Fear and self-loathing in Cannes [guardian]
A step up from when they the Guardian crew would just complain about the shortage of open bars, Mark Lawson looks for the big themes in Cannes. The result: 1) guilt, 2) loser fathers. And the Palme d’Or goes to: Loser Fathers. The Dardennes’ doc-style filmmaking wins again.
I [heart] Manohla Dargis, whose Cannes Journal with Tony Scott was very funny. Plus, she namechecked daily.greencine.com. I’d say more, but I can’t; it’s off the record.
The film US TV networks dare not show [guardian]
BBC series-turned-feature at Cannes by the “anti-Michael Moore” examines US origins of fanatics: Strauss (and Strauss begat Wolfowitz) and Qutb (and Qutb begat Al Zawahiri and Al Zawahiri begat Bin Laden). Let’s see, BBC-produced, Moore-invoked, Cannes-premiered, Al Jazeera-aired, and yet no giant media conglomerate in the US wants to air it? Go figure.
That cranky Galloway testified before Congress and all he got was press coverage in the UK–and mysteriously, no officially published transcript. Your tax dollars at work. [senate.gov, via robotwisdom]
Just as there’s hardly an actor/waiter left in New York who hasn’t made rent by doing a couple day’s work on some Law & Order spin-off or other as an at-first tearful but increasingly suspecious relative or a neighbor who conveniently pins down the time of death by recounting what they were watching on TV, there’s hardly a blogger left in the city who hasn’t had to feign interest in Radar Magazine and cop to a fondness for the hard stuff while doing a “guest-editor” stint at some Gawker Media blog or other.
Forget S.I. Newhouse, Nick’s clearly on his way to becoming the Dick Wolf of the blogosphere, increasingly intdistinguishable spin-offs and all.
Come to think of it, Dickwolfer kinda sounds like a Gawker Media title already. Come to think of it. heh.
Memo to Diane Neal: Who are you again? [gawker.com]
GET YOUR 15 MINUTES! [radarmagazine.com]
Blogging, as in Slogging [nyt on guest-blogging, via gawker, please make me pure.]
[but not yet. 5/18 update with the best disclaimer ever: “(Disclaimer: Everybody involved in the Gawker-Radar spat works for or with everybody else involved, including The Observer.)”]
“Don’t ask Nick Denton, publisher of Gawker Media and its growing list of popular Web logs, about his empire…
…If his reluctance to be interviewed is theater, it is deft theater.”
– Excerpted from Nick’s eleventh NYT profile.
A Blog Revolution? Get a Grip [nyt, via memefirst, were the NYT’s ‘deft theater’ might be called The George Lucas School Of Boy, Do We Know How This Story’ll Turn Out Acting]
It turns out I’ve got about 1,000 words a day, maybe 2,000 if I’m just doing stream of consciousness.
Anyway, as you can guess from the last few days’ posts [sic], that wordstream has been gobbled up by another project. Now that’s it’s to bed, they’re backing up in my head while I’m at the Outer Banks. So you just wait until Saturday morning, when you’ll find me curled up on your doorstep, like an unwanted drunk.
In the mean time, please go register for a bunch of classes at The New School.
While the Republican Sanhedrin was proclaiming their own–and Tom DeLay’s–righteousness on the Sunday morning political talk shows, I spotted Harry Reid, Senate leader of what Bill Frist calls the “anti-faith” movement–at church.
They probably have to look up the address: Get Tom DeLay To The Church [frank rich, nyt]
Since all the pros are weighing in on it, let me say that Laura Shin’s umbrella review in Slate is wack. What purports to be a The New York Review of Umbrellas’s ignores some key aspects of New York City’s indigenous umbrella culture, and in ways that make me think it’s unconsciously geared to visitors, not residents, of the city.
This daytripper’s bias manifests itself in the criteria: saying smaller=better makes no more sense for umbrellas than bigger=better does for SUV’s. Unless you’re planning on carrying it folded up much of the time because, like the folks you see uptown with Century 21 bags, you don’t have an apartment or an office to stash stuff in.
Also, even in these Friends-friendly days, “plays well with others” is not a trait held in high esteem on New York City streets, especially not for umbrellas. For a lot of highly self-interested New Yorkers, bigger is better, even if it’s not, and getting your eye poked out is your problem, mac. [Note to Malcolm Gladwell: got another SUV story for you.]
Sure, there’s the Chinatown umbrella, but Manhattan’s other indigenous species–the Doorman Umbrella–is completely ignored. Maybe the writer lives in a walkup. These black giants are the Lincoln Town Car of umbrellas, more than you really need to do the job, and better if you have someone else doing it for you.
Lately there’s been a proliferation of Patented Umbrellas, which have those collapsible drinking cup-like sheaths on the tip. This is wrong. Convenient, surely, but wrong.
The Hotel Umbrella is an increasingly rare breed. These usually logo’ed Doormen Umbrellas are briefly loaned to guests at better hotels. [They’re getting rarer because some new better hotels now prefer to sell their guests an umbrella.] Someone once took my large black umbrella from the bucket at a shop, and left me with a nearly identical model courtesy of The Carlyle Hotel. Thanks.
The Firm Umbrella, the Golf Umbrella, and the Firm Golf Umbrella are usually seen in midtown, and truth be told, they’re probably being carried by some banker who moved to Rye when his second kid was born. In addition to being selfishly large for the street, these usually have the added benefit of being free (or at least it felt that way when you signed for it at the pro shop).
