoritarian voice saying exactly what happened," Bush said. [italics mine]

As a description of Bush's eventual book, I suspect this will be one hundred percent accurate. In fact, I think George just wrote the tagline for the jacket!

What A Mess Is Texas!

2009-03-18T12:57:00.000-07:00

Fosco is bedeviled by Texas.

Until recently, Fosco was willing to write off the entire state as a physical manifestation of his worst Bushian nightmares. I mean, other than the theocracy of Utah, Texas seems to be the closest thing we have to the "ideal" model of a conservative state--and a particularly dim-witted one, at that.

But then Fosco started to warm up to Texas--just a bit. For one thing, the state appears to be America's kolache capital. For another thing, Fosco's absolutely favorite band hails from Texas. And then there is the fact that several of the best readers of FL! live in Texas (you know who you are!). Clearly, Texas has redeeming value. And, to judge from this recent roadtrip by Jill, Texas has some beautiful and interesting places: artist colonies, dessert cantinas, spas.

However, just when Fosco reaches the point of thinking "Hey, maybe Texas isn't too bad," he reads stuff like this (from the always trenchant Jonathan Turley):

Don McLeroy, controversial Chair of the Texas State Board of Education, has released his top choice of his recommended reading list: “Sowing Atheism” by Robert Bowie Johnson, Jr. — a book billed by creationists as disproving evolution and exposing the worldwide atheist conspiracy. When combined with the effort to create an advanced degree in “Creation Science” in Texas, the state will soon rival Iran and Saudi Arabia as a bastion of medieval thought.

Yes, that's right: the head of the State Board of Education wants everyone to know that there is an atheist conspiracy afoot. Remember when, just ten years ago, we were making fun of Kansas? The difference, of course, is that Kansas wised up. Good job, Texas: you just made Kansas look progressive. Sigh.

But that's not all. Here's another Texas gem from Jonathan Turley:

Houston police and prosecutors are arresting people for potty-mouths. The Texans were shocked when New Yorker Abraham Urquizo, 35, used the “F-word” twice while arguing with his girlfriend at Salsa’s Mexican and Seafood Restaurant. They are clearly unaware that the word can be used as an adjective, noun, verb, adverb, participle, and a gerund in New York.

The crackdown on bad language would seem unconstitutional on its face under the first amendment. This is the second such arrest in eight months — citing them for disorderly conduct.

All I can say is "Fuck that." But seriously, has law enforcement in Texas really been so successful at preventing other crimes that it can now turn its attention to public cursing? And what about Texas's vaunted spirit of independent libertarianism? Doesn't this type of arrest smack of the kind of "police state" that conservatives are always decrying?

Oh Texas, why must you jerk me around like this?

UPDATE: Fosco clarifies his feelings about Texas in the comment section below. My apologies to my Texas readers for how this whole discussion went down. Alas, Fosco doesn't always think deeply before he posts.

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Local Wildlife Roundup

2009-03-18T04:18:00.000-07:00

Watch out, animal-lovers! Here come some charismatic megafauna:

Let's start with the good news (well, at least semi-good news). Last week, there were sightings of two different killer whale pods off the Bay Area coast. You can watch the news report here. Did you know that different Orca pods can choose to eat different types of food? As Wikipedia notes:
specific populations show a high degree of specialization on particular prey species.
One of the pods seen off the coast is a pod of salmon eaters; the other pod was seen killing harbor seals. This is good news because Fosco loves Orcas (he has a stuffed Orca named "Baby Shampu"). Sadly, however, this is bad news, because at least one of these pods is typically known to feed in the waters off Puget Sound and their appearance this far south suggests that food supplies are getting scarce.
And now the bad news. According to this piece in the Santa Cruz Sentinel, "an assortment of factors suggests California's sea otter population is in decline." As you may have noticed, Fosco also adores sea otters. Sometimes I wish I could offer Oz's bathtub as an otter habitat.
But one form of local wildlife is in full swing: roller girls. As in roller derby. This week, the Sentinel featured this slide show of a match(?) between the Santa Cruz Rollergirls and "the L.A. Derby Dolls Sirens." Although they are all interesting, Fosco's favorite picture is probably this one:

I think this photo pretty much captures everything that Fosco wants to believe about roller derby.

"Hello, Chieftains!"

2009-03-17T12:21:00.000-07:00

The inaptly-named "Muesic Tuesday" continues...

As Fosco mentioned earlier, today is apparently some sort of Irish-themed holiday. Consequently, there should be some mention of Irish music today. Unfortunately, Fosco loathes any kind of traditional Irish music. Not to mention his recent feelings about U2.

Luckily, there is one Irish folk song that Fosco can stand. It's this duet between Brak and The Chieftains. There is much to love in this clip (and Fosco laughs out loud every time he watches it), but the best part may be the way Brak says "Chieftains."

Now that is inspired zaniness. Happy Saint Patrick's Day from Brak, The Chieftains, and Fosco!

Bleed ears, bleed I say!

2009-03-17T05:25:00.000-07:00

After postponing "Music Monday" until today, Fosco is tempted to postpone again (I'm still deep in a paper). But that would lead to a complete breakdown of order. Chaos. Anarchy. Human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together, mass hysteria!

And so, it's what we will call "Muesic Tuesday" here at the FL!

Fosco has already discussed his love of über-wussy music like Sufjan Stevens and Bon Iver. But you know, sometimes Fosco just needs to forget himself and bang his head for a bit--the nihilism of really loud music. And that's where a band like A Place to Bury Strangers comes in.

A Place to Bury Strangers generally produces a consensus in their reviews: the band is loud. As in LOUD. NPR lauds them as "Louder Than The Rest." NME.com notes that the band's 10-inch single actually broke the record presser during production because it was too loud (seriously--follow that link). And Noise Pop happily suggests "A Place to Bury Strangers are the loudest band in New York--and maybe the entire country?"

(The same site helpfully provides the three typical responses of an angry venue owner who has booked this band:
“Get the f*** out of here!”
“I am going to kill you.”
“I've only had to wear earplugs twice in my entire life and both times were tonight.”)

While it goes without saying that Fosco would never be able to handle an APtBS live show, he loves to turn his stereo volume down to reasonable levels to enjoy their music at home. And here's the big secret: the music of APtBS, for all its decibelity, is also surprisingly melodic. Think New Order (and then add a wall of guitar haze). And that may just explain why Fosco likes them so much.

So for your Tuesday listening pleasure, Fosco offers two songs from A Place to Bury Strangers. The first video is actually a real music video from the band. According to the explanatory notes on YouTube:

This innovative video is surely the first trans-continental video shot in an RV on a webcam.

Umm, yeah, so there's that. This is "I Know I'll See You."

The second video is just a song, but it's Fosco's favorite song on their self-titled album. This is "Missing You."

Crank down your speakers and enjoy!

Irish Accents

2009-03-17T00:01:00.000-07:00

It has come to Fosco's attention that today is Saint Patrick's Day. If you want to giggle for a couple of minutes, please enjoy the holiday greeting at the top of the righthand column. It's a tribute to the irrepressible Irish accent by Fosco's own college roommate David Lat, filmed this past weekend at the San Francisco St. Pat parade.

