466. Take a cheap shot at a hairdresser after she gives you a fright

Some observations from an early afternoon stroll around downtown Seattle on Halloween:

The Seattle Public Library has special sections dedicated to "Dead authors" and "Disability in fiction." Unclear to me whether these suggestions were coincidentally aligned with Halloween or the SPL staff has a heretofore unexhibited edginess to it.

Walked past a man who I thought was dressed up as iconic Bond villain Oddjob. I very nearly complimented him on the costume, but it turned out he just happened to be a squat Asian man who works as a bellman at a nearby luxury hotel.

Got quite a fright from, of all places, a Vidal Sasoon salon when a manikin wearing a paper tiger mask clawed at me through the window. Turns out it wasn't a manikin at all. It was the manikin's less advanced colleague, the hairdresser.

Spotted a picture-perfect Luigi in front of Pacific Place. Unfortunately he was chatting on a cellphone and not carrying a plunger, which was sad. Also, there were no Koopa Troopas chasing him, which, like, if you're gonna do it, go all out.

The costume du jour in Pioneer Square, just as it is any other day, was Homeless Person. It occurred to me that on every block of this city there is a homeless person with more fashionable attire than I.

465. Visit the land of the giants

We are only a couple of weeks into my immersion in the world of Twitter and already I am overrun by updates from basketball players, basketball analysts and basketball sites of all shapes and sizes. It's a side effect of jumping into the game just as the basketball season begins. Oh, I'm not complaining. Quite the contrary. Just look at all that I have learned:

Former UNC guard Bobby Frasor is adjusting to life in Bulgaria, where sandpaper has not yet been invented:
Im afraid to dive on the floor for a loose ball cause Im pretty sure I'll have a serious sliver when i land. The courts over here are brutal

Former Michigan forward, and reigning NBDL Defensive Player of the Year, Brent Petway is adjusting to life in Greece, where he is finding the supply of performance-enhancing corn syrup to be lacking:
Yo is it bad that I gotta have my sweets so much that I'm bout to order my fav candy online and have em' shipped to Greece!!?! Sour Punch Straws, Super Blow Pops, Sour Skittles and maybe Sour Starburst...The candy selection here is awful unless you a chocalate lover.

Apparently Ty Lawson thinks vampires are gay:
Yeah..yeah...all the teams that ain't pick me....I'm going at they neck...no homo....

Someone has pooped in Kevin Durant's swimming pool:
Man it's a ugly day in Okc...my pool is brown, look like coffee wit 2 creams and 3 sugars

Nate Robinson offers his first of many apologies for the Knicks:
I want to be the 1st to say sorry for that game tweeps we will play better, and I will make a shot sorry again yall, word aapp!!!

Pops Mensah Bonshu offers an astute political observation:
When 2 republicans want to criticize a democrat they compare him to a another republican. Reps states obama is nixon-fying the white house

Michigan wing Anthony Wright has an intriguing post-graduate plan:
I wanna be a bus driver on campus and stop at a crowded bus stop, look at the people and just drive off

Sometimes it's not even the interesting posts that interest me. For example, it's rewarding to learn that Shelden Williams is just as boring as I had always imagined:
Just got done with the game we played well and got a good W

464. Find your hidden talent

This is part one in a never-ending series examining great sports scenes in non-sports movies.



"The moment where I realized comedy could be both funny and beautiful." - Terry Jones on M. Hulot's Holiday

Forty-seven minutes into Jacques Tati's eighty-seven minute comedic masterpiece begins perhaps¹ the greatest tennis scene committed to film. M. Hulot's Holiday is the first of four films to feature Tati's awkward and endearing Monsieur Hulot. Whereas the later films portray Hulot hopelessly out of place in an increasingly modernized, mechanized, sterilized, impatient and unfriendly world, in Holiday we encounter Hulot vacationing in a small, French seaside town. The pace is languid, the mood merry, the surroundings beautifully old-fashioned. Here Hulot's alienation is dependent much more on social class and etiquette than on his outmoded way of being.

Hulot is a Mr. Magoo-like character. His awkwardness and obliviousness tend to create havoc wherever he goes. This makes it is all the more remarkable that his bizarre approach to tennis is so wildly successful. I think I'm correct in saying that this is the only time Hulot displays any form of physical prowess in Tati's four Hulot pictures.

The scene begins as Hulot, apparently thinking that his trademark hat is not sporting enough, buys a newspaper and quickly crafts a hat suitable for tennis out of it. He then enters a gift shop where he buys a tennis racket and, a neophyte at the game, picks up a crucial pointer from the shopkeeper. It is unclear why the lady instructs Hulot to serve the ball with such unique flair, but I sincerely thank her for it.

Hulot's car pulls up the tennis court² and emits some sputtering followed by a loud bang. The cacophany of his car engine and the disruption it causes are recurring themes throughout the film. We see two young women, presumably experienced tennis players, gracefully and artfully warming up with practice swings. Hulot steps up to serve and hilarity ensues. He rockets a service right by them. And then another and another in quick succession. The women are taken aback by the incivility of his play. After exiting the court in a huff, Hulot gets a challenge from proud a young gentleman who struts onto the court and is swiftly run ragged. Sprawling on the ground, unable to keep up with Hulot's rapid services, he is embarrassed.

A Young boy enthusiastically emulates Hulot's style on a neighboring ping-pong table. An old man in a captain's hat mimics Hulot's form and exclaims, "But that's not right. That's not tennis."³ Hulot's young challenger, out of breath, unable to speak, throws in the towel after failing to return a single service

Hulot stands poised, ready to serve, waiting for his next opponent. The old man says, "Fine. Well I'll go on the attack." Hulot gives the man a nod and serves. The old man does a full 360, whiffs on the ball and loses his captain's cap in the process.

The excellence and audacity of Hulot's play upset the stuffy vacationers⁴ in much the same way his loud jazz music and sputtering car engine agitate the resort vibe. That Hulot excels at tennis while completely ignoring the game's etiquette is important. He does it not out of disdain for those who take the game seriously, but rather out of simple naiveté. He's one of few in town who is not putting on some kind of an act, who is not more concerned with social grace than having an enjoyable vacation.

