The New Yorker, the Hippo, and the Tortoise

The blog site boingboing not only has links to Mr. Jalopy's experience with the Complete New Yorker (note the trenchant reader comment about what the cartoon bank grosses each year) but also has a story about the tortoise and the hippo who adopted each other after last year's tsunami.

As reported on boingboing, the story of Owen the (traumatized and orphaned) baby hippo and Mzee the 130-year-old tortoise is being put between covers and will arrive in bookstores mid-February. It's one-off, this pairing. Visually, the hippo and the tortoise are hilarious to see together. Entirely endearing premise. I haven't seen the book yet, and hope it isn't told in the heartwarming sort of way that appeals to people who admire Forrest Gump [thanks to FreeFoto.com].

Slower, Celluloidly

Why do indie movies keep regular tempo? Why do Hollywood movies tend to screen like extended commercials?

Why does "Swingers" feel like it has much in common with "Easy Rider"? And why, if New York is so quick on its feet, do both of them feel more New Yorkish than faster-paced movies?

Harmony, Hold the Union

NYU students will now have to run to Mickey D's for their fix. The Director of the university's dining services recently stated: “The expectation is when everyone returns [from the break], we will be a Coke-free campus."

I always preferred Pepsi myself.

Four People in a Taxicab

And one woman gets out near Columbus Avenue. The driver expects the minimum $10 (for one zone), plus $5 for entry into a second zone.

The woman, seemingly under the impression the driver is trying to swindle her, cuts him off with a "Listen, buddy, I know $10 is the max." Bumping up against my notion of the driver's gas bill (why, I have no idea, maybe because I find her belligerence so unecessary), I start to tell the woman that No, when you change zones, it costs another $5.

Forget that.

After she gets out, I ask the driver why he didn't demand more from the woman. After all, he has two sheets of printed information explaining everything. He waves it off. "I don't want to argue," he says.

The Bronx is Up and the Battery's Down

Manhattan really does well in a transit strike. All the pedestrian prowess comes rising to the surface. That self-sufficiency gene kicks in, and the general mien becomes, "Who, us? We don't need wheels or tracks, or even squeak alerts from the rats to let us know when a train is approaching West 4th Street. No: we can walk."

Mainly below 96th Street.

I think it's great when the city gets all out of whack and controlled chaos sets in. Temperatures are supposed to rise into the 40s on Thursday or Friday, so let's hope we'll have better air to walk in, or bike in.

King Kog (Hope and Marcy, Williamsburg) has warm bike gloves, I know that. Not that I'm in Williamsburg (yet).

Sonar Wasn't an Issue in Moby-Dick

What is the status of this lawsuit, I wonder.

Navy Sued Over Harm To Whales From Mid-Frequency Sonar

Is it For Real, or Is It Satire?

This week's spread on Aspen's un-celebrity side, as it were. "The Other Side of the Mountain," for the mag's 12.18.05 issue.

Photo #1, "The Locals." This couple, described as "real Aspenites," is pictured by their outdoor swimming pool, in which is submerged their differently-surnamed daughter and her un-surnamed friend. Ski runs visible in the background.
Botox factor: hard to tell, it's twilight and they're too far from the lens.

Photo#2: "The Refuge." The wife of a business man, seated beneath heads of beautiful animals alive until sometime in the 1960s. Ugandan elephant tusks unviewable but reportedly standing sentry at entrance to the dining room. Wife is interested in food allergies.
Botox factor: either extremely high, or airbrushing is back.

Photo #3: "The Mountain." Wide shot of new-snow patch of mountain with woman in furry hat blocking some of the range behind. Sno-Cat posed at subtly rakish angle.
Botox factor: I'm thinking medium.

Photo #4: "The Frequent Flier." A couple posing in sunglasses within sneezing distance of a private jet. Features the only ugly piece by J. Mendel I've ever seen. Unseen: gallons of fuel burned up by this handy vehicle.
Botox factor: Kinda can't tell.

Photo #5: "The Picture Window." A misplaced photo. Belongs in a Lauren Greenfield collection.
Botox factor: Ooh, baby.

Photo #6: "The Members." Two women with long hair and intense stares. Quoted text tries to convey the idea that Aspen is not about the scene but the mountain.
Botox factor: Acceptable.

Photo #7: "The Log Cabin." A man seated in front of a fireplace whose chimney is supposedly composed of . . . rocks from the Colorado River! Man is wearing sunglasses. Cost of man's parka: $4,485.
Botox factor: Might be none.

Relative Relief Photo, Mind Cleanser: "Ad for American Indian College Fund." Foreground, woman in red; background, Flathead Reservation (1.2 million + acres, Northwestern Montana). Mention: Salish Kootenai College.
Noted: we're off the mountain.

The Dumbledore Question

Having just begun Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (this in order to clear up a few references in the subsequent volume, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, which I've already read--don't ask why I've read them out of order), I'm reminded of my most burning question thus far (btw, welcome to the end of this sentence):

Why did Dumbledore trust Snape?

I kept believing that he must have known something Harry and the rest of the doubters did not. I trusted Dumbledore's judgment. Is a reader supposed to conclude that a man sensitive enough to speak Mermish couldn't possibly have the kind of attenae needed to tune into Snape's evil ways?