Coming Soon: Soleil Moon Frye's Philosophical Ontology

2009-03-16T05:59:00.000-07:00

Fosco is completely exhausted and maybe a little ill after a weekend of working hard and playing hard. Because he has no energy today (and still some work to finish), he's going to postpone "Music Monday" until tomorrow--at which point it will become "Muesic Tuesday" or something like that.

For your Fosco Lives! pleasure today, I can offer you this brief anecdote. Yesterday (Sunday) afternoon, Fosco decided that he needed a specific academic book immediately for his paper-in-progress. The book is Basic Philosophical Writings by Emmanuel Levinas. The cover looks like this:

Because Fosco was in Daly City at Oz's place, the UCSC library was not a good option. Fosco decided that the most likely bookstore on the entire SF Peninsula to carry this book would be the Stanford bookstore in Palo Alto. Fosco called and reserved the book at said Stanford bookstore (they had it in stock!) and stopped by Palo Alto on the way to visit a friend in Santa Clara. I won't go into details about the difficulty of locating the Stanford bookstore (just know that it was hard).

Once inside the bookstore, Fosco went to retrieve the book from the Information Desk. That's where he had the following conversation:

FOSCO: You're holding a book for me?
MIDDLE-AGED LADY EMPLOYEE: What's your name?
FOSCO: [gives his name]
EMPLOYEE: [fetches book from shelf, glances at the cover.] Emmanuel Lewis?
FOSCO: [assuming that she's making a (pretty clever) joke] Something like that.
EMPLOYEE: [looks at cover again] Oh! Emmanuel Levinas! I read it wrong.
FOSCO: That's okay, I think that's funny. [starts to walk away]
EMPLOYEE: [calling out after Fosco] "Whatchu talkin bout, Willis?"

I think there are numerous lessons that we can learn from this interaction:

A book's cover design is key--splitting the author's name into two separate fonts that point in two separate directions is a recipe for disaster.
People tend to confuse Emmanuel Lewis and Gary Coleman (or, even worse, tend to assimilate Lewis completely to Coleman).
TV's "Webster" lacked the necessary sassy catchphrase that would have made the show memorable twenty years later.

I can already imagine the LOLtheorists pix that some of Fosco's loyal readers will submit... Todd?

Breathtaking

2009-03-15T07:56:00.000-07:00

Fosco loves anything that is both beautiful and unexpected. And so here, for your Sunday pleasure, are some unexpectedly beautiful things.

From the ready-to-wear(!) collection of Junya Watanabe:

See more from this collection here.

Fosco had never heard of Manish Arora until he saw the pictures below. Ummm, wow. Jaw-dropping. Like nothing I've seen before.

You can see more of this collection here.

You may know that Fosco loves houndstooth--LOVES it! Well, then how can he not love the dress on the right from the Fall 09 collection of Alexander McQueen? It's houndstooth undergoing some magical Escher-esque transformation into a flock of birds. It's ravishing, no?

I mean, LOOK at it! Unbelievable.

You can get a better idea of the pattern itself from this (also pretty gorgeous) dress:

You can see more of this collection here. You can read the NYT review of his collection here.

Sincerest thanks to FABULON, where Fosco saw all of these in the first place.

Saturday Story Hour: DF Wallace on Boredom

2009-03-14T05:02:00.000-07:00

Good Morning. Take a seat in the circle. This is "Saturday Story Hour."

Attentive readers may have noticed that Fosco has occasionally taken shots at late author David Foster Wallace. For example, when Fosco tastelessly mocked dead John Updike as America's "Most Overesteemed Writer," he couldn't resist slapping DFW around a little as well:

Updike had held the title of "Most Overesteemed Man in American Letters" since the death of Norman Mailer in 2007. Mailer had held the title for almost twenty years, with a brief hiatus from 1996-1999 when David Foster Wallace held the distinction.

Well, if you like seeing Fosco admit that he's wrong and that he's sorry... well, this will be a good post for you. (Although, of course, Fosco is not wrong about Updike. Nor Mailer.)

Yes, Fosco has begun to revise his opinion of David Foster Wallace, owing mainly to the recent "two-fer" in the New Yorker: an article about Wallace's struggles with writing and depression before his suicide last September and a short story by Wallace culled from his unfinished final novel. Both pieces are worthwhile, I think (I would read the reportage before the story, though).

The profile of Wallace and his difficulties is particularly heart-breaking, especially for someone like Fosco who deals with many of the same types of psychological issues (although, fortunately, in much less public ways). For years, Wallace battled with his antidepressants, including an especially powerful (and old) drug called Nardil. However, in the last year of his life, Wallace began to worry that Nardil was preventing him from finishing his new novel:

For some time, Wallace had come to suspect that the drug was also interfering with his creative evolution. He worried that it muted his emotions, blocking the leap he was trying to make as a writer. He thought that removing the scrim of Nardil might help him see a way out of his creative impasse. Of course, as he recognized even then, maybe the drug wasn’t the problem; maybe he simply was distant, or maybe boredom was too hard a subject. He wondered if the novel was the right medium for what he was trying to say, and worried that he had lost the passion necessary to complete it.

That summer, Wallace went off the antidepressant. He hoped to be as drug free as [one of his characters] Don Gately, and as calm. Wallace would finish [his novel] with a clean brain. He entered this new period of life with what [friend and fellow author Jonathan] Franzen calls “a sense of optimism and a sense of terrible fear.” He hoped to be a different person and a different writer. “That’s what created the tension,” Franzen recalls. “And he didn’t make it.”

I find this to be an absolutely wrenching irony--the possibility that the drug that is keeping one alive is also the cause of one's inability to do the work that one lives for. This is actually a pretty typical irony of antidepressants for many people, as some of these drugs manage to produce everyday well-being at the cost of other types of pleasure (sexual, alcohol-related, etc.); however, in Wallace's case, it seems to have been elevated to the level of tragedy.

You probably know Wallace from his blockbuster novel Infinite Jest. Fosco has never been a fan of this novel. Despite Fosco's love for Thomas Pynchon and Don DeLillo, Fosco found Infinite Jest too self-consciously "postmodern" and alternately too ironic then earnest; beyond this, Fosco always resented how the novel became a po-mo status symbol for (almost always male) hipsters who had only read one book (if that) in the entire decade of the 1990s. And thus, in Fosco's estimation, DFW became the most overesteemed American writer for a number of years.

But while Fosco still hasn't come around on Infinite Jest, he was surprised to learn that Wallace himself had developed serious reservations about the book. These reservations, even at the time of his writing that novel, were stylistic:

The sadness over Wallace’s death was also connected to a feeling that, for all his outpouring of words, he died with his work incomplete. Wallace, at least, never felt that he had hit his target. His goal had been to show readers how to live a fulfilled, meaningful life. “Fiction’s about what it is to be a fucking human being,” he once said. Good writing should help readers to “become less alone inside.” Wallace’s desire to write “morally passionate, passionately moral fiction,” as he put it in a 1996 essay on Dostoyevsky, presented him with a number of problems. For one thing, he did not feel comfortable with any of the dominant literary styles. He could not be a realist. The approach was “too familiar and anesthetic,” he once explained. Anything comforting put him on guard. “It seems important to find ways of reminding ourselves that most ‘familiarity’ is meditated and delusive,” he said in a long 1991 interview with Larry McCaffery, an English professor at San Diego State. The default for Wallace would have been irony—the prevailing tone of his generation. But, as Wallace saw it, irony could critique but it couldn’t nourish or redeem. He told McCaffery, “Look, man, we’d probably most of us agree that these are dark times, and stupid ones, but do we need fiction that does nothing but dramatize how dark and stupid everything is?”