It is important to note that not everyone is annoyed by Hulot's tennis play and various other eccentricities. The pretty young blond, the young boy and the kooky chair umpire are delighted by his antics. Throughout the film, the more unlikable a character is the more they are bothered by Hulot's innocent obliteration of social mores. Tati sides strongly with Hulot and those who would befriend him. In the end Hulot wins over more than he losses. He brings energy to the staid surroundings and ushers a conclusion that I think is far more optimistic than the Hulot films that would follow.

I'll close with the following from David Ehrenstein's essay that accompanies the Criterion edition of the film:

Tati’s penchant for realism, combined with his taste and restraint, make M. Hulot’s Holiday the sort of comedy that one can enjoy again and again. A first viewing will have you laughing at the classic comedy scenes like Hulot’s tennis game, or the uproarious scene in which the hapless Hulot finds himself mistaken for a mourner at a country funeral—and that’s not to mention the bits with the muddy footprints, the raucous jazz record, or the runaway car.

But later viewings reveal something else, for Tati is the antithesis of the laughs-at-any-price gagman. He wants us to laugh, but he also wants something more. In the words of critic Pauline Kael, “Tati is sparse, eccentric, quick. It is not until afterward—with the sweet nostalgic music lingering—that these misadventures take on a certain poignancy and depth.” For film director Jean-Luc Godard it’s this subtle afterglow—a comic yet becalmed view of the world—that really counts. “This is what interests Tati. Everything and nothing. Blades of grass, a kite, children, a little old man, anything, everything which is at once real, bizarre, and charming."

______________________
1 We'll get to some others later. There are at least two other contenders that I have in mind. A cookie goes to the first person who can name them both!

2 The old man's annoyance reminds me of the time I attended the men's foil finals at the 1996 Summer Olympics with my old man. The Cubans won the bronze and my most salient memory of the event is my father's annoyance with their style of fencing. His reaction to the Cuban's aggressive and, to an untrained eye, almost reckless approach amounted to, "But that's not right. That's not fencing." Meanwhile, my response to the Cubans was very much like what we see from the little boy who emulates Hulot on the ping-pong table, I thought they were the coolest.

2 Regrettably. the tennis court no longer exists.

4 An interesting note about France and vacations: "When [Tati] made this film, summer vacations were not the institution in France they are now, when Paris is deserted by Parisians in the month of August. In 1953, workers had only two weeks vacation, few traveled, since hotels were expensive, and only one person in 25 owned a car."

463. Find the namby pamby who's married to a supermodel

Well, can you spot him in the picture below?

What the eff, Thomas? You're boarding a jet plane to fly across the Atlantic Ocean. The rest of the gentlemen in your company are wearing comfortable, sensible, matching sweats. They are dressed this way because they are on their way to a play a football game. And you, what, you're on your way to the London fucking Stock Exchange? Tea with the Queen Mum? Addressing parliament? Modeling for a dapper wax sculpture at Madame Tussaud's? What? Lose the suit, you jackass.
















Adalius Thomas knows what this trip is all about. You could learn from him, Brady.

462. Kill your doppleganger

The thing about doppelgangers is they're kinda cool until you've got one yourself. I have a doppelganger and he lives in my apartment building. Not only that, he lives on my floor. Today he offered to hold the elevator for me while I fetched my mail. I told him "Thanks but no thanks, you scare me." Said it with my eyes. He got the message.

I relayed the first part of that tale on Twitter, hoping for some sage advice. It was not long before I received some: "Rub him out. Take his stuff. Wear his clothes. Write about it. But first, the murder."

I laughed it off. That is until I conducted a cursory investigation which revealed that the doppelganger may be more than a mere nuisance mirror-image who taunts me with hollow gestures of neighborly goodwill: "the double will often impersonate the victim and go about ruining them, for instance through committing crimes or insulting the victim's friends. Sometimes, the double even tries to kill the original."

First, a disclaimer to the police, If I commit any crimes in the coming days, including murder, please know that it was my doppelganger who has done it and not me. I will murder him shortly. Sit tight.

Second, a disclaimer to my friends, If I insult you in the coming days, please know that it was my doppelganger who has insulted you and not me. I will murder him shortly. Sit tight.

Third, a disclaimer to me, If I kill you in the coming days, please know that it was because you are a doppelganger and I had to kill you before you killed me. I will murder you shortly. Sit tight.

Fourth, a disclaimer to my doppelganger, If you die in the coming days, please know that it was me who has killed you and not you that has killed me. And, if not, it was probably me that has killed me. Unless there is a third party involved, which isn't very likely. To be honest, I don't think anyone wants to kill you expect for me and vice versa. Anyway, I'm gonna kill you. Sit tight.

Fifth, a second disclaimer to my friends, If I insult you in the coming days, please know that it is because I am duty-bound to insult the friends of my doppelganger as retribution for insulting you. Because my doppelganger claimed you all as his friends, I must insult you. Just ignore it, unless you think it's my doppelganger doing it, in which case please report it to me. Thank you.

UPDATE: I've given it some thought and, doppelganger, I do not wish to kill you anymore. The cable guy is coming by the apartment to fix my DVR today and, well, I'm wondering if you could sit in for me as I have to go to work. I would be willing to pay you, of course. How does $20 cash sound? Provided that you do not go about ruining me, for instance through committing crimes or insulting my friends or even trying to kill me. Sound good? If this goes off without a hitch I'm thinking maybe Tuesdays and Thursdays you could go to work for me. We can negotiate your salary later. Also, I've signed myself up to fly home for both Thanksgiving and Christmas. Not sure I'm up for all that. I'll pay your way, just pick one. If you pick Christmas I'll let you keep one present of your choice and all the candy in your stock- my stocking, my stocking. I trust you with this assignment, doppelganger. I can trust you, right? Please don't let me down.

