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The Public Blogging of Pomosexuality, Homotextuality, Homophobiaphilia, and Drear Theory (aka Career Theory) [aka Gay4Pay]. We also read the Corner and OpJournal so the right buttock will be punished as well.
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National icons are always neutral for her, with the exception of Nazi Germany's, and this not so much from a sense of historical evil (though she certainly has that) as from an awareness of a scary excess of design talent. Hitler had had entirely too brilliant a graphics department, and had understood the power of branding all too well. --William Gibson, Pattern Recognition
I'm nearly finished William Gibson's Pattern Recognition. Its heroine is a cool hunter with a severe corporate logo allergy. She sells her services to ad agencies who test their newly designed logos out on her before presenting them to their clients. If the logo makes her ill, they know it's a winner. The book is like candy to me, all Gibson's books are. Which raises the question, why? Gibson's plots typically boil down to the unraveling of world spanning conspiracies that have entangled an international techno elite of blase cosmopolitans and an underclass of tech-boom rats, heavy metal bottom feeders, and cross-platform dumpster divers, all possessed of can-do inventiveness and dead-end-street genius. So they're basically about cabals, misfits, glamour, grime and popular mechanics. This appears to be the mythic mix my soul craves most.
Hip-hopper Punched at Awards; Puncher Stabbed, Stabber Sought
A shame they thought that they had to tell us where the hip-hopper got stabbed, and that they chose hip-hopper over rapper (though technically their choice is defensible). Rapper Punched, Puncher Stabbed, Stabber Sought would have been a gem of succinctiosity.
The first paragraph of the story is sweet, too:
LOS ANGELES - Young Buck was being sought by police Tuesday on suspicion of stabbing a man who punched hip-hop legend Dr. Dre at the Vibe awards. Buck is signed to Dr. Dre's record label as part of the G-Unit clique, which was named best group by the music magazine.
News stories of hip-hop crime often have this fairy tale/aesop's fable/comic book feel to them, as the dramatis personae are sorted out and identified.
The best quote comes from another story on the evening's events. And who better than a fairy-tale knight to give it.
"It's really important that we don't take a negative incident like this and do away with the awards," Suge Knight, hip-hop honcho and no stranger to negative incidents himself, told reporters.
Suge Knight, angel of positivity, apostle of peace. Suge whose 100 years war against Dr. Dre has included public claims that Dre is at least bisexual, when he's not busy being totally gay. An imputation that makes Young Buck's lunge to save/avenge the diggity doctor interesting on many levels.
Mr. Timothy Graham, the Corner's leading male spinster (and there's a hella herd of them round about those parts), thinks the NYT's has told us more than we need to know about Tom Brokaw. So he repeats what we didn't need to know. Maybe the NYT's has a better idea what Tim wants to know than Tim does. Maybe we all do:
TOO MUCH INFORMATION ON TOM [Tim Graham]
The New York Times apparently gave Bill Carter too much space for his retiring-Tom-Brokaw article: "By the Friday after Election Day, Mr. Brokaw had recovered from his all-nighter. Speaking by telephone from his third home in Bedford, N.Y., where he had started the day -- as the thermometer soared to about 45 degrees -- by taking a dip in the lake adjacent to his property. (He has been known to skinny-dip in that lake with his wife, Meredith.) " Posted at 10:25 AM
The NYT's didn't dare even flesh out the acronym in the full obit. The Daily News at least found the space to call Ol' Dirty Bastard by his improper name in their story.
The Bastard and I had a kinship. The McDonald's he was arrested at in Philly, ending his two month flight from drug rehab and beginning his three year stint in prison, has a lot of my own karmic refuse blowing around the parking lot. The Gray's Ferry McDonald's must surely be a sacred power point on a lei line of ferocious magnitude. The fate there is faster than the food. Don't linger long at the drive-through window to your soul. Get your happy meal and keep moving.
I have a new answer to the old question, "Hey, what are you looking at?"
The new answer:
Oh, I'm not looking at you at all, cutie pie. You've fallen prey to the hollow face illusion, gorgeous. Kneel down in front as you look up at me, you'll see it works that way, too, pretty boy. My head is actually concave, turn me around and you'll see, ebony faun.
(My old answer? Dinner.)
(via the poptical illusion that calls itself blogdex)