So Wallace’s project required him to invent a language and a stance of his own. “I want to author things that both restructure worlds and make living people feel stuff,” he wrote to his editor Michael Pietsch while he was working on his second novel, “Infinite Jest,” which Little, Brown published in 1996.

After Infinite Jest, Wallace became even more convinced that he had not hit on a style that could sustain his deepest concerns. As the New Yorker piece notes:

Wallace was trying to write differently, but the path was not evident to him. “I think he didn’t want to do the old tricks people expected of him,” Karen Green, his wife, says. “But he had no idea what the new tricks would be.” The problem went beyond technique. The central issue for Wallace remained, as he told McCaffery, how to give “CPR to those elements of what’s human and magical that still live and glow despite the times’ darkness.” He added, “Really good fiction could have as dark a worldview as it wished, but it’d find a way both to depict this world and to illuminate the possibilities for being alive and human in it.”

Personally, I find Wallace's ideas about the purposes of fiction to be extremely moving. It is clear that Wallace recognized that Infinite Jest, despite it's popularity, had missed the mark of providing an affirmation of life.

The question then becomes: did Wallace succeed in his final (unfinished) novel? We may have a hint soon enough, as The Pale King manuscript will be published next year. Until then, we can read this excerpt that Wallace published in the New Yorker. The story (and the novel) focuses on the experience of boredom (a deeply philosophical state) among employees at the Internal Revenue Service. To be honest, Fosco is not quite sure how he feels about this story yet. Wallace's style is definitely refined here. And he is masterful at actually evoking the condition of boredom. But what is the "payoff" of this story? I'll be curious to see what you may think of it.

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Sweet, sweet honey

2009-03-13T08:04:00.000-07:00

Posting will be a little light for the next few days, as Fosco deals with a confluence of work (paper draft due) and play (a visit from David!). Even so, today remains "Foodie Friday."

Good news for New York City Filipinos: Jollibee is in town! Buzz, buzz!

For all you white readers, Jollibee is a Filipino fast-food chain, occasionally described as the "Filipino McDonalds." Fosco has been told that Jollibee franchises are on almost every corner in Manila. There are also a number of locations in California. And now, finally, there is one in Queens, as reviewed by the New York Times.

Two summers ago, a branch opened in San Francisco and Fosco and Oz went to try it. Full disclosure: Oz is Filipino, Fosco is white--neither of us had tried Jollibee before.

The Jollibee menu is a bit odd (and not exactly "familiar to anyone who’s passed under the golden arches" as the Times review claims). There are basically four main types of food you can get at Jollibee:

burgers (called "Yumburgers")
fried chicken (called "ChickenJoy")
hot dog spaghetti in a sweet sauce (called "Spaghetti")
palabok, intriguingly called "Palabok Fiesta."

You can see a sample of the San Francisco menu below:

When Fosco and Oz went, the place was pretty crowded: Fosco had never seen so many Filipinos in San Francisco (apparently they all hang out at Jollibee). Because Oz is completely uninterested in Filipino food, he ordered a burger. Because Fosco is a well-meaning white man who wants to experience authentic cultural difference, he ordered the Palabok Fiesta. When we sat down, Fosco noticed that the only other white person in the restaurant was also eating the Palabok; all of the Filipinos were eating the ChickenJoy, natch.

And how was the food? Well, the burgers were bad. The Palabok was fine, but nothing I would rush to order again. Here's what it looked like:

Months later, Oz's Aunt M explained to us that the only good thing on the menu is the ChickenJoy. We should have known.

In conclusion, probably the best thing about Jollibee is its mascot. But look out, the mascots have been known to swarm!

Save me, BeeMaster!

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Postcard from the Edge

2009-03-12T12:54:00.000-07:00

Mainly out of some vestigial attachment to his birth region, Fosco has found himself covering the complete economic collapse of Elkhart, Indiana (former RV capital of the world!). Thanks to the BeeMaster and his Consort, Fosco has a bit of good news to share:

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

The BeeMaster and his Queen are actually involved with the church and organization that are behind this plan and Fosco says "Kudos." Of course, Fosco tends to believe that government ought to be responsible for preventing people from starving; however, in the absence of a responsive government, this type of organized charity is life-saving. This is truly good work and I am thankful for it.

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The Iceland Saga, Part Two

2009-03-12T04:30:00.000-07:00

This is part two of a lengthy post on the Icelandic economic crisis. You can read Part 1 here.

In the previous post on Iceland's financial collapse, Fosco took you on a whirlwind tour of numerous different sites and sources. In this post, Fosco wants to concentrate on two in-depth sources: this recent New Yorker profile of the Icelandic crisis by Ian Parker (frustratingly, only available to subscribers) and Michael Lewis's forthcoming piece in Vanity Fair.

When we last checked in on our frozen heroes, Iceland's culture and economy were in a sort of stasis. So what happens now? As Parker notes, this is what no one knows:

the question asked by any visitor was also being asked by Icelanders themselves: When a wealthy, First World country--publicly funded medicine, private jets, evenings of chamber music--experiences a catastrophe that shocks its neighbors and brings the International Monetary Fund to its aid, what happens next? How does ruin turn out?

Worryingly, we still don't know the answer. However, as Parker points out near the end of the article, there may be some measure of acceptance: ruin may not be as bad as everyone feared.

In a society with national health care, low energy costs, and little real poverty [read: a society completely unlike the US], some Icelanders--even those with monstrous new debts--allowed themselves the luxury of a slow exhalation. The opposite of prosperity is not extinction. [...] Many Icelanders seemed encouraged by thoughts of a more austere, domestic, and less self-consciously potent national reputation. There was some talk of knitting.

That's the good news. And I think, as good news goes, that it's actually pretty okay. Knitting is a somewhat reasonable activity. Cultural austerity is acceptable. Of course, things will be much worse if/when this happens in the US.

But now that we know that Fosco's beloved everyday Icelanders are probably going to be okay, maybe we should take a little time to blame the people who got Iceland into this mess. A good portion of both Parker's piece and Lewis's piece is a fascinating exposition of the roots of the Icelandic crisis.

Apparently, sometime after Fosco's last visit to the island (in the late 1990s), the government decided to cast aside the traditional model of Scandinavian socialism in favor of neoliberal economic "reform" (are you noticing a familiar villain lately?). The government privatized the banks, the phone company, and the fish-processing plants. Naturally, these newly private institutions were snapped up by members of the political ruling class. What remained of public institutions (like the Icelandic Central Bank) were de-regulated.

The Prime Minister who oversaw almost all of this neoliberalizing was Davíð Oddsson. Interestingly enough, after serving as Prime Minister, Oddsson got himself appointed as the chairman of the board of governors of Iceland's Central Bank. As Parker dryly notes, this was "an unimaginable move in almost any other political system." When Lewis tells it, this is an even stranger occurrence:

At length, weary of prime-ministering, [Oddsson] got himself appointed governor of the Central Bank—even though he was a poet without banking experience.