461. Dabble in vampire detectivery

Although I had a vague notion of the existence of a historical figure known as 'Vlad the Impaler,' my knowledge of 15th century Romanian princes is, regrettably, thin. Had you asked me yesterday I probably would have guessed that he was a Russian czar, or a Visigoth pimp, or the DH for the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim.

I had no idea that Vlad the Impaler was the inspiration for Count Dracula. Learning this news in the Believer's fine piece of reportage on the booming vampire tourism industry in Romania delighted me. While in a delighted state, my mind wanders..... and you get a blog post!

Degrees of Separation

• Vlad III, Prince of Wallachia
• Bram Stoker
• Bela Lugosi
• Gene Autry¹
• Arte Moreno
• Vladimir Guererro

Evidence for Vlad Guerrero is a vampire:

• Career OPS is 70 points higher at night and 52 points higher indoors, suggesting Vlad might be moderately fearful of daylight.
• Spent the first 10 years of his career in the Expos organization, a tragic hero in the classic vampire mold.
• Feeds on the pranic energy of pitchers.
• Ability to hit balls "from his nose to his toes' is tantamount to sorcery.
• Approach at the plate is immune to conventional means of attack.
• Name is an anagram for 'Gal devourerr'

Evidence against Vlad Guerrero is a vampire:

• Chronic back and knee pain would seem to suggest that Vlad is mortal.
• Two-run dong in the California sun today.
• LOVES garlic!
• There is only one black vampire and his name is Blacula.
  

Final assessment: Vlad Guerrero is probably a vampire.


________________________
1 The Lugosi-to-Autry connection is far less tenuous (and far more hilarious) than you might imagine: "Ed [Wood's] unrealized Ghoul project was to have cowboys come upon a seemingly deserted wild west town that secretly is populated by blood-thirsty vampires who duke it out fang-to-gun in a tense Woodian climax. Cowboy superstar Gene Autry came to Bela's aide in the days following his exit from the [drug rehabilitation] clinic, saying that he would star in the cowboy lead if Bela Lugosi would star as the villanous vampire. Very touching words from a heroic American cowboy ... until legend has it that Gene Autry actually had a chance to SEE one of Ed Wood's films, at which point the heroic American cowboy quietly backed out of the project." - The Life of Edward D. Wood Jr.

460. Finish what you started

Forgive my silence. I too am surprised at how deeply the death of legendary newsman Walter Cronkite has affected me. The fact is that while a friend of mine gave Cronkite tennis instruction on a handful of occasions I neither met the man nor had any emotional attachment to him. Hell, I wasn't even alive when he stepped aside as anchorman for the CBS Evening News. And yet this blog has been in mourning, dark since his death more than two months ago. I cannot explain it.

At any rate, much has taken place since we last spoke:

I bought a new shower curtain. I disposed of the dark blue deal that was in place when I moved in and replaced it with a white one. The change has given a new vibrancy to my bathroom. Change is good.

I have not been to the gym in several weeks and have only visited five times since my last post. I plan to go to the gym tomorrow.

I have been reading a book on Weimar Germany for approximately as long as Weimar Germany existed.

While vacationing for the Fourth of July an insect no larger than a poppy seed latched onto my leg in the woods of West Tisbury. We exchanged bodily fluids is a non-consensual manner. The first sign of disease was a three-day spell of dizziness, weakness and the chills. It went away and I thought little of it. A few days later a large bruise formed the top of my left foot. I blamed it on my new Sperry Top-Siders, still in the process of being broken in, and thought not much of it. The bruise went away but was replaced by a swollen ankle. A blood test would soon follow and then a 21-day course of medication. I am all better now.

I bought a new jacket at Patagonia for the fall season. This is the first jacket I have purchased for myself in more than five years. Kind of odd, no? I am very enthusiastic about this new jacket. I can't wait for the first brisk fall day so that I can wear it.

I went on a business trip to Los Angeles and displayed such skill at bar room darts that I was mistaken for a hustler. I won no money but drank much free Newcastle.

My friend Michael, well aware that providing a heavy dose of flattery is the best way to convince me to do something foolish, asked me join Twitter because I "have potent observations and provide links to interesting internet content." Done. I now Tweet. Nothing potent yet.

Moments ago I read this essay by my dear friend Bryan. It is an elegant essay that summons many of my own feelings about rooting for a familiar team in a strange land among strange fans.

We have some ways to go to reach our target of 2009 Things. I am confident that with your help we can get there with plenty of room to spare.

459. Mourn

"He was so widely known that in Sweden anchormen were once called Cronkiters." Awesome.

The truest thing he ever said:

Mr. Cronkite, a keen sailor, had a seasonal relationship with Martha’s Vineyard that endured far longer even than his tenure in the most influential media job in the country – some 40 years. "I don’t know of any place quit like it, and I’ve traveled a great deal around the world and this nation of ours. This is unique," he said.

458. Coup

Andrew Sullivan deserves a big fat medal for his tireless coverage of the ongoing election fallout in Iran this weekend. I have been impressed with his blog in that past, but this weekend he took it to a whole new level. Phenomenal. Glued to my Google Reader these past few days I have also read valuable insights from Juan Cole, Nate Silver and many, many others. The blogosphere has been brilliant and once again on the cable news channels we see nothing but neglect. Pathetic.

457. Spend a few nights with Robert Osborne

Oh mercy, Turner Classic Movies has been on fire lately. The Lady Eve and Sullivan's Travels on Wednesday night. Seven Samurai on Thursday night. A double feature of Double Indemnity and Sunset Boulevard on Saturday. It is entirely possible that TCM exclusively airs my favorite movies and I just hadn't noticed until now, but I doubt it. TCM and I are simpatico like never before and probably never again. I'm enjoying it.

