Rory has kindly invited us to do our part for the survival of web memes, and as the Wombat is almost always out of the loop on these things, we're happy to be for once part of the communal generation of self-regard. So:
- The person (or persons) who passed the baton to you:
Rory "Sibelius" Ewins - Total volume of music files on your computer:
It's up to nearly three thousand songs, which I think works out to a gallon (Imperial). - The title and artist of the last CD you bought:
A tie (since they were purchased in the same store at the same time): The Sunset Tree by The Mountain Goats and Volume 2 of The Complete Hot Fives and Hot Sevens Recordings by Louis Armstrong. The only reason I knew to go looking for the Mountain Goats was this article. Is there a more pathetically absolute sign of middle age than getting one's pop-music lowdown from the New Yorker? - Song playing at the moment of writing:
"Potato Head Blues" from the Louis Armstrong record above. The way the cornet and clarinet shake it in ecstatic parallel is pretty damn fine, right from the first bars. - Five songs you have been listening to of late (or all-time favorites, or particularly personally meaningful songs):
I'm going to address this one as Rory did, picking out some of-late obsessions/repeat plays/caught-in-the-head songs. Not all of them are for the ages, but they've been what's been bouncing around in the Wombat brain:
- "Rebellion (Lies)" by The Arcade Fire. It feels a little cheesy to pick out the most hookily rock'n'roll-type song from the amazing Funeral, a record full of grandly operatic moments and lyrics that deliver the emotionally wrenching, dreamlike visions that the term "surreal" was always supposed to invoke. But there it is: I find myself singing "People say that you'll die/faster than without water/Don't they know it's just a lie/Scare your son, scare your daughter" while I do the dishes.
- "Poulina" by Orchestre National De Barbes. We bought this CD (this song also titles the full album) during a trip to France and Spain back in 2000 -- we had been hearing some great Arabic pop in a couple of restaurants in France and the friend we were visiting took us to a record store and recommended one or two things. It more or less languished, unlistened-to, in our collection for some while. I don't really know why. I dug it out earlier this year and dumped the bunch in the iPod. Turns out the thing is a wonderfully groove-laden blend of reggae-influenced beats with solo/massed Arabic vocals. Perfect for smoothing out the rough edges on a morning commute. Head nods, feet tap, and of course I don't understand a word of it, but am borne along towards my destination like a bottle carried by a gentle but powerful wave.
- Beethoven, Cello Sonata No. 1 in F major, op. 5 no. 1 (Lynn Harrell, cello and Vladimir Ashkenazy, piano). My Beethoven listening has been kiddie-pool shallow -- outside of the well-known symphonies, I'm an ignoramus. I bought this because I had been listening repeatedly to Bach cello concertos and thought, well, why not some more cello? It was a good impulse, not least for the addition of the piano here -- these sonatas are brilliant balances of the troubled and the soothing, and parts of this one have insinuated themselves into my subconscious without my knowledge -- and my only regret is that by and large the subway is just too loud an environment for listening to this sort of music without big headphones that sonically exclude everything around.
- "Babee" by Suddenly, Tammy! I first heard Beth Sorrentino long after the breakup of Suddenly, Tammy!, in a live solo appearance on Irwin Chusid's show on the mighty WFMU. Mournful and arresting turnes that made me immediately want to find the apparently unavailable solo records she ought to be turning out. I don't know what the score is with her oughta-be solo career, but I went back in time to the the self-titled Suddenly, Tammy! record from 1995. It's a trio effort, drums and bass helping propel along her not-quite ballads to their destinies as big songs which take a tremendous amount in stride. "Babee" begins with a driven but clearly restrained piano figure, but switches gears with the chorus -- just when you think the song is about to explode, we move into a waltz with a vocal that wouldn't have sounded out of place on an early Roches album. Meanwhile the drums are creeping up on you, and by the time she's worked through a short instrumental bridge you're into a mighty, striding conclusion that opens itself like the sky you see as you climb up the stairs out of the subway.
- "I Wanna Destroy You" by The Soft Boys. There's pretty much always some Robyn Hitchcock on the mental playlist, and this one in heavy rotation these days.
Pretty arbitrary list -- I could have listed anything off of Joanna Newsome's The Milk-Eyed Mender, Talking Heads Fear of Music, Tom Waits ca. Frank's Wild Years or (and I've blathered on about them at length elsewhere, so I'll spare you the repeat) my ever-beloved XTC, about whom I am starting to become the sort of person who doesn't mind owning several versions of the same song. And I'm getting an education in the basic recordings of Bill Evans from friends who know what's what, so also Waltz for Debby plays in our house a lot these days. I still don't know jack about jazz, but this is a record even my unlearned ears can hear beauty in.
