Catching Elephant is a theme by Andy Taylor
The Tatt that Saved Civilization
Ok, so the world ends. Knowledge is lost, marauding gangs rampage, you know the drill. However, before it all came tumbling down, you had the foresight to tattoo a brief phrase that holds the key knowledge to restart civilization…
Don’t forget, you’re limited by the remaining infrastructure, or lack thereof. E.g., “invent the internet” involves everything from advanced metallurgy to the chemistry of coolants used in data centers and would be completely impractical. Especially if you got it on the sole of your foot.
So, what would you get inked?
In case you don’t know how to wear an oversized, braided cable scarf with swag, this is how it’s done.
Extra points for the clenched fist about two seconds away from knocking out the photo poacher.
Resolution: Be A New Year's Hack
Are you already 7% body fat? Have you already received your certification as a master saucier from Le Cordon Bleu? Did you sweep a Victoria’s Secret model (Ed. Note: stayaway from Swanepoel, she’s mine) off her feet on NYE and are left with nothing left to achieve this year?
Well then this resolution’s for you.
My acquaintance at Techcrunch posted this opportunity and my eyes bugged: free online coding classes. Each week for an entire year you receive a tutorial in your email, walking you step-by-step through how to program in Java, Ruby, and Python.
Don’t know what those are? Look at your computer. No, not your fantasy football spreadsheet, close that. See the internet? That’s Java, Ruby and Python. See the economy, specifically the only sector still growing? That’s Java, Ruby and Python. See the basic alphabet of the future? Yup, you guessed it.
Many say this skillset is as valuable as an MBA… and it’s being given away for free. So sign up, get your friends to sign up, and by May your iPhone ap will knock Angry Birds from the top spot on Itunes.*
*Or your money back.
Riddle: How does one turn a dairy product to gold?
Answer: Tony Bennett’s voice.
May you spend 2012 in the company of his inspiration.
Go Fly A Kite
Play = happiness. Simplicity = happiness. Kites = simple play. Double syllogism for the win(d).
And since we’re on the topic…
Wind occurs when molecules heat and thusly rise, leaving space for colder molecules to fill in. That “filling in” results as wind. Of course, this filling in isn’t uniform across the planet, as the sun heats our atmosphere unevenly, creating everything from a breeze tussling baby’s first curl to the monsoons deluging Southeast Asian rice paddies. To further complicate matters, each north-south “filling in” is deflected by the spin of the Earth. The land at the equator moves faster than at higher or lower latitudes the same way the rubber on your tire must move faster than the axel of your wheel. Therefore “filling ins” moving towards the equator linger behind the direction of the Earth’s rapid counterclockwise spin and travel westward, and those moving towards the poles are further from this momentum and travel eastward. That’s why the prevailing winds generally blow east-west instead of north-south.
So imagine: each time a kite dances at the end of your twine it is infact manifesting a fleeting marriage of the sun’s fusion, the spin of our planet, and molecular mechanics.
Or more aphoristically put: It takes a village to raise a child; it takes a universe to fly his kite.
It’s been two months. A onslaught of Frankenstein-ed carols warped into anthems of greed. Spending more than you can afford to prove to those you love that you love them. Pepper spraying for X-boxes, swearing at cops in the airport arrivals, and riding red-eye cross country economy next to the diminutive Asian lady with a hacking horse cough and a face mask tilted akimbo like a bacterial snowblower chute into your mouth.
But then, at last, the 26th arrives. The presents have been opened, the coveted BMW has failed to materialize in the driveway, and you’re left with your humble little self, your humble little family and friends, and perhaps a humble little chocolate lab that’s finally starting to go white around the maw.
Perhaps your father lost a friend too soon to a heart attack on Christmas Eve. Perhaps the conversation drifts to how to care for mother in her illness-accelerated dotage. Perhaps you return from your childhood cinema and as opinions are bandied around you realize you’ve changed, or your friends have changed, or the world has changed.