After the collapse he holed up in his office inside the bank, declining all requests for interviews. Senior government officials tell me, seriously, that they assume he spends most of his time writing poetry. (In February he would be asked by a new government to leave.)

And we thought GW Bush was disengaged!

But for a while, Oddsson's plan seemed to be working. He and his cronies were able to make lots and lots of money. As Parker notes:

the three main Icelandic banks--Kaupthing, Landsbandki, and Glitnir--and many of the businesses associated with them were leveraging themselves internationally. The distinction between these banks and their corporate clients is blurry: at the heart of Iceland's adventure was a small group of men and a fair amount of interconnectedness; and it's tempting, if not entirely just, to think of them as partners in a single giant national hedge fund.

And suddenly, Iceland--a country that was essentially classless due to socialism--suddenly developed a class of super-rich billionaires. This was a very good time for a lot of Icelanders, a period that Parker calls the "giddy years of growth":

an era now remembered for Range Rover traffic jams, and private parties featuring Elton John. Valgeir Valdimarsson, who until recently worked for the airline Iceland Express, compared it to the "dream season" on "Dallas." He said, "People were thinking, Wow, we're one of the richest countries in the world. They they woke up."
[...]
Many Icelanders viewed all this with bemusement. "In most cases, people were quite proud of what was happening," Andri Snaer Magnason, a leading Icelandic writer, said. [...] "But we didn't really understand it. A guy running twenty stores in Iceland suddenly had bought half the high street in London?"

It all sounds like great fun, of course. But you know what happens to leverage, right? Eventually you may have to put up some cash. As Parker explains:

In 2007, at the start of the global credit crunch, the Icelandic banks were not weighed down by weird securitized assets, but they were big--many would say irresponsibly so--and Iceland was tiny. The country had one of the smallest freely floating currencies in the world, and, before the crash, the banks had outgrown the national economy by at least nine hundred percent. (In 2007, the equivalent figure in America was eighty-one per cent.)

Ouch. I don't know a lot about finance, but I'm pretty sure that's a bad thing.

Lewis tells the story relying on different "highlights," concentrating on how these banks essentially borrowed more money than it could ever be possible to pay back:

In 2003, Iceland’s three biggest banks had assets of only a few billion dollars, about 100 percent of its gross domestic product. Over the next three and a half years they grew to over $140 billion and were so much greater than Iceland’s G.D.P. that it made no sense to calculate the percentage of it they accounted for. It was, as one economist put it to me, “the most rapid expansion of a banking system in the history of mankind.”

At the same time, in part because the banks were also lending Icelanders money to buy stocks and real estate, the value of Icelandic stocks and real estate went through the roof. From 2003 to 2007, while the U.S. stock market was doubling, the Icelandic stock market multiplied by nine times. Reykjavík real-estate prices tripled. By 2006 the average Icelandic family was three times as wealthy as it had been in 2003, and virtually all of this new wealth was one way or another tied to the new investment-banking industry.

In the end, Icelanders amassed debts amounting to 850 percent of their G.D.P. (The debt-drowned United States has reached just 350 percent.) As absurdly big and important as Wall Street became in the U.S. economy, it never grew so large that the rest of the population could not, in a pinch, bail it out. Any one of the three Icelandic banks suffered losses too large for the nation to bear; taken together they were so ridiculously out of proportion that, within weeks of the collapse, a third of the population told pollsters that they were considering emigration.

And lest you think that this growth was based on extremely complicated transactions that seemed like good ideas at the time, consider this description of Icelandic banking as reported to Lewis:

Yet another hedge-fund manager explained Icelandic banking to me this way: You have a dog, and I have a cat. We agree that they are each worth a billion dollars. You sell me the dog for a billion, and I sell you the cat for a billion. Now we are no longer pet owners, but Icelandic banks, with a billion dollars in new assets.

Holy crap, that's insane (especially since everyone knows that dogs are intrinsically worth more than cats). And how was it possible for them to get away with it? Well, it helped that the ruling Independence Party (Oddsson's party) was not just in favor of deregulation, but also (apparently) completely incompetent:

There’s a charming lack of financial experience in Icelandic financial-policymaking circles. The minister for business affairs is a philosopher. The finance minister is a veterinarian. The Central Bank governor is a poet. Haarde [the former Prime Minister], though, is a trained economist—just not a very good one. The economics department at the University of Iceland has him pegged as a B-minus student. As a group, the Independence Party’s leaders have a reputation for not knowing much about finance and for refusing to avail themselves of experts who do.

Now that part, at least, is starting to sound very familiar to these post-GWB ears.

And it's in speaking of GWB that Fosco has saved the best titbits for last (just like Vanessa Williams). It may be said that behind every GW Bush there is always a Karl Rove. Well, I think it's time for you to meet Oddsson's Icelandic Rove. Hint: he's psychotic! Parker describes him:

When Iceland changed, one prominent figure was a libertarian professor of political philosophy at the University of Iceland named Hannes Hólmsteinn Gissurarson--a free-market intellectual. "In a sense, I was one of the authors of this adventure," he said in Reykjavik, in December.
[...]
I had learned that Gissurarson--whose blog takes you in one click to Edith Piaf singing "Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien"--was widely distrusted in Reykjavik.
[...]
In 2001, Gissurarson published "How Can Iceland Become the Richest Country in the World?," entertaining the idea that Iceland could build an offshore financial economy akin to that of the Channel Islands. Margaret Thatcher is one of his great heroes.

And if you think this guy is an asshole, just wait--it gets even better. This is perhaps one of the most damning conclusions to an article that Fosco has ever read. And the best part, is that Gissurarson does all of Parker's work for him:

In B5, the empty and fashionable bar, Hannes Gissurarson, the author of "How Can Iceland Become the Richest Country in the World?," had said, "Ten to fifteen guys overreached themselves, they were out of control. But that is not the cause of the collapse." The primary causes, in Gissurarson's opinion, were the international credit crunch, the treachery of Gordon Brown--the "schoolyard bully"--and the failure of the European Central Bank to show Iceland support.

He also said, as if the thought were occurring to him for the first time, that it may be that "some of us are to blame indirectly, because we created a climate in which the entrepreneur was applauded. The businessmean, the guy who takes over companies, asset-stripping--he was a hero in Icelandic folklore that was created by some of us who strongly supported the free market." He went on, "Indirectly, I take some blame for it, but, if you think about it, it's not my fault. It's the fault of the left-wing intellectuals, who should have been giving a counter-view!" He added, "You can't blame people for their successes--you have to blame those who fail. We were too successful with the free-market philosophy."

[...]

Had it suited Iceland to be rich? "Very much so," Gissurarson said. "It was a hell of a good ride. Yes, it was."

Wait. Let's just re-read one of those sentences again. In fact, let's put it in bold:

"Indirectly, I take some blame for it, but, if you think about it, it's not my fault. It's the fault of the left-wing intellectuals, who should have been giving a counter-view!"

I think I can speak for almost all Icelanders (and for any Fosco Lives! readers who have made it this far) when I say: "Fuck you." Fuck. You.

Some recommendations in contemporary Icelandic literature, including works by Nobel-winner Halldór Laxness (plus one travel guide):

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When the Go-Gos Ruled the World

2009-03-11T11:58:00.000-07:00

Some more recent news from around the world: as reported by the BBC, the military coup in Fiji will not be holding elections.

