Foo FightÂers frontÂman Dave Grohl raised an interÂnet meme to an art form when he took the ALS Ice BuckÂet ChalÂlenge while parÂoÂdyÂing the epic prom scene from CarÂrie. John TraÂvolÂta appeared in the 1976 horÂror film, and Stephen King wrote the book behind it. So Grohl name checks them both. Where Jack Black fits into the picÂture, I’m not exactÂly sure.
DonaÂtions to help find a cure for the horÂrifÂic disÂease can be made over at the ALS AssoÂciÂaÂtion. For a truÂly soberÂing account of what it’s like to live with ALS, read Tony Judt’s essay, “Night,” in The New York Review of Books. It was pubÂlished in FebÂruÂary 2010, shortÂly before the disÂease took his life.
Don ParÂdo voiced the introÂducÂtions of SatÂurÂday Night Live for 38 seaÂsons. He began callÂing out the names of the S.N.L. cast memÂbers durÂing the first episode in OctoÂber, 1975, and (except for the 1981–82 seaÂson) he kept callÂing out those names straight through last May. Chevy Chase, GilÂda RadÂner, John Belushi, Bill MurÂray, Eddie MurÂphy, Tina Fey — he called them all. Thanks to an imperÂsonÂator, you can hear a comÂpiÂlaÂtion of ParÂdo’s call for every cast memÂber.
Don ParÂdo died yesÂterÂday at 96 years of age. EarÂliÂer in his career, he was the announcÂer for a numÂber of AmerÂiÂcan TV shows, includÂing The Price Is Right, JackÂpot, and JeopÂardy!. But his voice became part of the fabÂric of AmerÂiÂca’s greatÂest comÂeÂdy show, SatÂurÂday Night Live. And he conÂtinÂued voicÂing the intro long after his forÂmal retireÂment from NBC in 2004. Not lackÂing enerÂgy (watch him blow out his canÂdles on his 90th birthÂday), ParÂdo flew from TucÂson to New York weekÂly to get S.N.L. startÂed. Above, we have a short video that feaÂtures ParÂdo, then 88, showÂing off, his sheer linÂguisÂtic aweÂsomeÂness.
SomeÂhow, I’m now hopÂing that whenÂevÂer my day comes, Don ParÂdo’s voice will introÂduce me on the othÂer side.
As a New York City subÂway ridÂer, I am conÂstantÂly exposed to pubÂlic health posters. More often than not these feaÂture a phoÂto of a wholeÂsome-lookÂing teen whose sober expresÂsion is meant to conÂvey hindÂsight regret at havÂing takÂen up drugs, dropped out of school, or foreÂgone conÂdoms. They’re well intendÂed, but borÂing. I can’t imagÂine I’d feel difÂferÂentÂly were I a memÂber of the tarÂget demoÂgraphÂic. The Chelsea Mini StorÂage ads’ saucy regionÂal humor is far more enterÂtainÂing, as is the train wreck design approach favored by the ubiqÂuiÂtous Dr. Jonathan ZizÂmor.
PubÂlic health posters were able to conÂvey their desÂigÂnatÂed horÂrors far more memÂoÂrably before phoÂtos became the graphÂiÂcal norm. Take SalÂvador DalĂ’s sketch (below) and final conÂtriÂbuÂtion (top) to the WWII-era anti-veneÂreÂal disÂease camÂpaign.
Which image would cause you to steer clear of the red light disÂtrict, were you a young solÂdier on the make?
A porÂtrait of a glum felÂlow solÂdier (“If I’d only known then…”)?
Or a grinÂning green death’s head, whose chopÂpers douÂble as the frankly exposed thighs of two faceÂless, loose-breastÂed ladies?
CreÂatÂed in 1941, DalĂ’s nightÂmare vision eschewed the sort of manÂly, milÂiÂtarisÂtic sloÂgan that retroacÂtiveÂly ramps up the kitsch valÂue of its ilk. Its mesÂsage is clear enough withÂout:
Stick it in—we’ll bite it off!
(Thanks to blogÂger RebecÂca M. BenÂder for pointÂing out the composition’s resemÂblance to the vagiÂna denÂtaÂta.)
As a femÂiÂnist, I’m not crazy about depicÂtions of women as pestiÂlenÂtial, one-way deathÂtraps, but I conÂcede that, in this instance, subÂvertÂing the girlie pin up’s explicÂitÂly physÂiÂcal pleaÂsures might well have had the desired effect on horny enlistÂed men.
