Sunday, April 29, 2012

Olde Towne Scottsdale

Preserved forever in its heyday of weird midcentury rustic glory by Nina Leen.  

It's hard to notice underneath the layers of modern advertising and offensive people, but a good job has been done in preserving the old storefronts of the Old Town area.  Most of these spots are immediately recognizable.  So, it is possible here...but only in cute, touristy areas.  Huh.

This seems like the kind of picture that would make me lonesome for the desert.  It already does, kind of.

I like that guy's style.  If you really loved your horse, you'd bring him inside.  And so many ribbons!  I wish I had some horse ribbons.  That I won competitively.  ugh, now I feel unfulfilled.


I love this Etsy shop so much.  I WANT ALL THE THINGS.  I can't even pick one, you know?  The hand with arrow and the watchful eye ring in gold.

And, the artist's blog is also totally great.  Kaye Blegvad's Blogvad.

Pictures are taken from the Etsy shop.

Friday, April 20, 2012


We should always listen to music from the era we are writing about.  Because it helps, or whatever. 

We should not, however, then start watching 20 clips of Barry Lyndon on Youtube while the paper rots over in Word.  I should make a Y U NO rage comic about this.

In other news, it is really weird to see Youtube comments, also known as the scourge of the universe, arguing about the provenance of Baroque compositions.  "No u FUCK! the music is French. The style of it is French. Just look at Chopin's Pollonnaise March. It is VERY VERY VERY French."

That made me happy.  The internet is so full of people that sometimes you can't even see the nerds anymore. 

Back to work. This paper is about whether a guy lied about where he was born in his 18th century autobiography. In a rare display of passion, the historians against the argument are saying that the ones for the argument are lying propagandist dicks who are probably racist. My mind-blowing take on all of this is that it doesn't matter where he was born.  The paper is called
"Who Cares: Seriously."

Watch out for it in volume 20 of the journal, "Are Historians Even Alive? A Cardiologist's Review".

Sunday, April 15, 2012











This site rules, because it is filled with letters written by famous, often cantankerous people the quality of which we will never see again since contemporary culture is retarding everything good.

Favorites: Apple code names a 1993 Mac "Carl Sagan," then renames it "BHA," or "Butthead Astronomer" after he bitches about his name being associated with something commercial.

F. Scott Fitzgerald admonishes his daughter not to call him "Pappy" unless she wants him to beat her cat in her absence, and for him to rename her Egg Fitzgerald.  It's a very sweet letter.  No, really.  See here for Hark A Vagrant's Fitzgerald comic.

David O. Selznick had to write a groveling letter for permission to Rhett to speak his famous line at the end of Gone with the Wind.  The word "damn" was specifically banned by the Hays Code.  What arrogant, nervy censor would think that he could make them change the most explosive line in the movie after the entire world had read and fallen in love with the book and cried their ass off after reading THAT SPECIFIC LINE?  What was he supposed to say, that he didn't give a darn, or a fig? OUTRAGEOUS.

Robert Burns attacks an unkind reviewer with a repetitious set of insults worth remembering for later.  "Thou murderous accoucheur of infant learning"!  It reminds me of this Fry rant which I like to think was inspired by that letter.

The Rolling Stones must have large beds.

There are a billion others; the site will take away hours.

Saturday, April 7, 2012

Nature rules!

I saw my first jackrabbit today!  I mean, irls.  I didn't realize that I had never seen one with mine own eyes until one galloped across my path and I froze: what the fuck is that, a fucking antelope?  fuck, dude!

They're bigger than I thought.  Possibly not the most adorable of all rabbits. 

The one good thing about having to walk a quarter mile of trail to get to a bathroom at Tovrea (the house is not connected to city sewage and it would apparently cost a trillion dollars to do it) is it forces one to walk all of those nice paths. 

The gardens really are amazing.  Right now, the botanical glory of the site is just a footnote of the tour, which I think is weak and which I believe will be fixed eventually.  Even being from this exact part of the desert, I still find myself feeling a bit awed by the landscape, and I stop every ten feet to observe something new and beautiful.  There are tons of animals around, rabbits, and quail, and cactus wrens, and squirrels, lizards, oh and the feral dogs from the river bottom.  Apparently there was one on the property yesterday, but I didn't see it.

A security guard reported seeing a mountain lion on the site a few years ago.  Amaaazing!

Friday, April 6, 2012

Full Pink Moon

Edgar Oliver reads his poem, The Moon. I'll take that down shortly, but it's appropriate for now.  How I love him!

Purchase "The Hermit and Other Poems" here.  My favorite is In Prospect Park, in case you wondered.

And a night bird is singing constantly outside my window.  I don't know how it has the strength.  It goes for hours.  Rogue night birds need to live farther away.

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Sometimes I miss Livejournal

For the comedy that's in it.  You can't beat the commenting setup.  It's just ripe for showing off like a cheap Lorelai-Rory Gilmore comedy sideshow. Too bad fools be deleting their journals like they have shit to hide! 

Reading my childhood internet journals is probably a good thing to do while in school, when I begin to feel overly disgusted at all of the baby antics on campus, and angry at all of the dumb kids in tight jeans, Bieber hair, and orange Wayfarers, smoking moodily next to the Pepsi machine while texting simultaneously.  I just want to be like, wait, what year were you born?  Are you fucking kidding me?  Does your mom know you smoke?  Get the fuck out of here!

But then again, that characterization might be incorrect.  It's also my belief that 10 year olds entertain themselves with keg parties and blowjob contests, so maybe I'm all wrong with that style of burn. 

Anyway, reading my 04-05 Livejournal does remind me that I, too, sometimes posted song lyrics (meant to impart some kind of deep truth), or wrote posts with titles like "OMG LIKE WUT" which by all appearances seem to be about the combined themes of failed love affairs and the fact that Stinkweeds would not buy a cd that I felt they should have.  I wrote almost every day, about almost anything.  Writing every day IS a good thing, but eh yeah.  Now I have endless documentation of obscure jokes with friends that I can barely understand anymore.  I am almost too old to decipher younger-me's code.  This seems like a thing.

Monday, April 2, 2012


Oh shit, bitches! The 1940 census is available today for the first time!

Go see what your grandparents were doing!

Unless you're using a pay site, you need to know where your person lived and find them that way. offers free trials, though, and you can access it for free at most libraries.