Mild language, disturbing images.
search
I try not to link to stuff I see on Boing-Boing, since that site gets about a zillion times the traffic I do, but Peter Bagge's four-page comics rumination on immigration on is just too good to ignore.
We all have our obsessions, I suppose. This one seems pretty benign.
Via www.plep.org, going out to Art Dudley.
The zeppelin USS MACON crashed and sank in 1935.Now MBARI, NOAA, and the US Navy are collaborating on mapping the airship's final resting place and discovering its missing tail fin. Be sure to check out the photo gallery for the shot of the Macon over Manhattan.
photo by kgm
***
***
I noticed, after six days away, something different:
More space.
Or, I should say:
An absence.
The filing cabinets which held copies of invoices, shipping and receiving receipts, press releases, and other office documents were taken away and replaced by new, unfamiliar filing cabinets. The shorter ones have been replaced by taller ones, the taller by shorter, the gray by white, and the white by gray. The office uniform has been altered. It's not so uniform anymore.
I shrug my shoulders at this, just as I've shrugged…
Robert Silverman: piano.
Stereophile STPH017-2 CD. Robert Silverman, John Atkinson, prods. Graemme Brown, Ray Kimber, John Atkinson, Brett Terry, engs. John Atkinson, digital editing and mastering. DDD. 68:08.
Okay, you may have raised an eyebrow over the apparent lack of perspective I bring to this disc, since I write for Stereophile and not only count John Atkinson as a friend, but have accompanied him on many a recording field-trip. On the other hand, I had absolutely nothing to do with making this disc and if I don't tell you how fantastic it is, I suspect you won't…
I just posted my review of Robert Silverman's Variations over at Face the Music.
photo by kgm
***
I sat down in front of my computer and let my fingers touch the keys. After six days away, it felt strange. It felt nothing like swimming through the warmest, bluest, gentlest ocean waters, on a beach you've discovered simply by getting lost because all winding roads lead to the ocean, on a beach shaded by green cliffs, on a beach that is altogether yours, not another person in sight, not at all. It felt nothing like driving upwards and upwards, forever upwards, upon a road that shouldn't be wide enough for even one car but is actually wide enough for…