This is a very depressing story, of course; however, Fosco can't really get past the fact that the coup leader's name is essentially Bananarama. Yes, that's right: Fiji is being ruled by Commodore Frank Bananarama. It's almost like we're living in a Pynchon novel. Also, I would recommend that the elected government of Singapore keep an eye on General Wilson Phillips. Just saying.

As for Fiji's future, I heard a rumour that this will be a cruel summer. However, several international celebrities have already spoken out in opposition to the coup, including Venus Williams. Additional celebrity support is imminent, although I've heard that Robert De Niro's Waiting.

Hey, if you ever wondered how the lyrics to "Venus" would be subtitled in Portuguese, well, you're in luck:

Por favor, divirta-se!

The Iceland Saga, Part One

2009-03-11T05:36:00.000-07:00

The first part of a two-part post on the Icelandic economic crisis.

Fosco has mentioned before that he loves Iceland immoderately. He and his college roommate lboom went to Iceland twice in the late 1990s and fell in love with the place. So much so that Fosco has fantasies about living the rest of his life in coolest city in the world, Reykjavík. That way, he could spend at least one day a week submerged in the coolest spa in the world: the Bláa lónið (aka the Blue Lagoon. No, not that one).

Sadly, you've probably heard that things in Iceland aren't very stress-free as of late. As Fosco noted last fall, Iceland's entire banking system has collapsed. Fosco is actually surprised that this story hasn't received more press attention so far. After all, the media usually loves disasters when they happen to white people (and Icelanders are indeed quite white--almost transparent, actually). Maybe the Icelandic crisis just can't compete with our own American crisis (although Iceland's in a lot more trouble); or perhaps no one wants to suggest that what could happen in Iceland could perhaps happen elsewhere (like here).

Whatever the reason, Fosco is here to fill in the blanks. This is what you need to know about the Icelandic financial crisis.

One thing about Icelanders: they are a generally a practical and reasonable people. During the immediate aftermath of their economic collapse, foreign reporters had a hard time finding much of a "human story," owing to a general lack of hysteria. This piece from The Daily Beast found one major difference: "No One's Eating Pie Anymore." Hmmm. What could that mean?

In some ways, Icelanders are a lot like Americans. They look like they’re from Portland, Maine. I attended a party here and the host cooked three pies: apple, pumpkin and pecan – then we all sat around and watched the U.S. presidential debate. To say that these people are more dedicated to U.S. politics than Americans is an understatement.
[...]
Until food and supplies run out, the country remains in the quiet before the storm. During the first week, the main shopping street was jammed with cars filled with families driving slowly, aimlessly. They didn’t know what to do. The restaurants were empty. The only rejoicing to be found was in expat hangouts, where dollars, recently worth 70 krona, were suddenly worth 150.

Part of the reason for the lack of despair, the article notes, is that Icelanders aren't terrified by the possibility of poverty:

It’s only as the long slow slide continues that Icelanders will make it very clear that they’re not like Americans. Americans don’t know how to be poor. Witness the millions of us who live totally on credit, and the fact that we have no idea how to sustain ourselves. We make reality TV shows about our attempts at hunting and survival, while Iceland was still a poor farming country just twenty years ago. There’s an old guy in Reykjavik who grew up in a nearby cave. Yeah, caveman. They may look like us and talk like us, but they can also do stuff like farm and knit and fish. The editor of one of the two major newspapers here told me, “I’ve always assumed that if my editing or music career doesn’t work, I can always gut fish.” It was his teenage job.

Maybe Americans could learn that kind of equanimity... but I'm not holding my breath.

Of course, that doesn't mean that some Icelanders weren't angry. Take pixie chanteuse Björk, for example. Right after the collapse, Björk wrote an editorial noting that the Icelandic government was planning to use the economic crisis as an opportunity to grant aluminum rights to environmental rapists like Alcoa and Rio Tinto, rights that would cause a great deal of environmental damage to Iceland. As Björk notes:

Usually I don't notice politics. I live happily in the land of music-making. But I got caught up in it because politicians seem bent on ruining Iceland's natural environment. And I read last week that, because of the crisis, a number of Icelandic MPs are lobbying for the environmental assessment to be ignored so that the dams can be built as quickly as possible to give Alcoa and Rio Tinto the energy they need for the two new smelters.

Yes, the "I don't notice politics" line is annoying as hell; but she's exactly right about the rest of it. It may be an economic collapse for the Icelandic people, but it looks like it's Christmas for Alcoa! Whee!

So things were looking pretty bad last fall; and then know what made them worse? Gordon Brown. As in Prime Minister of Great Britain. You see, before the collapse, because Iceland's banks were crooked and incompetent, they were returning a great rate of interest. Consequently, many British municipalities, pensions, charities, etc. decided to invest their money in Icelandic accounts. When the banks failed and were seized, those assets were frozen. This angered Britons and their Government responded: by seizing all Icelandic assets in Great Britain under the legal authority of anti-terrorism laws. Yoink! Being treated like terrorists rankled Icelanders apparently. As this article noted, law-abiding residents of Iceland were a tad angry about being compared to terrorists:

"Ordinary Icelanders are no more responsible for the risk-seeking businessmen who happen to hold our passport than the people of north London are responsible for the destructive behaviour of the talented Amy Winehouse," said Icelandic professor Eirikur Bergmann Einarsson in the Guardian.

Well-played, Professor Einarsson.

But Icelanders are both resourceful and witty. As this piece notes, Icelanders responded by creating photographic postcards to send to Gordon Brown, informing him that they are not terrorists. Here's one of the cuter examples (and no, I don't know why they call him "Darling"--isn't Iceland grand?):

(And yes, every living person in Iceland--of any age--is extraordinarily beautiful.) There are now tens of thousands of these photographs; you can browse them here.

So let's fast-forward our narrative to January of 2009. Suddenly, Icelanders started to get a little more restless. Protests started to get big. And nasty. Well, just a little nasty (this is still Iceland). HuffPo's Iceland correspondent even noted that "Iceland Is Burning" (which seems to have been a slight exaggeration, although something does appear to have been on fire in one of the accompanying photos--probably just briefly). Heartbreakingly, blogger Iris Erlingsdottir made this plea for help:

Over the past eight years, America ceased being the City on the Hill, shining its light to the rest of the world. America and Britain closed the NATO air base in Iceland, and have made no offer to help Iceland in its time of trouble. We need help, not only to break down the old power structure, rotten to the core, but also to prevent it from being rebuilt. We desperately need stability, economic assistance, impartial advice, and fair supervision.

Barack Obama, a nation turns its lonely eyes to you. Please!

Clearly, Obama has other priorities, Iris. Could we interest you in a (slightly-used) Dick Cheney?

Sure enough, days later the Icelandic Government collapsed and a caretaker coalition took over (crazy Parliamentary system!) until new elections can be held. The new Icelandic Prime Minister is Jóhanna Sigurðardóttir, the first woman Prime Minister in Icelandic history and the first openly gay world leader (although there are still those pesky rumors about Stephen "Mr. Gropey" Harper). You've got to hand it to Iceland: even when their country is on the verge of dissolution, they manage to elect an elegant lesbian GILF as Prime Minister! Now that is style.

