Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Something New on the Mall

Volume 56, Number 16 · October 22, 2009
By Michael Tomasky

We have never seen, at least in the modern history of the United States, a right-wing street-protest movement. Conservatives who oppose Roe v. Wade march on Washington every January 22, the anniversary of that 1973 decision; but aside from that single issue and that single day, the American right over recent decades has, until this summer, carried out its organizing in a comparatively quiet fashion, via mimeograph machine and pamphlet and book and e-mail and text message, and left the streets to the left.

So we have something new in our political life—the summer's apoplectic and bordering-on-violent town-hall meetings, and the large "9/12" rally on Washington's National Mall that drew tens of thousands of people to protest America's descent into "socialism" (or "communism," or, occasionally, "Nazism"). How extreme is this movement, and how seriously should we take it?

The September 12 rally, the culminating (for now) event of the "Tea Party" movement that sprouted to life earlier this year, was organized chiefly by FreedomWorks, a conservative lobbying organization founded in 1984, and supported by nearly thirty conservative organizations, ranging from the well known (Club for Growth, Competitive Enterprise Institute) to the obscure (Ayn Rand Center for Individual Rights). It was also promoted heavily on the Fox News Channel, especially by the hard right's new man of the moment, Glenn Beck

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Thursday, September 24, 2009

Happy birthday, Brigitte Bardot

 guardian.co.uk home 

The French cinema star whose sexy, liberated style outraged and inspired in equal measure is about to turn 75. Agnès Poirier finds out how the pinup girl became an existentialist icon.

Agnes Poirer

Brigitte Bardot

Agnès Poirier

The Guardian, Tuesday 22 September 2009

After the internation uproar and scandal provoked by the 1956 film And God Created Woman, Brigitte Bardot said she wished she had never been born. Now, as Bardot – "the French export as important as Renault cars" according to Charles de Gaulle – turns 75 on Monday, exhibitions at national museums and private galleries, alongside tributes at fashion weeks in Paris, London and New York, are throwing the spotlight back on to one of the last living icons of the 20th century.

When she retired in 1973, aged just 39 but with more than 50 films under her belt, Bardot withdrew to her beloved Madrague, her retreat in St Tropez where she could dedicate herself to animals and a barefoot Mediterranean life. She would only leave her home to protest about animal rights and make some ill-advised comments about immigration. She was once linked to Jean-Marie Le Pen's National Front but has never been a member or even a sympathiser. In fact, to this day, she has never stopped being herself: plain-speaking and natural. She has never resorted to any cosmetic surgery, whereas so many of her contemporaries including Sophia Loren, who also turns 75 this week, put their hopes of immortal Brigitte Bardot in And God Created Womanbeauty in the

surgeon's knife. Bardot has retained her authenticity. Her story is that of a refusal not only of hypocrisy and moral grudges, but also of caution, calculation and premeditation.

When she burst on to the public stage in the early 1950s, France and the world weren't prepared for her. "Women of my generation all remember her first cover of Elle in 1950," remembers French fashion historian Nicole Parrot. Bardot was barely 16. "She had short hazelnut hair and the magnificent posture of a dancer. She represented something that had never had its place before in society or in fashion: that of the jeune fille."

Before Bardot, teenagers were hidden from the public eye and from couture. Now here she was, rid of childhood's roundness, but not quite yet a woman. "On one side there were girls dressed by their mothers in blue navy skirts that they had already outgrown, with clumsy manners and chubby cheeks, and on the other side, married women. Nothing in between," continues Parrot. Nor were there magazines for teenagers or fashion for the jeunes filles. "Bardot's eruption changed all this. She created a fashion all of her own, which spread like gunpowder. And now, women across the world dress like jeune filles as long as they can!" Nabokov's Lolita was published five years later.

When Bardot became a woman, the world went mad. At 18, she married Roger Vadim, the film director who would four years later cast her as the amoral Juliete in And God Created Woman (above). In the years that saw James Dean and Elvis Presley arrive on the world scene…Read more

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Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Rod Blagojevich’s political memoir : The New Yorker

“if, hypothetically, my father-in-law wants me to hire Chucky Lomanto’s cousin and I don’t, my father-in-law will run to my mother-in-law, tell her all about it and convince her I was a big ingrate who wasn’t helping him.” It is unclear that Henry Adams could have put it any better “ this could turn out to be on of the masterpieces of unintentioinal humor -- can’t wait to get a copy– ht.

by David Remnick September 28, 2009

Rod Blagojevich

Rod Blagojevich

The American political memoir comes in many forms—the magisterial catalogue of heroic achievement, the backward glance at modest beginnings—but none of these sub-genres have thrived with more repetition and variation than the cri de coeur of the indicted-but-not-yet-convicted office-holding grandee. For febrile self-defensiveness and look-over-there deflections and deceptions, Rod Blagojevich’s new book, “The Governor: Finally, the Truth Behind the Political Scandal That Continues to Rock the Nation,” is surely unsurpassed.