A decade latÂer DalĂ would colÂlabÂoÂrate with phoÂtogÂraÂphÂer Philippe HalsÂman on “In VolupÂtas Mors,” stackÂing sevÂen nude modÂels like cheerÂleadÂers to form a peaceÂtime skull that’s far less threatÂenÂing to the male figÂure in the lowÂer left corÂner (in this instance, the very dapÂper DalĂ himÂself).
We know that depresÂsion affects peoÂple from all walks of life. Rich. Poor. Celebs. OrdiÂnary Joes. Young. Old. But, someÂhow after the death of Robin Williams, there’s a renewed focus on depresÂsion, and my mind turned immeÂdiÂateÂly to a lecÂture we feaÂtured on the site way back in 2009. The lecÂture is by Robert SapolÂsky, a StanÂford biolÂoÂgist, who has a talÂent for makÂing sciÂenÂtifÂic subÂjects pubÂlicly accesÂsiÂble. A recipÂiÂent of the MacArthur genius grant, SapolÂsky notes that depresÂsion — curÂrentÂly the 4th greatÂest cause of disÂabilÂiÂty worldÂwide, and soon the 2nd — is deeply bioÂlogÂiÂcal. DepresÂsion is rootÂed in biolÂoÂgy, much as is, say, diaÂbetes. As the lecÂture unfolds, you will see how depresÂsion changes the body. When depressed, our brains funcÂtion difÂferÂentÂly while sleepÂing, our stress response goes way up 24/7, our bioÂchemÂistry levÂels change, etc. You will see that biolÂoÂgy is at work.
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“With deep sorÂrow, yet with great gratÂiÂtude for her amazÂing life, we conÂfirm the passÂing of LauÂren Bacall.” So tweetÂed The Humphrey BogÂaÂrt Estate today, letÂting cinephiles everyÂwhere know that HolÂlyÂwood lost yet anothÂer great one this week. She was 89.
Bacall, of course, met Humphrey BogÂaÂrt on the set of To Have and Have Not in 1943. And they became one of HolÂlyÂwood’s legÂendary couÂples, starÂring togethÂer in The Big Sleep (1946), Dark PasÂsage (1947), and Key Largo (1948). Above you can watch Bogie and Bacall share some light moments togethÂer durÂing a cosÂtume test for Melville GoodÂwin, USA, a film the couÂple nevÂer ultiÂmateÂly made. The footage was shot on FebÂruÂary 20, 1956, just after BogÂaÂrt learned that he had esophageal canÂcer. He passed away less than a year latÂer, on JanÂuÂary 14, 1957. May Bogie & Bacall rest in peace.
Note: The cosÂtume test, like many from the periÂod, doesÂn’t have sound. As you’ll see, you hardÂly need sound to appreÂciÂate the scene that unfolds. Don’t miss the part where the camÂera zooms in.
Rookie’s nevÂer less than worÂthy “Ask a Grown Man” series proÂvides a forum for mature males like actor Jon Hamm and radio perÂsonÂalÂiÂty Ira Glass to offer thoughtÂful, straightÂforÂward advice and explaÂnaÂtions, born of perÂsonÂal expeÂriÂence, to teenage girls (and othÂer interÂestÂed parÂties).
The most recent ediÂtion adds depth, and could just as accuÂrateÂly be titled “Ask a LevÂel-HeadÂed 50-Year-Old Father of Three, Who’s Been HapÂpiÂly MarÂried to His Children’s MothÂer for Years.”
LurkÂing just beneath Stephen Colbert’s hawkÂish ColÂbert Report perÂsona is a fair-mindÂed, seriÂous felÂlow, who’s unemÂbarÂrassed to weigh in in favor of parental authorÂiÂty when a 19-year-old fan comÂplains of her dad’s oppoÂsiÂtion to sleepÂovers at her boyfriend’s place while she’s still livÂing at home. PerÂhaps she should’ve asked a grown man whom expeÂriÂence hadn’t equipped to see things from the othÂer side of the fence, as ColÂbert foreÂsees that his answer won’t “go over great with everyÂone.”
PerÂhaps this segÂment should be called “Ask a Grown Man Whose UnequivÂoÂcatÂing Moral ComÂpass Is InconÂveÂnientÂly Close to Your Dad’s, But Whose PosiÂtion Allows Him to Offer Insights WithÂout LosÂing His TemÂper or Going Off MesÂsage.”