So where does that leave Iceland? Well, in some kind of stasis, it seems. The evil Balrogs of the IMF have shown up and have provided a loan and a plan to stabilize the economy (read: will make Icelanders pay for generations for the sins of a few ultra-capitalist robber barons). The banks are still frozen. No one has any money. Unemployment is up. Elections are still over a month away.

Fosco gets a daily dose of Icelandic news (thanks to a recommendation from his pal M-Life) from this site: Icelandic News in English. It's sad, of course--especially the description of the site itself:

Here you will find Icelandic news translated to English. I lost my job at the end of October as a result of the depression so, for now, I consider my job to be translating Icelandic news for those of you who are interested in this crisis that is shaking the very foundations of the Icelandic society.

Once again, we have to admire the Icelandic spirit. Unfortunately, the translations provided are not always so good (for one thing, newspaper articles never provide enough context for a foreign audience). And, for another thing, I think the translator's command of English is a bit imperfect (although much better than Fosco's command of Icelandic, natch). Here's a great line from an obituary of an Icelander who taught in the US:

He was a teacher of literature and penmanship at the Southwest Minnesota state university for the past 27 years.

I'm going to go out on a limb and say that he probably taught "writing." Of course, when Fosco laughs at a translation mishap like this, he's mostly just laughing to drive away the tears. Poor Iceland!

You can read Part 2 here.

Icelandic literary recommendations. The Icelandic Sagas (written in the 10th and 11th centuries) are a great treasure of world literature. They are also surprisingly readable and interesting. Some recommended collections/editions:

Click through to purchase.

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Who wants to go to Cornell?

2009-03-10T14:38:00.000-07:00

Like any good progressive, Fosco loves Keith Olbermann and loathes skeletal oddity Ann Coulter. And even though nine times out of eight, Coulter is best ignored, an Olbermann-Coulter argument could well be entertaining. Of course, in an actual fight I would put my money on Olbermann, because he's a big tall guy. Although, come to think of it, Coulter is also a big tall guy.

However, this Olbermann-Coulter skirmish isn't so interesting. As reported by HuffPo:

Ann Coulter and Keith Olbermann are engaged in a bizarre but real feud over their alma mater, Cornell University.

Earlier this week, Coulter wrote a column trashing Olbermann and alleging that he didn't attend "the real Cornell" because he went to one of the University's state schools, the College of Agriculture and Life Sciences (known as the Ag School).

Coulter wrote that Olbermann "is constantly lying about his nonexistent 'Ivy League' education" despite the fact that he "didn't go to the Ivy League Cornell; he went to the Old MacDonald Cornell."

Of course, what's strange here is that anyone would be fighting to claim a Cornell degree. Fosco tends to think a Cornell B.A. is a lot like a nutmeg grater: it possibly could be useful someday, but it's never something you would brag about. Really, Ann and Keith: can't you both just agree that neither of you has a good degree and get on with things?

But, if we're really going to be picky, it seems that Keith is probably more correct here: Cornell is indeed (for now) an Ivy League school, whether you attend the private part or the state-funded part, whether you study philosophy or hotel and restaurant management. Besides, it's not like either Keith or Ann is in a business where an Ivy League degree matters much: Keith is essentially a political sportscaster and Ann is, ummm... some kind of clown?

You know what could bring Keith and Ann together? The one thing that all Cornellians could be proud of (if Ivy League sports were something to be proud of): a kickass basketball team.

[N.B., Fosco is actually not as much of a dick as he seems in this post. There is a long tradition of this kind of faux snobbery between the Ivy League schools and their students/alumni. It's just a rivalry thing--don't take it too seriously.]

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LOLtheorists Returns!

2009-03-10T12:19:00.000-07:00

Sunday night (well, actually Monday morning), Fosco took this late-night study break while reading French philosopher Jean-Luc Nancy. See, the joke is that J-L Nancy's surname is easy to confuse (in English) with the dwarven heroine Nancy in the eponymous comic strip. After all, Fosco is using a lot of J-L Nancy in his academic work; and at the same time, the classic comic strip "Nancy" is always worth a read:

Both Nancys are good reads, although whether "Nancy" or J-L Nancy is more incomprehensible is an open question (especially considering the above strip).

Well, it seems that all of this "fun with Nancy" inspired the inimitable Todd to perform a resurrection of Fosco's once-popular feature, LOLtheorists. Here is Todd's laugh-out-loud depiction of Jean-Luc Nancy as an LOLtheorist:

Well done, Todd. I love it.

If you care to read Jean-Luc Nancy, there are two of his works that are aimed at the general reader and that offer reasonably accessible descriptions of Nancy's project of "The Deconstruction of Christianity." You could purchase them here:

Postcards from the End of Capitalism

2009-03-10T04:14:00.000-07:00

Fosco doesn't like to write about our ongoing economic collapse. For one thing, it's hella depressing. For another thing, Fosco is no economist and he truly believes that, with the exception of maybe thirty or forty people in this country (including David Harvey), no one else knows what they're talking about when it comes to the economics of this mess. And so it's probably better for all of the know-nothings (Fosco included) to shut up and cede the field to people who know something.

But that doesn't mean that there aren't occasionally stories that need to be told. Nor does that mean that stupid ideas shouldn't be mocked. And so, Fosco brings you a roundup of several notable stories from the last week or so of economic melting...

Just in case you thought the global economic troubles were only affecting rich people (and you would be thinking that... why?), allow this BBC article to reassure you that the poor are getting theirs too. See:
In a new report, the IMF says poor countries face greater exposure to the current crisis because they are more integrated into the international economy than they used to be.

They are likely to feel the impact through a downturn in trade and falls in foreign investment and remittances - money sent home by people working abroad, the fund adds.

The report says more than 20 countries, half of them in Sub-Saharan Africa, are particularly vulnerable.
I don't know why this is a surprise to anyone. Either way, it's more bad news for the global poor.
Speaking of global collapse, things aren't too rosy in Ireland, either. Hey, remember when Walnuts McCain touted all the magically delicious Irish corporate tax policy? I'm not sure that's working too well, right now.

Like most other wealthy Western nations, Ireland is in money trouble. And they're raising taxes and cutting spending (as a government must do in this situation). But, unlike the US, Ireland has decided to raise taxes and cut pay for all citizens. As you may expect, this is creating a wave of populist anger:
The government is simultaneously raiding the National Pensions Reserve Fund for euro7 billion ($8.8 billion) to support the country's two biggest banks and has taken over a scandal-stricken third, Anglo Irish, after its directors were discovered hiding their own loans and losses.

More than 100,000 workers marched last month on the parliament to demand that the nation's tax-exile elite — and even its billionaire rock icons, U2 — be forced to pay far more to keep their country from drowning in red ink.