The tone is grave. “Think about it,” Blagojevich writes. “I’m the governor of a big state. And I have a situation where if, hypothetically, my father-in-law wants me to hire Chucky Lomanto’s cousin and I don’t, my father-in-law will run to my mother-in-law, tell her all about it and convince her I was a big ingrate who wasn’t helping him.” It is unclear that Henry Adams could have put it any better.

Blagojevich has been in and out of Manhattan since his pre-dawn arrest, last winter, peddling the line that he comes from a mythological realm in which Lake Michigan, like Avernus, is an infernal and troubled water, and a god named Barack has, like Zeus, ascended Olympus, while he, like Icarus, “flew too effing close to the sun.” And yet no sun can melt Blago’s coif, which, despite his many troubles, descends like a silken espresso curtain and then swerves suddenly to the side, revealing a gaze most innocent.

On a recent Sunday evening, Blagojevich, tailed by his P.R. man and “crisis manager,” swept across the Hilton lobby unnoticed by visitors crowded around televisions playing the Giants game. “People seem to like me here,” he said as he settled into a secluded corner of the hotel bar. “No ‘F you!’ or ‘Yo, F off!’ like you get some places. Maybe I should be a New Yorker.”

Next year, a judge and a jury of his peers will deliberate over the oral-history-by-wiretap that captured Blagojevich’s self-aggrandizing ambitions and resulted in a dizzying multiple-count corruption indictment that features extortion, pocketing money through his wife’s “real-estate job,” a plot involving the withholding of money from a children’s hospital (nice!), trying to sell Barack Obama’s Senate seat as if it were a used Barcalounger on eBay, and, generally, running the state of Illinois as if its assets were his feudal preserve, an encompassing realm of criminal possibilities that the prosecutors have labelled “the Blagojevich Enterprise.”

As Blagojevich awaits his court date, he has, he said, run aground financially. He has tried to make money by writing his memoir (“All by myself. I went through six boxes of crayons”), singing Elvis Presley’s “Treat Me Nice” for a couple of hundred people at a video production company, and trying to land a spot on the NBC reality show “I’m a Celebrity . . . Get Me Out of Here.” (His wife got the part.) Blagojevich said that he considered an offer from “Keeping Up with the Kardashians,”………….

ILLUSTRATION: Tom Bachtell

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Tuesday, September 15, 2009

David Byrne’s Perfect City

 

A Talking Head Dreams of a Perfect City

By DAVID BYRNE 

[CITY]

National Geographic Stock-New Orleans on a rainy day.


Alamy-Rush hour at a Tokyo subway station.


Alamy-Berlin’s Unter den Linden.

There’s an old joke that you know you're in heaven if the cooks are Italian and the engineering is German. If it's the other way around you're in hell. In an attempt to conjure up a perfect city, I imagine a place that is a mash-up of the best qualities of a host of cities. The permutations are endless. Maybe I'd take the nightlife of New York in a setting like Sydney's with bars like those in Barcelona and cuisine from Singapore served in outdoor restaurants like those in Mexico City. Or I could layer the sense of humor in Spain over the civic accommodation and elegance of Kyoto. Of course, it's not really possible to cherry pick like this—mainly because a city's qualities cannot thrive out of context. A place's cuisine and architecture and language are all somehow interwoven. But one can dream.

 Natalie Kuhn-The author in Budapest

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David Byrne's Bike Racks

To express his love of bicycling, former Talking Heads frontman David Byrne designed a series of inventive Bike Racks to be installed around New York. (Originally published July 2008)

As someone who has used a bicycle to get around New York for about 30 years I've watched the city—mainly Manhattan, where I live—change for better and for worse. During this time I started to take a full-size folding bike with me when I traveled so I got to experience other cities as a cyclist as well. Seeing cities from on top of a bike is both pleasurable and instructive. On a bike one sees a lot more than from a freeway, and often it's just as fast as car traffic in many towns.

A "livable city" means vastly different things for many people. In Hong Kong it might mean that your family is in a comfortable apartment while you play in the exciting mercantile world in a glass tower overlooking the harbor. In Dallas livability might mean that you live near an expressway that isn't jammed up, at least not all the time, and your car runs most days. For some it might mean super fast Wi-Fi, the possibility of lucky and lucrative business opportunities and plenty of strip clubs. If that's what rocks your boat then try Houston, though to me that city, oil money made physically manifest, is my worst nightmare…………

—David Byrne is a musician and founding member of the band Talking Heads. His book "Bicycle Diaries" will be published by Viking next week.

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Tom Waits “ 16 shells from a thirty-ought-six”


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