Friday Ephemera
Don’t let Santa eat your children. // Curveball. // Christmas yet to come. // Soho striptease clubs, 1958. // The random Burroughs. // Made of balloons. // Bug-eating utensils. For when you want to look stylish while chewing on that scorpion. // I guess Picasso didn’t age well. // Why parents rarely want their children to be artists, part 17. // His disco glitter ball is bigger than yours. // Government. (h/t, Peter) // Radio garden. Browse stations of the world. // Handwriting robot. // These guys mimic animatronics better than you do. // Finger pillory, for mischievous urchins and the generally obstreperous. // Tiny paper engine. // The appeal of leaves. // Be like Hank. (h/t, Ben) // Wrinkled rocks. // And finally, gustatorily, it turns out that it’s possible to taste garlic with your feet.
Christmas yet to come.
Bug-eating utensils. For when you want to look stylish while chewing on that scorpion.
Meh. Be—more or less—traditional, go with the inherent versatility of chopsticks . . .
Why parents rarely want their children to be artists, part 17.
. . . . Well, it is one way to go trolling for a date . . . No guarantees on a good success rate . . .
Wrinkled rocks.
Cornering the market on rocks.
Eating bugs. Surprisingly better than you might think. And Hal is correct. Chopsticks are the implement of choice.
I didn’t leave Santa cookies.
one way to go trolling for a date
Unfortunately, genderqueer just seems to be a flattering way of describing unfortunate looking.
Why parents rarely want their children to be artists, part 17.
As Dave Barry likes to say, I Am Not Making This Up.
Last year I was at UC Berkeley, sauntering down Bancroft just up the hill from the Student Union. I passed a 50-ish, worn-out looking gent slumped on the embankment, and as I passed he muttered in a stage whisper:
“Mommas, don’t let your babies grow up to be artists.”
I almost fell over right there on the sidewalk.
David. You bastard.
Do you have ANY IDEA how much time I’m going to spend browsing that bleedin Radio Garden?
DO YOU?
Curveball.
Holy crap. I didn’t know chickens did that.
it turns out that it’s possible to taste garlic with your feet.
Weekend sorted.
Morning, all.
Weekend sorted.
Do let us know how it goes.
David. You bastard.
No refunds. Credit note only.
Soho striptease clubs, 1958.
“Do they ever fall orf…?”
“Do they ever fall orf…?”
Yes, the reporter seems particularly interested in the adhesive integrity of the ladies’ nipple sequins. In the name of journalism, obviously.
…flattering way of describing unfortunate looking.
That is probably the nicest thing anyone has ever said about that individual.
…the UN has predicted we’ll largely be surviving off of beetle bites and caterpillar consommé by 2050.
If I had my choice of having a dollar (£0.80) for every failed Malthusian prediction, particularly those from the UN, or winning the lottery, I’d probably make more by going with the failed predictions.
Soho striptease clubs, 1958.
Reporter Dan Farson covered many interesting topics in the late 1950s.
Entrance to Hell discovered:
I’ve been reading the instructions for the garlic and feet thing and it strikes me that there’s something a tad wrong with it. I quote:
So now I’m barefoot in the kitchen and my shoes and socks are in a plastic bag in the living room, and I’m still not smelling any garlic.
The drivers pulse never got above 80 bpm
Diversity for thee but not for me:
https://twitter.com/RealPeerReview/status/809465128718573569
Glorious Chinese Navy heroically performs difficult liberation near shore.
What, did someone make a phone call or something?
So Picasso’s delerium tremens set in when he was about twenty-four then.
Odd, to me, that I don’t believe I have ever seen much of Picasso’s early work. Not that I’m a critic or fanboy or anything but I find those early portraits, self and otherwise, stunning. And I rarely say such about works of art. Searching Picasso at the various museums that I have visited, (just checked on line the Met, MOMA, Art Institute of Chicago, National Art Gallery in DC, British Museum, Carnegie Museum) has turned up bumpkin from that period. Thanks for the enlightenment.
Picasso had a pink period and a blue period. I saw his work in some small museums in Madrid.
They’re photo-realistic drawings washed in said colors.
“You can’t innovate until you’ve mastered the basics,” Exhibit A
. . . has turned up bumpkin from that period.
Oh, yeah, lots of painters had lots of farm boys around.
But yes, some people know bupkis about the early period of a lot of things . . .
I thought that this had been posted somewhere hereabouts, but I’m not finding it.
TL; DR: Want a wife, but can’t get one, or don’t want to deal with the drama and legalities? Get a holo-waifu!
For a cynical interpretation of the reasons for, and likely consequences of, this new technology, visit Captain Capitalism.