And since we're talking TCM, I believe I neglected to mention that when I watched The Third Man in the theater a couple weeks back TCM's own Robert Osborne was there in person to introduce the film. It was undoubtedly one of the highlights of my young life. Osborne told the tale of how one of The Third Man's producers wanted Jimmy Stewart to play Holly Martins and Robert Mitchum to play Harry Lime. What an odd movie that would have been. Jimmy Stewart in Vienna, it's probably impossible for it not to be a comedy.

456. Dream sweet dreams of Gordon Ramsay

I had a tough final stretch of sleeping this morning.

4:17 - Awoken by a loud thud in the apartment above me. It sounds like a sleepwalker falling headlong over a coffee table, or alternately a drunkard stumbling around and throwing something large, perhaps a St. Bernard.

4:30 - A lone gunshot rings out on the city street. Probably unrelated to the drunkard and his St. Bernard but it is unclear.

5:27 - Emerge from a dream that went like this: Me in restaurant eating. Two patrons a few tables away are being loud and obnoxious. One of them approaches my table and, thinking I am finished my meal, snatches my plate away. I get up from the table, grab him, grab the plate, and hit him over the head with the plate. Gordon Ramsay rushes out of the kitchen, puts me in a headlock and calls me a racist for picking a fit with the guy who snatched my plate because apparently the guy who snatched my plate is British. I argue my case to no avail. Gordon Ramsay has won.

6:21 - My Snooze button fails me. Or maybe I failed my snooze button. Whatever the case, I oversleep.

455. Share a joke from John Wayne

Roger Ebert on John Wayne:

Once I was on location for "Chisum" in Durango, Mexico. Clive Hirshhorn of the London Daily Express was there, too. "Duke" he asked, "what do you think about Nixon's policy in Vietnam?"

Wayne sized him up as if to judge if he was one of those goddamned hippies. "I think the President is conducting himself with honor," Wayne said, "and there's only one thing better than honor"

"What's that?"

"In her."

454. Crash Chelsea Clinton's wedding and/or dunk on Obama's face

If there is to be a Clinton wedding and an Obama vacation on Martha's Vineyard this summer, I have but one request: Please don't let either coincide with my summer visits. I don't want the paparazzi buzzing around me as I go to and fro la playa. I suppose if Obama and I happen to be on the Vineyard at the same time we can hoopi it up at the Community Center and I can dunk on his face.

For those that care about these things, I will take up residence in my Martha's Vineyard vacation home July 3-12 and August 15-23.

453. Make a brief appearance just to be polite

The situation is this: I work in front of a computer screen all day and lately I've been feeling like when I come home I don't even want to turn on my computer. So I haven't. Hence no blog. But this won't be permanent. It could be that I'm just recalibrating to the nice weather and urge to be outdoors. There should be some time for blogging in the near future. In the meantime, please enjoy this documentary about a super smart sloth.

452. Share some AZ with your friends

I hadn't listened to this one in a while. Pretty much forgot all about it. Through the magic of iPod shuffle it returned to me today. It's so very good.


And if you're going to have a post about AZ it's probably against the law to not include "Life's a Bitch." So here you go, a pretty cool homemade video with clips from the great film La Haine.


And if you're going to have a post with hip-hop videos and La Haine it is rather crucial that you include this bit of greatness.

451. Buy artwork to decorate your new office

For some days now I have been waffling on whether to purchase Free Darko artwork to decorate the walls of my new office (more on this later). The fortune in my fortune cookie said, "Life is a series of choices. Today yours are good ones." Denying the possibility that the fortune could be referring to a hypothetical scenario wherein I decide not to order any Free Darko prints, I went ahead and ordered three Free Darko prints. I think it was a good decision. I recommend it.

As long as we're on the topic of ordering aesthetically pleasing shit online, a while back my pal Mike and I signed each other up for McSweeney's "A Year of New Shirts." His idea. His best idea ever. I really like these effin shirts. And the best part is now we don't need to buy each other birthday presents for at least a year.

450. Attend as many festivals as possible

We in Seattle have an embarrassment of riches in our lap this weekend. The weather is spectacular, Northwest Folklife Festival is going on at Seattle Center, and the Seattle International Film Festival has just begun its twenty-five day run. My SIFF experience has gotten of to a slow start this year. Zero films viewed through the first three days. Tomorrow I get my feet wet with an 11 a.m. screening of a restored print of The Third Man. Should be spectacular. Then at 6:30 I'll be watching Summer Hours. Between the movies I'll spend the afternoon outdoors at Folklife, listening to music, looking at arts and crafts, eating food, and generally feeling very old and very sober in the presence of hoards of young folk whose look and demeanor suggest they are high on drugs whose names I do not even know. Then on Monday two more movies: Laila's Birthday and Wild Field.

449. Buy a new umbrella

My old umbrella was a rickety bag of bones that toughed it out through a particularly harsh Seattle winter. I bought a new umbrella the other day, ensuring that we will not see rain again until October. See.

448. Locate the cutest blog in the world

Thank you, Erica C. Barnett, for bringing Tiny Art Director to my attention. I don't think I've ever wanted a child more than I do at this very moment. This is great.

Bill Zeman is an illustrator whose very cute blog operates on a simple concept: His 4-year-old daughter tells him what to draw, he draws it, and she critiques it. He's been doing it since she was two.

447. Find a reason to go to San Marcos, Texas

At least one reader of this blog will be thrilled to know that if he pays a visit to Texas State University-San Marcos there he will find the Cormac McCarthy archive:

Those keen for a glimpse into the writing life of the notoriously reclusive author Cormac McCarthy may just have to plan a trip to Texas. McCarthy's entire writing career, from his debut The Orchard Keeper to an unfinished novel The Passenger, is meticulously documented in a new archive that goes on display today in a Texas university.
The Pulitzer prize-winning author's notes, handwritten drafts and correspondence for each of his 10 novels are included in the archive at the Southwestern Writers Collection at Texas State University-San Marcos. Also featured in the 98-box archive, which spans McCarthy's literary career from 1964 to 2007, is his 1994 play The Stonemason, about an African-American family in Louisville, Kentucky, and four screenplays, including No Country for Old Men – which McCarthy started as a screenplay in 1984 and adapted into a novel 20 years later.

