A tug upon the string

In the background I am listening to old R.E.M. songs. I was enormously enthusiastic for their music, once, though my interest dropped off geometrically after Lifes Rich Pageant. No matter; I am reminded, listening now, to how beautiful so much of their output was. And, though I'd never have put it on my shortlist of Top R.E.M. Songs back in the day, hearing it now, I am deeply moved by "Wendell Gee".

First, and more simply, it is a very pretty tune, though I could have done without the decorative (and decidedly non-virtuoso) banjo.

But second, and more important, its theme is (I think, to the extent one can make sense of the lyrics at all) the saddest thing of all. And to be able to speak of that theme from anything like personal experience, and yet still create something, is heroic.

I have known people -- quite a lot of people -- who don't comprehend how depression can be a terminal illness. Those of you who really don't understand that have my admiring envy. Those of you who do have my infinite empathy and compassion.

More grotty snaps from the Blackberry

From Stockholm this time. I had a few hours free there on Saturday, and my friend David Weman kindly showed me some of the sights. Like this one, from atop the bell-tower of Stadhuset:

Clearly I need to spend more time in Stockholm. More after the flip.

Continue reading "More grotty snaps from the Blackberry"

Avuncule ave atque vale

I am taking a pause from my pause from blogging to note, with a sorrow mitigated by happy and grateful memories, the death this morning of my uncle.

CBGB is in heaven now...

... as is its founder. But in the spirit of desultory video-posting that has overcome me lately, here's something that took place there roughly ten years before it, and he, hopped the twig. Put your hands together for Sleater-Kinney and "Little Babies":

The video's shite sound quality is topped only by its shite lighting. Yet both combine to convey the atmosphere of the venue quite admirably. It was a dank dingy dark little hole, and at times it was amazing.

† Frank Darcy

I've learned through Nicholas Whyte that Frank Darcy has died. I did not know him, but found his "To Life" project via Facebook friends.

Death comes for us all. Frank simply knew that it was likely to come for him sooner rather than later. As I say, I didn't know him; but judging by his website he didn't seem especially full of rage over the hand he'd been dealt; determined-but-cheerful is the impression I have. But certainly he did not go passively into that good night.

My condolences, for what they're worth, to his family and friends.

It's at times like this one wishes one had a God to thank

Ingrid Betancourt is finally free.

Stereolab live in Athens

... not that Athens, though. Here's "Neon Beanbag", a song from the new album, Chemical Chords, out in August.

Bit poppier than I'd have expected.

Discover The Loom all over again

Carl Zimmer has returned to his roots, joining Discover as a columnist and, concomitantly, moving The Loom to Discover's servers. But because you're a clever wideawake person you read The Loom regularly, and so know all this already.

Free of all that

One of the nicest things Stereolab have ever done is "Lo Boob Oscilator". It's their entire oeuvre in miniature, in a sense: the first bit is sweetly melodic, the latter bit throbbing motorik.

All that in introduction to the following: an (apparently) obsessive French nerd sitting in his bedroom, filming himself playing an acoustic solo cover. I'm not sure why, but I quite like it. Good for him, and I look forward to his take on "Jenny Ondioline".

The title has nothing to do with the lyrics, BTW. This is typical of Stereolab songs. In this case, the song is about the moon being, or so the singer thinks, free. The title, by contrast, memorialises Tim Gane's misreading of the label on a piece of equipment the band were using, an L0 800B oscillator. No, I don't know either.

The 'lab's latest is out in August. Can't wait to hear what it's like, though I'll confess they haven't really been the same since Mary Hansen was killed.

Kyiv

Back this evening from another visit to Kyiv. Little time of my own while there, but I did take a couple of snaps from my window and from the terrace of the hotel's 8th floor bar. If you still need a reason to go there, have a look at them after the jump. I took them with my slave chain blackberry, so they're lo-res crap. But their imperfection conveys, I think, a bit of that genuine nostalgic 1960s Intourist feeling.

Continue reading "Kyiv"

Forget the polar bears, this is serious

Aphids, eh. Extremely interesting insects, you know. Most of the time, that bunch of aphids on a plant is a clone. The aphid wimmens has aphid babies without aphid daddies being involved. Genetically all is much of a muchness, and when a predator eats a few of the insects, it is really not as though indviduals have been extingished so much as that the aphidical aggregate has, emm, lost a couple of toes. (Possibly the aphids being eaten view things differently.)

And this is a banner year for the wee critters, to be sure. Took the new bike out for a spin today. Within a few minutes, my shirt and arms were festooned with aphids, and though I did not really want to enquire into my perceptions of the matter too deeply, it is pretty certain I inhaled and/or ingested a fair few.

But forget my shirt and my lungs, the local aphid biomass is astonishing. There are lots of sorts of aphids, but rather than come over all taxonomic here, I will divide them into the green sort and the black sort. And I didn't even have to do that, for there are plenty of both. The low shrubby green plants bear the green kind, our trees the black sort. The hazelnut in our garden is not thriving this year (it grew last year as though on steroids; it was almost a nuisance). Turn a leaf and see why: the underside is a thick carpet of aphid. There's a small tree in the tiny garden before the house; vast stretches of its limbs are black with the insects and its leaves glisten with the sweet sugary honeydew they are constantly shitting.

All well and good, normally, because there is a circle of life thing that goes on here, and the aphids play the role of the zebras and antelopes. This year, though, Simba's gone missing.