Not that this has weighed heavily on the part of my mind devoted to children's sagas. It hasn't. Mainly, I continue to marvel at how taken people are with the Harry Potter books while I continue to be taken with Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy. Harry and Hermione and Ron are loveable but not as deeply loveable as Pullman's Lyra Belacqua and Will Parry. Lyra's so-called compass and Will's knife, and their worlds (Oxford and otherwise) are deep and rich and wondrous. Very few children I've met on paper are as loveable as Lyra. She is a heroine figure.

At a party once, I asked children's literature expert Alison Lurie why she thought Harry Potter had caught on so. Since I asked her not as a blogger but as an affiliated staff writer, I won't quote her answer here. Suspect it's all right to say that she addressed the issue of money. (Bonus tangential non sequitur: here she is in the Guardian on the Chronicles of Narnia, whose reach Pullman approaches. N.B. Pullman's trilogy is the anti-Narnia, Christianly speaking.)

What Would Ed Murrow's Gang Be Doing Today?

After seeing the splendiferous "Good Night, and Good Luck"--David Strathairn (scroll to bottom of linked page, please) and Philip Seymour Hoffman may have to share best actor at the Oscars--I really have to wonder where those Kent-smoking, scotch-swilling guys would be.

1.) Popping happy pills
2.) Attending support groups
3.) Airing dirty laundry on talk shows
4.) Omming at Zen Mountain Monastery
5.) Taking it on the chin at an S&M dungeon
6.) Clean outta luck

Hmm.

Front Line, Information Age-style

The following headline struck me as slightly anemic:

Beirut Car Bomb Kills Lawmaker, a Critic of Syria

Forty-eight year-old Gebran Tueni was managing director of Lebanon's daily newspaper Al-Nahar.

I hear the Committee to Protect Journalists puts on fancy dinners.

Is there really any way to protect a journalist?

I wouldn't be surprised if this question turns up somewhere in the no-doubt-in-the-works New Yorker piece on any number of prominent dead journalists.

Forbes Russia editor-in-chief Paul Klebnikov, who was murdered in July 2004, in Moscow, would be the most natural choice. According to CPJ, the jury trial is scheduled to begin December 29. Who ordered his murder? I wonder if we'll ever know. CPJ notes that its people have urged prosecutors to reconsider a November decision to hold the trial in camera.

Again: is there ever really a way to protect journalists? Is that even a viable question?

Lower down on CPJ's site, beneath the Tueni obituary, is another kind of obituary. Another kind of sadness, for me anyway. It begins:

"Accreditation of last independent foreign broadcaster in Uzbekistan withheld

New York, December 12, 2005—Uzbekistan today denied accreditation to Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty (RFE/RL), silencing the last independent foreign broadcaster reporting from the country."

And goes on from there. Sometimes, one wishes somebody got the facts wrong.

Victoria's Secrets?

I mean, let's just wonder here. Isn't there a show out there waiting to happen? I see it now: "From the Mouths of Babes."

There is much, much more to underwear--and, no doubt, underwear modeling--than meets the eye. It could run after "What Not to Wear."

Maybe it should be called "Under There."

?

Short of cockroaches and death, underwear really is something we as Americans share in common. In a way, it's our lowest common denominator, as it were, and in these uncertain times, I think it's very important for everybody to remember the certainties.

For instance, you don't want to be caught in an accident (or friendly fire, your odd battle, what have you) with ripped undies.

To Add to My List of Favorite Words Ending in Y

Deathy

Aired last night on the Colbert Report. Came into play when talking about the death penalty.

More about the List . . . .

First favorite word ending in Y: Tubby
Favorite word for 2005: Surfy
Least favorite word for 2005: Chatty

Ker-ist! Where Will the Angels Hang Out?

The Zeckendorf Brothers, who put no fewer than four ugly towers on Union Square, are now about to colonize the airspace above the Grolier Club and Christ Church. The church is on the corner of Park. Some grown people attended nursery school there and feel sentimental enough about the place to not want to see the site Zeckendorfed. Park and 60th looks nice and feels good with more sky, not less.

When I visit the Christ Church website today, the news is as follows:

Our Advent and Christmas Schedule
Most recent sermon : Be Watchful (November 27, 2005)
New website for information on Ministries for Families with Children at Christ Church
The Church's Outreach video

See? Nothing about selling air rights for upwards of $30 million. Information anemia. My suggestion:

Take this entry . . .

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 4, 11:00 A.M.We continue our Advent pilgrimage and light the second Advent candle, a symbol of Love. Today our sanctuary will be filled with the glorious sounds of brass and choral music sung antiphonally from the galleries at the upper reaches of the church. Come sing the great hymns of Advent, accompanied by the brilliance of trumpets and timpani.

. . . and tack something enigmatic but tasteful onto the end. For instance:


Beyond the sanctuary's upper reaches, the air above will be enriched with new possibilities as we conclude the proceedings of a business agreement with two brothers who have taken a lively interest in our offerings. We have much to celebrate this season!

Kevin and Vincent

The Met recorded Kevin Bacon reading Van Gogh's Letters, for an exhibit of Van Gogh's drawings that's on until December 31 . Very gimmicky, to have an actor reading (did they consider going meta with Kelso or Fez?). Thing is, Kevin Bacon has a sexy voice and it's not too identifiable--not the voice that starts the brain envisioning Bacon standing at a mike. If George Clooney had done the recordings, or Ralph Fiennes, forget it; it would be too difficult to divorce their voices from their looks. Somebody might get aroused and then distracted.

Bacon's delivery is steady and subdued; it conjures a little bit of his lawyerly role in A Few Good Men. His vocal presence doesn't overwhelm the reading material.

Voice packs as much memory blueprint as smell, I think.