446. Purchase the book you want even though the man at the book store attempts to thwart your every effort

I was a little offended when I told the man at Elliott Bay that I wanted to buy a book I saw in the display window by James Hamilton-Paterson but I could not find it anywhere in the store and he assumed I was talking about James Patterson, the thrillingest thriller writer around. Did he think I looked like a semiliterate fool? "No," I said. "It's not James Patterson. Different guy. Hamilton-Paterson. One T. He writes fiction, but this isn't fiction. It's a collection of essays about the ocean, I think." As far I'm concerned I provided him with more than enough information. I didn't give him a title, but whatever. He typed in "James Patterson" on his computer. I reminded him that we were dealing with a different Paterson altogether. He hopped over the desk, an "Aha!" expression on his face, and took me directly to the James Patterson thrillers. Did he not believe me or was he just fucking with me? "Richard North Patterson?" he asked. At this point I brought him to the literature section and showed him James Hamilton-Paterson's novels. "This guy, but not a novel," I said. He went outside to take a look at the display window and after five minutes he returned with a copy of the book I was looking for. This man is not an auditory learner, he is a visual learner. Next time I will take a Polaroid of the display window and deliver it to him, saving us both the trouble of words and movement.

445. Learn to translate Japanese

There is much speculation about what Haruki Murakami's new novel, 1Q84, is all about. It's set for a May 29 release in Japan but it sounds like we'll have to wait indefinitely for an English translation.

...the secrecy surrounding the novel's contents has created a heated debate in the Japanese blogosphere, leading amateur and professional book lovers alike to engage in fevered attempts to decrypt the book's title. One popular theory claims the book is inspired by George Orwell's dystopian classic Nineteen Eighty-Four (the number nine in Japanese is pronounced like the English letter Q, thus in Japanese 1984 and 1Q84 have the same pronunciation). Another finds inspiration for the title in the novella The True Story of Ah Q, by Chinese novelist Lu Xun, an early 20th century writer and intellectual.

The latter opinion has been fueled by the comments of a prominent Tokyo University professor Shozo Fujii, who argues that Lu Xun is one of Murakami's primary influences. The 1 in the book's title, he argues, should be read as the personal pronoun I. In other words, I am Q. What the 84 might stand for is unclear. Fujii's analysis of Murakami's work breaks with the commonly held view of Murakami's influences, primarily Western writers and literary heavyweights like F. Scott Fitzgerald and Dostoyevsky (a view confirmed by Murakami himself). Nevertheless, Fujii's theory about 1Q84's meaning has developed a large following online, and has been bolstered by his close readings of Chinese literary themes in Murakami's early novels, Hear the Wind Sing and The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle.

444. Welcome Big Papi back to the land of the living

9 hours ago on Twitter: "Papi's going deep tonight. Consider that on the record."

5 minutes ago in Fenway: Papi went deep.

And so it was that Bryan became Twitterdamus.

To those who are unaware (and frankly I envy you because this has been a very stressful time for many of us) it had been 8 months since David Ortiz last hit a home run. That's a long time between homers for the Danny Bautistas of the world, to say nothing of the magical jolly giant we call Big Papi. It barely crept over the centerfield wall but it might as well have gone 800 feet. This was not just a home run, this was a reaffirmation of everything I know to be good and just in this world. A planet with a homerless Big Papi is not a planet that any of want to inhabit. Much like a planet without sunshine, a Papiless planet simply cannot sustain. Long live Big Papi!

Also, Penny is mowing down the Jays and Ellsbury, with 11 putouts in centerfield through six innings, is one putout away from tying the Major League record.

I can't believe you forgot to mention the putout record, Twitterdamus.

443. Buy a sloth

"The main concept behind Snoozy is to create an intimate, yet passive, toy interaction that relaxes and comforts a user through the tactile experience of steady breathing patterns."



I find it not the least bit creepy.

More here.

442. Visit the Guggenheim

The Times presents a panoramic image of the inside of the Guggenheim’s rotunda. I'm already little light-headed on account of not yet eating breakfast and the dizziness that playing with this puppy caused nearly rendered me unconscious.

441. Plan a trip to scenic North Korea

The award-winning Globe photo blog presents a series of photographs looking into North Korea from the outside.

Also, a smaller, but far rarer collection of shots from inside North Korea with an excellent back story:

Renowned documentary photographer Tomas van Houtryve entered North Korea by posing as a businessman looking to open a chocolate factory. Despite 24-hour surveillance by North Korean minders, he took arresting photographs of Pyongyang and its people—images rarely captured and even more rarely distributed in the West. They show stark glimmers of everyday life in the world’s last gulag.

Spring Break 2010? Who's coming with me?

440. Accept the karmic comeuppance of the free bratwurst

On Friday night I attended Red Sox v. Mariners at lovely Safeco Field. I won a free bratwurst with onions and sauerkraut. What did I have to receive this $8 prize gratis, you ask? Well, not much actually. I ordered the brat from the brat maker, requested onions and sauerkraut be placed on top of the brat, was handed my brat, and, seeing that nobody was collecting money, I walked away. There was a brief moment of moral dilemma, I paused a couple of extra beats just to make certain that they had absolutely no interest in my money. Karmic comeuppance came in the late innings in the form of two back-breaking Ichiro home runs that carried the Mariners to a come-from-behind victory.

Also, there was some good old fashioned Sox-on-Sox violence behind the right field seats. A Mariners fan with a sign that read. "Where were you before 2004?" left me personally offended but in agreement with the general principle. An old lady Mariners fan who was sitting behind me rubbed me on the shoulders to ease my pain following Jason Bay's sky-high would-be go-ahead home run that landed harmlessly in Waldimir Balentin's mitt at the base of the wall for the game-ending out.