Unions representing 700,000 workers in this country of 4 million are balloting members to strike, among them the Irish Nursing Organization. It argues that the government should be seizing the assets of bankers and property developers who helped bring one of Europe's most vibrant economies to its knees, not squeezing life-and-death services.
Fosco is certainly on board with punitive seizure of the assets of the crooks who fucked everything up. But, even more so, Fosco loves the idea of taxing the hell out of U2--mainly because of their terrible new CD.
I'm sure the whole Madoff saga could be sadder: it could still be revealed that his primary investors included a litter of terminally ill puppies. But, in the absence of dying baby animals, this might be the next saddest thing. You know Holocaust survivor and Nobel Peace Prize-winner Elie Wiesel? Well, Madoff stole his money. And not just his money, but the entire endowment of Wiesel's foundation--a foundation with the mission "to combat indifference, intolerance and injustice through international dialogue and youth-focused programs that promote acceptance, understanding and equality." As this article notes:
He said the Elie Wiesel Foundation for Humanity had $15.2 million under management with Bernard L. Madoff Investment Securities, substantially all of its assets. Wiesel said he and his wife also lost personal investments, but he did not disclose the amount.
And now, the eighty-year-old Wiesel is faced with a nasty moral dilemma in the twilight of his life: how to respond to someone like Madoff? Well, as far as Fosco is concerned, Wiesel has made the right choice: refusing forgiveness.
"Could I forgive him? No," Wiesel said during a discussion, "Madoff and the Meltdown," hosted by Conde Nast Portfolio magazine. "First of all, it would mean he would come on his knees and ask for forgiveness. He wouldn't do that."
Even if he did, I hope Wiesel could find it in his heart to refuse forgiveness.
And this is where things start to take a turn toward the ridiculous. You know how greed, lack of regulation, and laissez-faire capitalism may be just a little bit to blame for our current troubles? So naturally the Bible of that brand of capitalism, Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged, is more popular than it has been in years. Wait. What?

Gawker is flummoxed by this development, wondering how such "libertarian porn" could seem relevant right now. HuffPo weighs in on the broader question of a revival of Randism, noting that the Right has decided to "double down" on Rand's deluded fantasies in opposition to tax increases on the super-rich. Somehow, I don't really see this working very well.

However, in fairness to the book, Atlas Shrugged does have a nice art deco cover--which should please the BeeMaster.
If Ayn Rand is to be believed, we should be genuflecting to the Masters of Capitalism, because they're all better than the rest of us. They're smarter, more vigorous, more heroic. Clearly, she means the CEOs of our major US banks (among others). Clearly then, we should be paying rapt attention to these people, hoping for nuggets of their wisdom.

Luckily, stories like this can help us to understand the minds of these Gods on Earth. You may want to take notes as former Bear Stearns CEO Jimmy Cayne shares with us his informed and insightful opinion about Treasury Secretary Timothy Geithner:
"This guy thinks he's got a big d--. He's got nothing, except maybe a boyfriend."
Charming. Classy. Stop: you're both right!

Wait, have we been trusting our entire American financial system to a bunch of foul-mouthed frat boys? This guy is one of Wall Street's "best and brightest"? No wonder our economy is fucked: trillions of dollars of wealth evaporates and this guy wants to have a dick-measuring contest?

I think this bodes badly. In his doomsayer blog Clusterfuck Nation, professional pessimist James Howard Kunstler has been wondering how much time we have
before the public simply goes apeshit and starts burning down Greenwich, Connecticut.
All I know is that people like Jimmy Cayne make me want to grab my torch and sharpen my pitchfork.

Books mentioned in this post can be purchased:

Merry Melodies

2009-03-09T15:08:00.000-07:00

One final note on "Music Monday"

Suzanne Vega had this meditation in the Times last week on the function of melody. Fosco has only ever listened to two songs by Suzanne Vega ("Luka" and "Tom's Diner"), but even based on those two songs, I think she's qualified to talk about melody. (But is she qualified to talk about non-annoying melody? That's a thornier question.)

Melody is interesting, although Vega's piece is not. Her essential point is that a good melody is not necessary to make a good song, but that a good melody can certainly make a good song. Profound? Not quite. All you need to do is think of the delights of "Love Shack" (not much melody) and "Mandy" (lots of melody) and you've gotten the point.

More interesting is Vega's list of her favorite melodies:

Some of my favorite melodies are: “You Took Advantage of Me” (Rodgers and Hart); “Birdhouse in Your Soul” (They Might Be Giants); “Almost Blue” (Elvis Costello); “The Art Teacher” (Rufus Wainwright); Mozart’s 40th Symphony; many songs by Laura Nyro. Sting’s melodies like “Roxanne” and “King of Pain” are elegant jewels. The Jason Mraz song “I’m Yours” is a good melody. “Isn’t She Lovely” by Stevie Wonder still fills me with joy.

I certainly have to agree with "Birdhouse in Your Soul," even though it's not one that would have immediately occurred to me. Good call, Suzanne. As for the others... I'm not quite sure that "Roxanne" works for me as a melody. I much prefer Jason Mraz's "The Remedy" to "I'm Yours." And Mozart's "Jupiter" Symphony? How cliche!

Some other catchy melodies that come immediately to mind:

ABBA, "Lay All Your Love on Me."
David Bowie, "Life on Mars?"
Weezer, "El Scorcho."
Roy Orbison, "In Dreams."
Sun Kil Moon, "Ocean Breathes Salty."
lots of Death Cab for Cutie songs.
almost anything by Owl City, but maybe especially that Christmas Song.
the main theme of the fourth movement of Brahms Symphony 1.

Actually, in college one of my friends used to sing these words to that melody from Brahms 1: "The sandwich that Plato found worthy of every comment / was bacon, tomato, and slices of avocado." Try it--once you do it a few times, you'll never be able to hear the melody without those words (which is not a good thing, I guess). I have no idea where this came from (I tried Googling it to no avail).

College Radio

2009-03-09T12:23:00.000-07:00

"Music Monday" turns out to be a good place for embarrassing confessions.

Fosco had a fit of nostalgia the other night (conveniently, during a fit of insomnia). He was thinking back to his college years and the music that he and his roommates used to listen to. It turns out he has very vivid memory images of certain songs/albums that are associated with very specific years of college. So, as an exercise in self-archaeology, Fosco has attempted to identify the albums that provided the soundtrack for each of his years in college.

Freshman Year:

10,000 Maniacs, Our Time in Eden: "These Are Days" was the song of autumn 1992.
Peter Gabriel, Us

Sophomore Year:

The Cranberries, Everybody Else Is Doing It, So Why Can't We?: Remember when people liked this album?
Pet Shop Boys, Very
Ace of Base, The Sign: this may be the most embarrassing admission of all. If it helps any, I blame most of this on Dr. Steve.
Sarah McLachlan, Fumbling Towards Ecstasy. I haven't listened to this in a long time--I should dig it out.

Junior Year:

Liz Phair, Whip-Smart: did I mention Fosco got a little cooler that year? But just a little.
Toad the Wet Sprocket, Dulcinea
Weezer, "The Blue Album"
REM, Monster

Senior Year:

Alanis Morissette, Jagged Little Pill: In all honesty, I can't think of any other album that I associate with senior year of college. Realistically, this was probably the only album being played at Harvard that entire year. Yes, that's pathetic--I get it.

I think one conclusion we can draw here is that Fosco and his roommates were complete tools, even with the exception of several really good albums from Junior Year. Which just goes to show that, for all of the credit college students get for listening to hip and obscure music, lots of college students have musical tastes lodged solidly in the mainstream.

In related news, the other day Mashuptown.com suggested that its readers should

find an album that you haven't listened to in years and refresh yourself with why you loved it in the first place. At the very least it might resurrect some good memories--really, what have you got to lose?

You know what? I'm going to listen to Whip-Smart right now.

Two Odd Songs

2009-03-09T04:50:00.000-07:00

It's music, music... Music! "Music Monday," that is.