- The five people to whom you will "pass the musical baton":
Kathleen, because I know I'll buy something she names; Gavin, because his five-CD shuffle choices frequently rise to the level of the poetic ; Scott, because I owe him as he really did win our argument about textual indeterminacy in "Pink Thing" and I never told him so (Scott should take this as the perfect opportunity to start his own weblog, but if he refuses to do so, he should use the comments here to speak his piece); the all-knowing-but-not-posting-enough Pato; and Mike because his students need this vital information, dammit -- and because he once made me the finest soul-funk mixtape ever committed to a TDK90 cassette.
Oh, I know. You're getting ready for the three-day weekend. Soaking wood in gasoline and slathering Mrs. Bell's seasoning all over the tofu faux-pig. Loading the hang glider into your brother-in-law's Ford Expedition, or heading down to the VFW with your diorama of the Siege of Noriega's Palace.
But you've got time for a little quiz before your first Mai Tai of the weekend, right?
In the 1760s, Nathan Aspinwall persuaded the colonial legislature of Connecticut to pass an act paying ten shillings bounty for every one hundred of these cultivated. By 1800, it is estimated that more than half of the homes in Aspinwall's native town of Mansfied were using its products in a home-based industry.
In 1830, a new variety was introduced from Asia. It was touted as highly superior to the common kind, and its appearance touched off a wild round of speculation by investors. In 1834, one-year-olds sold for $3-$5 per hundred, but soon the price rocketed to $500 per hundred, and in one case prices rose to $100 a piece.
However, this price escalation made their value greater than that of the end-product of the industry in which they were used. By 1840 the market had crashed, wiping out speculators, and a round of disease followed, which spelled the end for the industry that depended on this item -- never very economically competitive in America -- in the U.S.
What were the items in question? For a bonus point, what famous non-U.S. residence includes the site of a major attempt to cultivate them on a large scale?
First correct answer posted to comments wins a rare William-Conrad-as-Nero-Wolfe bobblehead doll. No Googling or searching the archives of Ye Colonial Gawkere. One guess per comment, please, but you may comment as often as you like.
The Wombat scored a lousy 70%. Let's see you do better, smarrtypance.
A bit of a squib of a quiz this week. Sorry it's late, but I expect you'll have this one wrapped up by noon.
He was an ambulanceman in World War I, and later served in the Second World War as a non-commissioned officer. Between the wars, he became famous for a career having nothing to do with military service. After WW2, his affiliation with a left-wing organization made him the target of FBI investigations. He was sent to jail for refusing to name contributors to the organization. When he died after a long period of seclusion, FBI director J. Edgar Hoover tried to block his burial at Arlington National Cemetery, but was overruled. He is possibly the most well-known practicioner of his trade buried there.
What is his name? Bonus point: what is his full name as it appears on his headstone?
First correct answer posted to comments wins a coupon for the pay-per-view broadcast of Sen. Frist pushing the "nucular option" button, produced by Rev. Donald Wildmon and Showtime. No Googling or calling the FBI. (They're busy chasing down animal-rights activists domestic terrorists.) One guess per comment, please, but comment as frequently as the spirit moves you.
Sure, the year's almost half over. But the 2005 Great American Conservative Women Calendar will long serve to inspire and educate. Plus its applications are multiple:
The calendar will also be available to conservative activists, supporters and those serving in the U.S. military.
I guess if you're desperately improvising armor plates for your Humvee, an extra layer of photos of Dr. Laura, Shemane Nugent, and Michelle Malkin provides some comfort. And while rootless cosmopolitans may deride the folk tradition that the Gaze of Coulter itself withers the hearts of one's enemies and repels shrapnel -- well, let's just say that there are no secular humanists in a foxhole...
It's been a draining week, and all of our posts have been intentional-only (really the best kind, don't you agree?). But we return to Quizville like a moth to the flame, despite our vows to let the trivia alone for a while. Come join us as we continue our increasingly consistent backslidery.
It was written in 1946 for an album comprised of four 78-rpm records. It was one of several songs on the record concerned with the occupation of the songwriter's father.
The title and chorus of the song were inspired by a reference to this occupation made by the songwriter's brother John, who had written in a letter lamenting the death in 1945 of combat journalist Ernie Pyle --the letter expressed a sense of futility, using their father's work as a metaphor.
The LP was released the following year and the song (and others like it on the record) stirred up a small controversy because of their content, which was perceived as potentially pro-communist. One Chicago radio producer later claimed that FBI agents had warned him not to play the songwriter's records.
Then in the mid-fifties, a friend of the writer performed the song on his own television variety show. Letters from viewers were enthusiastic. Later in the same year, he recorded it as the B-side to an intended hit single, but the B-side took off. In less than a month a million copies were sold, hitting over twice that number by the year's end.
What was the song? Who was the singer who made it a hit? For a bonus point, who was the original songwriter?
First correct answer posted to comments wins a coupon good for a free Mickey Mouse Martini at the Plantation House in Orlando. No Googling or asking that pack rat guy who was almost crushed by his own record collection last year. One guess per comment, but you may comment as often as you like.