Colbert’s children’s extremeÂly low proÂfile in the media’s line up of celebriÂty offÂspring reflects well on those charged with their upbringÂing. Were his 18-year-old daughÂter to take issue with the old man’s musÂings on TwitÂter or Snapchat, she’d have the luxÂuÂry of doing so in the way of the averÂage RookÂie readÂer, rather than some obsesÂsiveÂly observed nearÂly-grown baby bump.
As to how to tell whether a boy—or anyone—likes you, ColÂbert says “they want to hear your stoÂries.”
As one viewÂer notÂed, “ask a grown-up, get grown-up answers.” Word.
If you’re one of our philoÂsophÂiÂcalÂly-mindÂed readÂers, you’re perÂhaps already familÂiar with StanÂford proÂfesÂsor John PerÂry. He’s one of the two hosts of the PhiÂlosÂoÂphy Talk radio show that airs on dozens of pubÂlic radio staÂtions across the US. (LisÂten to a recent show here.) PerÂry has the rare abilÂiÂty to bring phiÂlosÂoÂphy down to earth. He also, it turns out, can help you work through some worldÂly probÂlems, like manÂagÂing your tenÂdenÂcy to proÂcrasÂtiÂnate. In a short essay called “StrucÂtured ProÂcrasÂtiÂnaÂtion” — which Marc Andreessen (founder of Netscape, Opsware, Ning, and Andreessen Horowitz) read and called “one of the sinÂgle most proÂfound moments of my entire life” – PerÂry gives some tips for motiÂvatÂing proÂcrasÂtiÂnaÂtors to take care of difÂfiÂcult, timeÂly and imporÂtant tasks. PerÂry’s approach is unorthoÂdox. It involves creÂatÂing a to-do list with theÂoÂretÂiÂcalÂly imporÂtant tasks at the top, and less imporÂtant tasks at the botÂtom. The trick is to proÂcrasÂtiÂnate by avoidÂing the theÂoÂretÂiÂcalÂly imporÂtant tasks (that’s what proÂcrasÂtiÂnaÂtors do) but at least knock off many secÂondary and terÂtiary tasks in the process. The approach involves “conÂstantÂly perÂpeÂtratÂing a pyraÂmid scheme on oneÂself” and essenÂtialÂly “using one charÂacÂter flaw to offÂset the bad effects of anothÂer.” It’s unconÂvenÂtionÂal, to be sure. But Andreesen seems to think it’s a great way to get things done. You can read “StrucÂtured ProÂcrasÂtiÂnaÂtion” here.
Have your proÂcrasÂtiÂnaÂtion tips? Add them to the comÂments secÂtion below. Would love to get your insights.
Some things are difÂfiÂcult to improve upon. Take crayons. The new genÂerÂaÂtion may be clamÂorÂing for shades like “manÂgo tanÂgo” and “jazzberÂry jam” but the actuÂal techÂnolÂoÂgy appears unchanged since Sesame Street detailed the process in the earÂly 80s, in the loveÂly, non verÂbal docÂuÂmenÂtary above. Not a prodÂuct placeÂment in sight, I might add, though few can misÂtake that familÂiar green and gold box.
Those who preÂfer a bit more explaÂnaÂtion might preÂfer Fred Rogers’ hypÂnotÂic step-by-step guide, playÂing in perÂpeÂtuÂity on PicÂture PicÂture.
By the time the indusÂtry’s giant gorilÂla got around to weighÂing in, the woodÂen colÂlecÂtion boxÂes and anaÂlog counÂters had been replaced, but othÂerÂwise, it’s still busiÂness as usuÂal on the ol’ crayÂon-manÂuÂfacÂturÂing floor. Don’t expect to find the recipe for the “secret proÂpriÂetary blend of pigÂments and othÂer ingreÂdiÂents” any time soon. Just know they’re capaÂble of crankÂing out 8500 crayons per minute. For those playÂing along at home, that’s enough to encirÂcle the globe 6 times per calÂenÂdar year, with a full third owing their exisÂtence to solar enerÂgy.
There’s a HomeÂland SecuÂriÂty-ish vibe to some of the diaÂlogue, but the Life of an AmerÂiÂcan CrayÂon, above, does our native assemÂbly lines proud. ProudÂer than the AmerÂiÂcan slaughÂterÂhouse, anyÂway, or some othÂer facÂtoÂry floors, I could name. The workÂers seem conÂtent enough to stay in their posiÂtions for decades, hapÂpiÂly declarÂing alleÂgiance to this or that hue.
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