I don't know quite how to feel about singer-songwriter M. Ward. On the one hand, he writes occasionally appealing and melodic songs. On the other hand, he often sings them with Zooey Deschanel (shudder). Fosco has been testing his new album Hold Time recently, but can't quite get into most of it.

However, there is this pretty remarkable mid-tempo love song "Never Had Nobody Like You," which is built over the percussion track from Gary Glitter's Rock and Roll (Part Two). Take a listen: it's a strange experience, but not unsatisfying.

Duh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuch. Hey!

Have you ever come across a song in your iTunes library and had no recollection of how it got there? I found one just the other day. I don't think I purchased it, but I could have (although if I did, I never listened to it). It may have been an iTunes "free download" that I never listened to. It could have been on a mix that a friend gave me. It could have been something I downloaded from a blog. At any rate, it turns out to be kind of a good song. It's called "Wound Up" by the group Office. I can only find a live version on YouTube, but you can still get the flavor, I think:

Late Night Study Break!

2009-03-09T00:58:00.001-07:00

Fosco is up late tonight (although it's now "this morning") trying to make some sense of a very difficult Nancy text. No, not this one:

You done got told, Betch!

You Believe in How Many Gods?

2009-03-08T16:37:00.000-07:00

Isn't "Spring Forward" Day strange? I mean, it's not like I was planning to do work for exactly twenty-four hours today; and yet, I feel like the loss of an hour has completely thrown my writing and reading plans into disarray. Not to mention that I normally spend way more than one hour a day doing absolutely nothing productive (often just stroking my goatee--and no, that is not a euphemism). So how is that losing this hour today has been so disruptive?

But if you're like me, you could probably use some cheering up as you plow into your (strangely daylit) evening hours. And so, Fosco offers you this picture, published earlier in the week at the HuffPo:

You may recall that Fosco is no fan of the ~~air~~ heir to the throne, mainly because he's dimwitted and cranky (Charles, that is, not Fosco). But Charles certainly isn't cranky here, is he? One wonders what that small Anglo-Indian girl could have said to make the Prince point and laugh like that. Of course, chances are he's not laughing with her. Isn't cultural difference funny?

Your Sunday Fantasie

2009-03-08T07:36:00.000-07:00

Fosco loathes this half of the time change dyad. "Losing" the hour plays too much hell with Fosco's sleep schedule. I wish we could live in a world where we always "fall back" one hour in the fall, but never "spring forward" the next spring. Of course, this would eventually result in darkness at noon and other unpleasantnesses. Alas.

So to ease your bleary eyes this time-change Sunday, Fosco offers a gorgeous painting. This painting caught Fosco's eye several years ago as he was speed-walking through the "Americans in Paris" exhibit at the Met Museum. It took my breath away.

The painting is by Charles Sprague Pearce (1851-1914) (no relation to Charles Sanders Peirce, although they were contemporaries). Pearce was born in Boston, but lived and worked in France after 1885. In his work, he was something of an Orientalist (ya think?), so naturally he received the French Légion d'honneur. This painting, titled Fantasie was finished circa 1883 and resides in the collection of the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts.

There is not a lot of academic work that Fosco can locate on Charles Sprague Pearce, but interestingly enough, there appears to be something of a disagreement about this painting. The Americans in Paris 1860-1900 catalogue essay for this painting identifies the subject as a boy. However, Aisla Boyd, writing in the Journal of Victorian Culture, disagrees:

Strangely Charles Sprague Pearce's Fantasie is identified in the catalogue and labelled as a young boy wearing a woman's kimono, but is more obviously a woman. Her cupid's bow mouth, hint of bosom under the beautiful silk, smooth skin and hair drawn back like a bob, contrast most dramatically with the firmly held samurai sword--the fantasy is that of the femme fatale rather than cross-dressing.

I think this is a faulty reading of the portrait.

Of course, the only way to resolve the question of the sex of the portrait subject would seem to be finding some sort of historical evidence that establishes the sex of Pearce's model (like a letter or journal entry). However, even that type of evidence would still leave open the question of the sexual ambiguity of the subject--regardless of whether or not said subject is "actually" a boy or a woman. After all, Boyd sees "obviously" a woman, while others see a boy. Clearly, this painting is not meant to evoke a stable representation of sex (either male or female). If there is one thing that's obvious about this painting to me, it's that the sex of the subject is not obvious.

Consequently, I want to read this painting as a queer painting. Think about it: either way, this painting is attempting to mess with sex roles. If it's a boy (and I think it probably is), why is he so feminized? Why is he wearing a woman's kimono? If it's a woman, why is she masculinized as a samurai? (I'm sorry, there is nothing of a femme fatale here--I think that's a ludicrous reading.) Either way, this painting is about some aspect of cross-dressing (which is its fantasie, right?). Boyd's reading of the painting tries too hard, I think, to unqueer a very queer painting--to establish a conventional alibi for what is a sexually subversive work of art.

If you are interested in the catalogue for this exhibition, you can purchase it here:

Boom Goes the Dynamite(?)

2009-03-07T15:59:00.000-08:00

According to this piece in the Santa Cruz Sentinel, an investigation by the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) has come up empty-handed in an attempt to explain the mysterious sonic boom that shook windows in Santa Cruz on Wednesday morning.

Fosco vaguely remembers hearing his windows rattling around 9:15 Wednesday morning, but he was in the middle of snoozebar episode at the time and didn't think much of it (except to wonder why his complex's trash dumpster was being emptied on a Wednesday).

Making the story stranger, however, is the fact that residents in Orange County, CA reported a similar sonic boom exactly twelve hours earlier.

As this article notes, most explanations won't hold water:

Not an earthquake: "Seismic stations around the Monterey Bay recorded a compression wave at 9:15 a.m. Wednesday, but the wave lacked the up-and-down shear that usually characterizes an earthquake. And, Oppenheimer said, it was moving too slowly to be passing through rock."
Not thunder: "Even if lightning had been present, thunder is only heard over a few miles, Blier said. Reports of the shaking came from cities ringing the Monterey Bay, and seismic monitors in Big Sur picked up the event."
Not aliens: "The National UFO Reporting Center in Washington state received no calls from the Central Coast Wednesday morning."
Not a meteor: "A falling meteor compresses the air below it and creates a vacuum above. That pressure difference could create a sonic boom, but it's more likely to tear the meteor apart in the upper atmosphere. For the sound wave to hit the ground, the meteor would have to be large - and low. 'To have enough energy to create a shock wave to rattle things on the ground, somebody would have had to have seen it,' Giorgini said. 'It probably was not a meteor.'"

Which means that it must have been a jet, right? Well, except that:

"We reviewed all the radar data for flights in the airspace in Northern California around the time that people reported this boom," said Ian Gregor, FAA spokesman for the Western-Pacific Region. "There were several military aircraft operating but they were slow. None of these aircraft were going supersonic."

Which seems to suggest that whatever was flying so fast was not a commercial airplane. Nor did it show up on radar, which seems to suggest that we're talking about something military and secret. Fosco can only imagine! But what kind of secret military aircraft would be flying along the California coast twice in twelve hours (near some of the most populated areas in the United States). And why couldn't this jet couldn't be tested farther from the coast (over the open ocean)? Intriguing, no?

All I can hope is that this is some part of protecting CA from North Korean missiles...