Side note, I recently noticed that since KOMO is no longer airing the Mariners' radio broadcasts they have removed the giant Ichiro window decal (above right) from Fisher Plaza. Totally unnecessary. The man is more than marketing tool, he is a civic leader and intergalactic hero of the highest order. They should have left him up. I miss it. I also miss the excitement of the Japanese tourists as they snapped what seemed like several dozen photographs of their pals posing in front of Ichiro's mammoth likeness.

439. Watch Pitfall

What do you get when surrealist author Kobo Abe and avant garde director Hiroshi Teshigahara team up to make a ghost story slash police procedural slash critique of the mining industry slash creepy ass movie. Well, for one you get the best film I've seen in months. But you also get one of the creepiest trailers I've ever seen. The film is roughly 47% creepy, the trailer is 100% creepy. Pitfall!

438. Think of a satisfactory title for this post

Interesting segment on last week's On the Media:

Stephen Colbert parodies an outraged conservative TV host every night on Comedy Central. A recent study looked at liberal and conservative reactions to his satire. One of the study's authors, Heather LeMarre, explains that both liberals and conservatives actually think Colbert shares their political beliefs.

437. If you see the man in Edmonds who drives an Audi and carries a Rand McNally world atlas please punch him in the face for me

It had been a long time since I wanted to fight somebody in a bookstore, at least since the time I got into it with the dandyish Jacobite at the Bernard-Henri Lévy reading. This weekend, before I waltzed into Elliott Bay Book Co. and bought Weimar Germany: Promises and Tragedy, I was sitting on a stoop around the corner, having a phone conversation with my brother. A man parked right in front of me, emerged from his Audi, took a glance at a homeless man passing by, looked to the sky with a pained expression and said audibly to himself, "What a horrible place." It was odd. My phone conversation over, I trailed the man into the bookstore. He marched straight to the information desk and I pretended to browse the adjacent reference section while I listened to his bitch ass complain about the harrowing experience he had SEEING A HOMELESS MAN ON A CITY STREET. "It's a great store but it's in such a terrible location. It's probably okay for some people but I'm from Edmonds. I wish you would just pick up the building and move it to a different neighborhood. Like the U-District. Plus, you used to be open to 11 and now you're only open until 9." Friend, if Pioneer Square scares you at 6 o'clock on Sunday, trust me, you don't want to be there are 11. The freaks come out at night. Also, he was there to get a new book jacket for his Rand McNally world atlas.

436. Become a caricature of yourself

This afternoon I sat in Macrina Bakery, sipping green tea, nibbling a muffin, and reading a book titled, Weimar Germany: Promise and Tragedy. Ben's life: Promise and tragedy. But seriously the book is fantastic. For some time know—probably since I watched the The Threepenny Opera and Berlin Alexanderplatz—I've been wanting to learn more about the Weimar Republic, the a 14-year period after World War I and before the rise of the Third Reich that saw profound cultural and artistic evolution. We're talking freedom of speech, freedom of the press, equality for men and women, voting rights, Bauhaus, German Expressionism, New Objectivity, Walter Benjamin, Bertolt Brecht, Marlene Dietrich, Martin Heidegger, Hermann Hesse, Paul Klee, Fritz Lang, Thomas Mann, F.W. Murnau, Josef von Sternberg, Max Weber and on and on. All this during a time of intense political fragmentation and dire economic circumtances. Fascinating times, incredibly well-written book. I highly recommend it.

435. Eat To Kill a Mockingbird

I have so many questions about of this story:

1. How do they know everyone finished the book? Was there a test?

2. Is this Kelleys Island, Ohio, a real place? I find it hard to believe that Ohio has inhabitable islands, it's cities are not even inhabitable.

3. If it is a real place why is its name missing an apostrophe? All islands named for a person or persons should include an apostrophe, that's the rule.

4. "Twelve people listened to the audiobook version of the title, which Kipen said was fine." Bullshit! They did not read it! You must eat it! Eat it, Kipen! I want you to kill a mockingbird and eat it. You big cheater!

5. Why To Kill a Mockingbird? Were I David Kipen, a man in the practice of shaming an island of quasi-literates into reading a book, I might have laid down the gauntlet thusly: "Listen here, island dwellers. You must read Lord of the Flies in week. If you do not complete this book in one week I will eat you. The first person to complete the book gets the conch. Go!"

Literature director's pledge to eat Harper Lee's novel – if island's population could not be persuaded to read it – proves unnecessary

Would he really have done it? Fortunately for the digestive tract of David Kipen, the residents of Kelleys Island in Ohio proved to be a literary-minded lot and he wasn't forced to make good on his promise to eat a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird if the entire population of the island failed to read the book.

Kipen, literature director of America's National Endowment for the Arts and programme director of the community reading scheme The Big Read, had been searching for some time for a town "small enough and brave enough to accept the challenge of dragooning every last literate resident, without exception, into tackling its chosen book". When he found the four square mile Kelleys Island – population 131 – he laid down the gauntlet, with the added incentive that if residents failed to finish Harper Lee's classic southern tale, he'd eat a copy of the book.

"The prospect of 'terrible indigestion' already has me up nights thinking about it. Can I maybe inoculate myself now by eating a page a day, like King Mithridates taking a daily drop of poison to thwart assassination?" Kipen asked, as he waited to see if residents would live up to the challenge – or if "a few renegade islanders" would "feel a low temptation to read the book and then claim otherwise, all for the dubious pleasure of watching a federal employee ingest an American classic".

Now, happily for Kipen and for literature – less happily for the meaner-spirited among us – all 131 residents of the island, situated in Lake Erie, have completed To Kill a Mockingbird. "I waited for a rainy day, and I began reading at 10am in the morning and I finished it at 10.30pm that night," Jackie Finger, co-owner of the island's.