Ladybird beetles ("ladybugs" in North America, though they aren't bugs -- they eat bugs) take on the lions' role in miniature. Beautiful little insects, they really do look like the classic VWs. Even people who hate insects often like ladybirds, probably because they are so pretty. But they're also useful. They make aphids go away, you see. Whether as cute little adults or as the uglier and more threatening-looking larvae, these insects hoover aphids up wth an unstoppable voracity.

Except that there aren't any this year. Based on previous years' experience, at about this time I'd expect to see vast armies of ladybirds ploughing furrows through the aphid ranks. But there are none. Since last winter I have seen one adult and no larvae.

Where are on earth can they be? The polar bears might be losing habitat to global warming, but I don't think we can blame that for the disappearance of the ladybirds. Indeed, we had a mild winter so I would expect it to be a hellish summer, bug-wise. And so it's shaping up to be -- for everything but the Coccinellidae.

And without them I'm really not sure what to do about the aphids. A few years ago I tried spraying them with water in which I had soaked a few packs of cigarettes. (The nicotine was supposed to kill them.) This was a great plan, except that the nicotine-water was dirty and unpleasant and didn't work very well.

Anyway, if you are ladyird and looking for work, stop by my place. I'm sure we can come to terms.

A Day Without You

Rugby could not possibly be gay¹, so I don't want to lose sight of the fact that today is officially the gayest day in the world: the finals of the Grand Prix d'Eurovision. Congratulations to Russia's Dima Bilan, even if the contest had absolutely no meaning this year, after Dustin's semi-final elimination.

1) Joke. Go Knights!

So sehen Sieger aus

You probably didn't notice, because today was a major day in German football¹. But it was pretty special in the other code as well. And what was special? This:

Continue reading "So sehen Sieger aus"

Ní bheidh a leithéid arís ann

Oliver Kahn hung his boots up yesterday.

Fittingly, Bayern Munich sent him off with a victory (though not a clean sheet), dispatching Hertha Berlin 4:1. That should take a bit of the sting out of his performance against Zenit St Petersburg in the UEFA Cup. The Schale, the platter given to each year's champion, was officially handed to Kahn as Bayern captain, even though the club had long since secured the championship.

I don't know whether we can say that Kahn is the best goalkeeper of all time and anyway, such historical comparisons are as ill-founded as they are invidious. But we can surely say this: he would have to be on anybody's shortlist for that distinction.

Continue reading "Ní bheidh a leithéid arís ann"

Hand-job monkeys? Hand-job monkeys!

Best comments thread I've seen in a while, and God Himself FTW.

Discombined

Robert Rauschenberg *1925-†2008.

Here are a couple of bikes he installed in Berlin. I'm putting them here because I thought the picture an appropriate choice to remember him by, as I too am in Germany (though not in Berlin) and will pick up my new bike from the shop this afternoon.

And here is his famous goat. I'm putting it here because I really like the goat. (Not only does it look good, it's really funny as well.)

Big media Roy

Roy Edroso is a man of parts. And one of those parts is that of intrepid naturalist, trekking through the foetid fever-swamps, turning over rocks and describing the small unpleasant creatures he finds there.

The Village Voice noticed and asked Roy to write a special election-year guide to the Bizarro World "blogosphere". The readership must have liked it, because the Voice has now signed Roy on to do a weekly M&M conference on rightwing bloggers every Monday. Extra special goodness: illustrated by Tom Tomorrow!

What, you're still here?!

Reasons to make sure ALL your windows are closed, part 8,927

The family are away for two days, so of course I went to see Iron Man -- nothing like a bit of subtle intellectual diversion to keep the synapses limber. Afterwards I dined, as I so often do when the family are away, at the Upper Westside (not great cuisine, to be mercilessly frank, but simple, cheap and good. Comfort food. Plus, Ralf the host shares my deep affection for NYC). I was gone oh, perhaps four or five hours all told. Now, our kitchen and living room give onto a terrace via double glass doors -- I think they're called "French windows"? -- and above each is a sort of small transom window that tilts open inward along the top. I left the living room transom open when I left, the better for air to circulate.

As things transpired, this was a mistake.

So I came home and there I was futzing about in the office upstairs when I heard noises below. These I ignored at first, as I was surely alone in the house. But then I heard them again, and then again once more. Hmm: better check it out. (If I were in Texas I've no doubt I'd have been cocking the "hog's leg" at this point.)

I walk around the ground floor, puzzled. Nobody there, nothing out of place. Where were those noises coming from, then? And that's when I see the intruder, standing on the living room sofa.

Continue reading "Reasons to make sure ALL your windows are closed, part 8,927"

A toast

Vivat; mabuhay; živjeli; fad saol agaibh; לחיים; to life.

Всех с Праздником Первого Мая!

Because people all too easily forget that liberalism is a revolutionary creed.

Debout, les damnés de la terre
Debout, les forçats de la faim
La raison tonne en son cratère
C'est l'éruption de la fin
Du passé faisons table rase
Foules, esclaves, debout, debout
Le monde va changer de base
Nous ne sommes rien, soyons tout.

C'est la lutte finale
Groupons-nous, et demain
L'Internationale
Sera le genre humain!

Il n'est pas de sauveurs suprêmes
Ni Dieu, ni César, ni tribun
Producteurs, sauvons-nous nous-mêmes
Décrétons le salut commun
Pour que le voleur rende gorge
Pour tirer l'esprit du cachot
Soufflons nous-mêmes notre forge
Battons le fer quand il est chaud.

C'est la lutte finale
Groupons-nous, et demain
L'Internationale
Sera le genre humain!

Enjoy the day, citizens, comrades!