I recently lost my favorite umbrella, which had served me well for over six years. At the height of Niketown-hatin’ 1998, and figuring that they’d probably invest a lot in the R&D, I bought a big black Nike Golf umbrella. Yes, it had swooshes on it, but it was a small price to pay; the thing was light, strong, huge, and it never once blew out on me.
When someone stole it from a pizza restaurant a few months ago, I tried to replace it, but they sure don’t make’em like they used to. I ventured back into Niketown (what a dump), nothin’. The $15 model at the outlet you pass on 95 in Maryland was engineered to protect Nike’s margins, not my (or anyone else’s) head.
I know return you to your regularly scheduled programming.
Un-brellas [slate, via kottke and TMN]
“12 WHEREAS, the Preston High School administration and staff, particularly
13 the cafeteria staff, have enjoyed notoriety and worldwide attention; and
14 WHEREAS, tater tots figure prominently in this film thus promoting Idaho’s
15 most famous export; and
16 WHEREAS, the friendship between Napoleon and Pedro has furthered
17 multiethnic relationships;”
It passed unanimously, btw.
HOUSE CONCURRENT RESOLUTION NO. 29 [state.id.us, via waxy]
previously: Napoleon Dynamite: Oh. My. Heck.
…in every second of coverage on every channel of the conservative mass media deathwatch, thanks, Frank Rich,
…in this odd music video, “Amer-uh-kuh, we stand as one,” by a former Star Trek stunt coordinator from the Jersey Shore. [thanks, TMN]
…um, nowhere else, really, just in a random music video and everywhere.
Jason Cala-who? Nick’s raising, er, lowering, er, his sights and going after Drudge. His secret weapon: the awesome pithiness of his Choire Sicha-lator, now transformed into an automatic NY Post Headline Generator.
Actually, the first day’s batch of heds sounds like Larry Levy’s first studio meeting in The Player, where he has someone read out a random story from the paper and he turns it into a one-line movie pitch on the spot:
Grossman: How about ‘Mudslide kills 60 in slums of Chile’?
Levy: That’s good. Triumph over tragedy. Sounds like a John Boorman picture. You slap a happy ending on it, the script’ll write itself.
Here, Bonnie, you give it a shot.
Bonnie: Gee, I don’t know, Larry–
Levy: Come on.
Bonnie: OK, ‘Further bond losses push Dow down 7.15.’… I see Connery as Bond…
Sploid [via, dude, where DIDN’T you see this yesterday?]
And the only place it’s spring is in the corner of the garden where there was a Whole (Foods), and all the children started drinking Jamba Juices for breakfast.
Google’s satellite image map of Manhattan is stitched together from two passes, taken in different seasons, but at nearly the same time of the morning. The buildings’ shadows are at slightly different angles on the east and west sides, but they’re so damn long, they render the whole map pretty useless.
Google Map of Manhattan [via kottke]
“The Selfish Giant,” by Oscar Wilde [planetmonk.com]
First Bjork moves to New Jersey, and now this:
I incorrectly assumed that Time Warner would be our cable carrier, as we are in the Time Warner building. Guess what? Not available! RCN is the cable company for this building.
– Trippy home owner featured in NY Magazine [via curbed]
“Customers who bought this DVD also bought:
DVDs from The 21 Jump Street Series.
Full House – The Complete First Season DVD (Rate it)
DVDs from The Home Improvement Series.
Who’s the Boss? – The Complete First Season DVD ~ Tony Danza (Rate it)”
Meanwhile Kottke‘s not impressed: “Doogie Howser, M.D. Season One, quite possibly the most worthless DVD release ever” [For some reason, though, I can’t picture Steven Bochco and David E. Kelly as Long Tail.]
With thanks to advertiser Doogie on DVD, a nod to NTK and Robot Wisdom who have the funnest with Google, and Neil Patrick Harris, who spends part of his “lost years” at my gym.
So you mean this whole “HBS rejects applicants who ‘hacked’ into admissions site” hubbub is about people seeing what happens if they truncate the URL for their account?
I guess they’ve got a brand image to protect as the home of the utterly and irrationally technology-ignorant executive of tomorrow. IT people–hell, people who know how to change their default browser settings–everywhere are shaking their heads.
Business schools redefine hacking to “stuff that a 7-year-old could do” [phil greenspun]
Several years ago, at the opening dinner of a sculptor friend’s debut 2-person show, I found myself playing the oh-so-sophisticated New York collector at a giant round table in a Chinese restaurant for a mix of folks, including the other artist’s parents.
I offhandedly pronounced Minneapolis to be the most Canadian of American cities: not just because of the freakin’ weather, but because of public radio. First, there’s Garrison Keillor, and besides, everyone–including every immigrant taxi driver I met–listened to public radio.
Well, the other artist’s mother said, we’re from Minneapolis. Apparently, calling a Minnesotan Canadian is almost as bad as calling a Quebecker Canadian, except the Minnesotans are too nice to say anything; they just keep it all inside. And of course, they’re so hardy, they didn’t need a jacket for the chill that blew over the table. My recovery attempt–“I meant Canadian in a good way. As It Happens is one of my favorite CBC shows!”–was unwelcome, and the table split into two conversational crescents for the rest of the night.
Anyway, I was reminded of this this morning when Rex pointed out that “Live in Canada” is one of
Minneapolissers Minneapolitans’ most popular goals. [of course, since in the two days since he posted it, it’s dropped from #11 to #18, so they must still be very self-conscious about it.]
[update: and they’re quick to correct. I didn’t really think it was Minneapolisser, but I figured–rightly–that someone’d clue me in real fast. Thanks, Jason.]