434. Applaud the man in the white suit for his adventurous bathrooming

I'm not sure what exactly the workmen who are working on Fourth Ave are attempting to achieve. If I had to make I guess I would say they are regrading the thoroughfare, but really I know nothing. All that I know is that the street is torn up and there are migrating pockets of closed sidewalk. My 15 minute walk from home to bus stop is one long construction zone and it has been this way for about a month. Although Fifth Ave and Third Ave exist as reliable alternative routes, I stubbornly continue to take my morning constitutional amidst the upheaval of Fourth Ave. This morning I saw a man exit a work site porta-potty on the corner of Fourth and Blanchard. Were this man a workman, the sight would have been unremarkable. This was not a workman, he was a businessman. He was a businessman in a white suit, exiting a work site porta-potty located in the middle of the street on a closed portion of Fourth Ave and nonchalantly ducking under the police tape and continuing his walk to work at some downtown office building. I imagine that this fellow is afraid to use public restrooms because of the threat of swine flu and so he relies instead on the private, enclosed accommodations of the work site porta-potty. It's perfectly understandable. As for the white suit before Memorial Day, that I cannot forgive.

433. Thank Scanwiches for saving you a trip to the bagel place when you're still too afraid to go outside because of the swine flu

Scanwiches, this is remarkable. I wake up on Saturday, underfed from Friday night, and I don't think I've got any food to eat in my apartment. But then your lovely scan reminds me that I have all the components to make this sandwich with organic peanut butter, honey, banana, and whole grain bread. It shall be done!

432. Hide in your apartment and wait out the passing pandemic

Now that there are three probably cases of swine flu in Seattle I am thinking of wearing one of those masks like the Asian people wear. Unfortunately I do not have one that matches my outfit today. I guess I'll just have to throw caution to the wind and risk contracting swine flue. It's a shame, too, because I wanted to hold out for goat flu. I like to keep kosher with my deadly viruses.

Six probable cases of swine flu have been identified in Washington State — three in Seattle, two in Snohomish County and one in Spokane County, public health officials announced at a news conference Wednesday evening in Seattle.

431. Feast on brains with a zombie sloth

I'll be the first to admit that my 'Sloth' Google Alerts have not been fruitful of late. So while we bide our time for the next big news from the world of sloths I will share with you this wonderful tale of friendship from the folks at Wonderglen. Just look at what a great pal a sloth can be!



Sure, zombies might be played out, but zombie sloths never go out of fashion. That sloth looks he could be one hell of a foot soldier in my sloth lemur army!

430. Ask your lesbian friends if they like Vampire Weekend

I watched The Wrestler last night and all day today a question has been nagging at me: Are there actual lesbian couples who hang Vampire Weekend posters in their living room? I don't know much about this situation, but I am skeptical. Any guidance my lesbian readership can provide would be much appreciated. Thank you.

429. Develop new skepticism towards the reliability of fortune cookies

Fortune Cookie says, "Rely on the written advice you receive this week for good fortune."

OK, that's fine, but how about next time you assume that I will rely on your written advice, Fortune Cookie, and give me some. Let's not complicate the process with this unnecessary preliminary step. Indeed, if I needed assurance that written advice I encounter is reliable, why would you presume that I would rely on your written advice to rely on written advice? Why are you toying with me, Fortune Cookie. A month ago you told me, "The project you have in mind will soon gain momentum," and yet here I sit today no closer to realizing my dream of having my very own a page-a-day calendar than I was on January 1.

428. Apologize to the friend with whom you may be holding a grudge but you can't really say because your brain did not come with a user's manual

I don't think of myself as a one who hold grudges. My brother, now that son of a bitch holds onto a grudge like a child clinging to a blanky. But me, I'm a fairly even keel sort who far too insecure with his place in the world to presume that others mean him ill. It recently occurred to me, however, that I have not spoken to a friend since he complained about the quality of my toilet paper while staying at my apartment. I cannot say for sure whether the complaining and the silence that followed it are related. Perhaps they are and for that I apologize. But seriously, get some fucking manners.

If you're curious, no I did not go on hiatus so that I could do some deep soul searching on the state of this friendship. I went on hiatus so that I could do some deep soul searching on the quality of my toilet paper.

427. Go on hiatus

Yup. Gimme a week. Or maybe until tomorrow.

426. Demand a cessation of diplomatic relations with France on account of their laughable anti-smoking laws

This is almost enough to make me start saying "freedom fries" again:

More than fifty years after he first appeared on-screen, it seems that Monsieur Hulot has finally quit smoking. And not voluntarily. In accordance with a 1991 law prohibiting tobacco advertising in subway stations and on buses, the Paris Public Transport Network has demanded that Hulot’s iconic pipe be removed from posters for the Cinémathèque française’s ongoing tribute to filmmaker Jacques Tati, and replaced with . . . a toy windmill. Political correction or (cough, cough) silly censorship? For details on the controversy, check out this short video item from the international news channel France 24. Apparently, even the author of the original law, former minister of health Claude Evin, has called this particular application of his edict “ridiculous.”

425. Consider keeping the beard

On second thought, I might take the beard with me to Las Vegas. Surprise the friends who have not seen me hirsute since the days of the playoff beard that spawned a dynasty. It's going to be a game-time decision. I'd add a poll below but I have a sneaking suspicion it would receive one vote.

Pros

• Incognito is good, I hate signing autographs
• Copious beard stroking as wagers are contemplated
• Intimidation of would-be quarrelsome folk
  

Cons

• My face itches
• I look dirty
• Extra insulation not required in desert

Feedback in the comments section is appreciated.

424. Visit Las Vegas

Complicating my confusion over whether I survived the noxious fumes and made it into Thursday is the fact that I still have my beard. Did I ever mentioned that I have a beard? Well I do. In the afterlife I've always assumed that I would not have a beard. Heaven for me is best represented by perpetual clean shavenness without ever having to shave. That is, in fact, the biggest perk of heaven. And speaking of heaven, or the opposite of that, I'm going to Las Vegas this weekend. Don't worry, I'll shave the beard before I go. It's only ten days old, far too young to take to Sin City. I'm looking forward to the trip because this is the first time I have been to Vegas for something other than a birthday party or a bachelor party. This trip is all about hookers. Just kidding. This trip is all about doing blow with retired NFL cheerleaders. No, that's not quite right either. This trip is all about emptying my savings account and betting it all on black. A distinct possibility, but there's more to it than that. This trip is about reveling in a city that features all the things I hate about the world (fun, games, booze, available women, etc.) and none of the things I love (solitude, long walks down empty streets, quiet restaurants, clouds, etc.). If I don't make it back, should some tragedy befall me, killed by Palms security, say, or eaten by a tiger, or felled by a bacterial infection contracted at the Imperial Palace, please know that I love you all. To be continued...