Perhaps your sister cuddles her husband as their eyes glimmer with talk of their first house. Perhaps your compatriot receives an email informing his passion has at long last become his profession. Perhaps the new puppy curls up against the old puppy by the foot of the fir.
If only there were a carol for this day. No wall of choral sound, no ulterior retail motive, merely a tune offering a bittersweet goodbyehello. A humsong to flick on as we pull away from the holiday circus back onto the toll road.
Maybe Bill Callahan gifted it to us with this acoustic gem. Maybe not. But I do know this: when you’re “Riding For the Feeling” you keep the true meaning of December 26th in your heart every day.
Know Your Painters: Henri Rousseau
Oft lambasted for being a “Naive Ignoramus”, post-impressionist Henri Rousseau came to be a lode star for Picasso, Kandinsky, and Klee. Whether it was by choice or by necessity of his being rejected by the more established traditional galleries of Paris, Rousseau displayed his charmingly “wrong” works at the Salon of the Independents. Yet even amongst outcasts he was still frequently ridiculed for his technical failings as an painter. By his own admission, within his own heart he aspired to the popular photorealism of his age. Unfortunately, this son of a tinsmith was cursed with unique vision, peculiar talent, and a doggedly earned autodidactic education. He would forever remain an outcast.
However, all geniuses are outcasts of one sort of another; and genius laughs last, eternally. From his autumn years through today, the artist derided as the “Customs Officer” (a cruel mockery of his even less impressive post as a toll collector) has inspired the vanguard creatives, whether be they the Surrealists, the poet Wallace Stevens, multi-million dollar animators, or even Joni Mitchell. So come, step into his jungle. You’ll have good company.
These scenes are carved into books.
Filed under: look at this next time I drop acid.
Homeless Portraits by Lee Jeffries
This shit just ends me.
Your Suit is Too Big
Yes, you. The one with the Bluetooth earpiece. Your suit is too big.
I’m also talking to you, the guest at the wedding who just pulled it out of the closet, dusted off the shoulders, and said “This looks great.”
It doesn’t matter if you’re big or small, tall or short, wearing a suit that is too big is a fundamental crime against your own waning masculinity. You look like this. I’m not talking about dropping a grand on an expensive name brand in order to correct the problem. It’s only worse if you’re wearing a top shelf formal and it hangs on you like a deflated hot air balloon. It doesn’t really matter where the suit is from. Buy it at a wholesaler, buy it a department store, heck, buy it online. Just get it tailored correctly. Pull it in in the right places and you’ll be wearing a suit like a man is supposed to wear a suit.
If you’re buying at a department store, a handy tip I learned is to almost always go ONE SIZE DOWN from what the salesman recommends, even if he measures you out (and if he didn’t measure you out, get the hell out of there… and if you bought a suit from a place that didn’t measure you out then stop reading and go here). This is not the case if you’ve been going to this salesman for years and you’re on a first name basis. Odds are, he knows what fits you best and you should trust him.
But if you just walked into Nordstrom, Macy’s, et al, go ONE SIZE DOWN. If the smaller size is too tight, go slim instead of regular in the recommended size (but remember, not all suit sizes come in slim).
Have the store tailor it for you (usually free), or better yet, go to your tailor. You know, the one with whom you’re on a first name basis. Mine is Eddie.
A three-piece doesn’t excuse you from this rule. Neither does a double-breasted. If anything, both those styles require more finesse in tailoring in order to pull them off correctly. If you do it right, then they blow a two-piece out of the water, but it’s an inverse relationship. Think of it this way: if you’re going to tell an offensive joke, it had better be REALLY FUNNY. The same is true of three-pieces and double-breasteds. They’ve got to be tailored to perfection.
So stop wearing the big suits already. You may think you look your best, but really you look your worst.
READ: This is NOT an endorsement of the skinny suit, all high ankles and no socks in the summer time. It’s not a bad look but it’s not every look. Just use the throttle and exercise control.