423. Eat a wholesome breakfast daily

Jealous, aren't you? Did I mention these waffles have flax in them?
















UPDATE: OMG the blueberries are putrid!

422. Build a personal library

I woke this morning to find the offensive odor from last night gone. It is either Thursday morning of the afterlife. My guess is it's Thursday because that's what my page-a-day calendar says and the page-a-day calendar never lies. Although, if there is a heaven page-a-day calendars are obviously part of it, so this is rather difficult to untangle. To be continued...

But before I go, some of you may know that I am in a years long process of transforming my childhood bedroom into a library. I work on it about four hours a year during my visits home. All the old furniture save for a desk and a futon has been removed. Bookshelves now line all the walls and on the bookshelves there are books. Even with all of the books, the room is decidedly un-library-like in demeanor. What I'm saying is, I want this personal library kit for my birthday. Or rather, I want 50 of these kits. Also, I think now is the time I clarify for my very suggestible parents that I do not really want a personal library kit for birthday. Of course now that I've said I don't want it I'm probably more likely to get it. But seriously, no.

421. Live your life as though it were a serialized novel

There is a horrible odor emanating from the air duct in my apartment that constantly circulates recycled air from regions unknown. Only very rarely does it smell but right now it really smells. It smells faintly like burnt popcorn but mostly like decaying bodies. I hope it is not a poisonous odor. I am going to sleep now but I might also be dying. To be continued...

Before I go to bed, a brief story about the sandwich ladies at the cafeteria. The sandwich ladies, they constantly bicker. One of them is speedy and also crabby, one of them is slow of mind and body. The crabby one always crabs when the slow one goes slow, which is to say, the crabby one always crabs. The crab can make three sandwiches in the time the sloth can make one. Sometimes the crab grabs a sandwich that the sloth is working on just to keep the line moving. Personally, I prefer a slow sandwich made by the sloth over a fast sandwich made by the crab. When I ask the sloth for turkey she repeats, "turkey," and searches for the turkey as though it has relocated itself since she last prepared one of her fifty urkey sandwiches since noon. Same with the cheese and toppings: a request is made, followed by a verbal repetition of that request, a hesitation, a search, and finally an application. Today a giant toaster oven appeared behind the sandwich counter. Whereas the crab and the sloth used to have grilling capabilities, now they have a grill and a giant toaster oven. My first thought was, "My god, the sloth is going to kill herself with that oven." Then, upon seeing the sloth struggle mightily with the oven, so much so that the crab dropped what she was doing and came to her aid, I thought, "My god, the crab is going to kill the sloth with that oven." Then, upon considering the plight of the oven, forced as it is to sit with the crab and the sloth all day, I thought, "My god, that oven is going to kill himself." To be continued...

420. Try to ignore the teabaggers and fail

On my way home from work I saw a woman carrying a sign that read, "No taxation without representation." As far as I know I did not enter a temporal portal somewhere along 5th Ave. The woman was on her way to the teabagging event held at Westlake Park this evening. Turns out her confounding sign was only the tip of the teabag. Idiots. They've made me mad. I'm turning off my computer now.

419. Mad Lib your worries away

The bad news is woke this morning and discovered that the Paulus rumors were not just a horrible nightmare. This good news is I woke this morning and discovered that there is a new collection of wit and wisdom at The Great Baseball Blog. My favorite offering is the Mad Lib. Here's hoping these Mad Libs become a regular feature. I love Mad Libs and I love baseball. The elegant pairing of two things I love. It's kinda like how I love Michigan football and I love not having Duke point guards play quarterback for the Michigan football team.

418. Countenance your greatest fear in the world

I don't want to talk about it. I would be obligated to sit the season out. There is no way around it. This might be my final post on account of my brain exploding.

The Green Bay Packers aren't the only ones who are interested in Greg Paulus.

According to sources close to the situation, the former Duke point guard was in Ann Arbor on Tuesday meeting with Michigan football coach Rich Rodriguez about the possibility of playing this season for the Wolverines.

The 6-foot-1 Paulus, who was the Gatorade National Player of the Year as a standout quarterback at Christian Brothers Academy in New York, has one year of eligibility left for football after playing four years of basketball at Duke.

He watched Michigan practice Tuesday afternoon and could fit in with Rodriguez's spread offense. The Wolverines don't have a clear-cut starting quarterback, and Paulus could come in and play immediately.

417. Pick up your toys when you're done playing with them

Via Boing Boing here's a fascinating post by a man who visited the jungles of Peleliu and the WWII detritus therein:

Peleliu is a small island that forms part of the nation of Palau in the Pacific. It’s about five hours flying time south of Japan and three hours east of the Philippines. It’s now, like the rest of Palau, beautiful, peaceful and home to more shades of blue in the sea and sky than you or your camera lens would ever have thought possible.

Blue wasn’t always the colour.

Between September and November 1944, it was the site of an incredibly fierce battle between US and Japanese armed forces. Peleliu island is about 14 square miles of terrain; during the three months of fighting, the casualty rate worked out at just under 1,000 men killed per square mile of island. Close to 1,800 American servicemen died; of the 11,000 Japanese soldiers defending the island, only 202 were captured alive.

The battle was fought over the fact Peleliu had an airfield, and was within range of the Philippines, from where the US planned to eventually launch strikes against the Japanese mainland. The plan to attack Peleliu was a contentious one - not all of the US high command thought Peleliu was strategically important, and after the battle, the US found the airfield was barely operational, and posed almost no threat to US forces elsewhere in the Pacific.