The wombat editorial staff will be engaged in a full-day training seminar with the Young Marsupials League, so hints, should they be needed, will come with less frequency today.
A year after the British captured New Amsterdam from the Dutch, Governor Nicolls of New York created the first facility dedicated to this business in the future U.S. Issuing a statement that he hoped this would help correct a disturbing "neglect" in the colonial development of this industry, he also cautioned that it should not be seen as intended "for the divertissement of youth." By the next century, students at the Wombat alma mater were forbidden "under Pain of ye severest Animadversion and Punishment" from taking part in capital investments in this industry. By the time of the revolution, 27 businesses in Virginia alone were dedicated to supplying one of the basic resources for participation.
What did Governor Nicolls establish in 1688?
First correct answer posted to comments wins a nonfunctional lamp that should be good for a substantial store credit at any large Swedish furniture retailer, assuming they feel institutional shame about the fact that it stopped working after six months and their stores are really hard to get to if you don't have a car or live in an industrial park on the edge of town already. No Googling (under Pain of ye severest Animadversion and Punishment) or thumbing through back issues of the William & Mary Alumni Magazine. Only one guess per comment, please, but you may comment as often as you like.
Apologies for yet another media-rant, but this one raises my marsupial hackles.
A startlingly lazy Times today includes an article dramatically headlined "Ugly Children May Get Parental Short Shrift," and accompanied with a comically alarming illustration.
The article does little more than pad the press release put out by the author.
The basic idea is that researchers observed how often parents strapped in children riding in supermarket shopping carts, and concluded that the good looking kids were strapped in much more often than the aesthetically challenged.
As described, the methodology of the study is obviously flawed:
With the approval of management at 14 different supermarkets, Harrell's team of researchers observed parents and their two to five-year-old children for 10 minutes each, noting if the child was buckled into the grocery-cart seat, and how often the child wandered more than 10 feet away. The researchers independently graded each child on a scale of one to 10 on attractiveness. [Wombat-added emphasis]
Although reasonable means (scroll down to the comments) of dealing with the subjective nature of "attractiveness" are conceivable, the sub-undergraduate attitude toward data collection adopted here should have made any science reporter worth his or her NaCl pass this one up faster than you can say "cold fusion."
Further, the the study's author claims that his data is best understood through the lens of evolutionary biology: "pretty children, he says, represent the best genetic legacy, and therefore they get more care." To the Times's credit, they found a couple of academics willing to point out the absurdity of Harrell's claim.
Still, the fact that this nonsense passed muster at the Times is pretty dispiriting. To (lazily ourselves) steal a page from Ed, Nicholas Banakar and his editor should get no brownie. (And yes, the Times are only one among many. But they are my hometown paper.)
It's not my fault. I didn't actively seek it out. I put Helena to bed between 7:30 and 8, there's a sink full of dirty kid-dishes to be dealt with and dinner, usually, to be made.
Since working away serenely in a meditative silence is not something I can manage at the end of the day, on goes the kitchen radio in search of news. And these days, given my schedule, I'm too late for Fresh Air and too early for the BBC World Service. It's always time for On Point, a call-in program on (generally) politics or "current affairs" from WBUR in Boston.
One of the things that is most tantalizing about On Point is its clear progenitor -- Christopher Lydon's long-running The Connection, one of the few news-interview-chat programs that managed to balance intelligent and widely diverse interviews with lively give-and-takes with callers. (Lydon left WBUR and the program when the station wouldn't give him and his producer an ownership stake in the show.) It managed to attract the largest percentage of articulate callers-in to a radio show ever gathered by any talk-show, ever.
A lot of people, I know, found Lydon -- who is well-read and often a bit garrulous as an interviewer -- an overbearing host. But he never failed to have the most interesting guests on any NPR/PRI show, and consistently created a conversation in which his interviewees could really shine.
On Point's discussions are clearly meant to fill the enormous gap left by Lydon's departure, but -- whether through the predilections of host Tom Ashbrook or some larger strategy, it's instead developed an alarmingly consistent M.O.:
1. Invite on intelligent, articulate, informed guests to share their insights. Maybe a Nobel Prize-winner.
2. Ask a breathless, leading question generated from, say, a headline in a publication with which you have ties.
3. When these aforementioned guests quickly move past the ill-informed premise of the question, ignore them.
4. Ask the question again, more loudly. Intimate that when you bring on another guest, the alarming proposition in your initial question will be examined from a more...alarmed viewpoint.
5. When your new guest also fails to take the bait, consider that perhaps your presumptions about how this conversation was going to play out were completely groundless.
6. Ignore these considerations and move on. Take calls. Twist every caller's question into an "a-ha" challenge to the complacency of the experts.
7. Thank everyone quickly, sum up by characterizing your initial, debunked scenario as the subject of debate, and move on to the amusing segment that ties in to a big movie in current release.
Tonight's version was particularly noxious, as the aforementioned Nobelist made a brilliant case that blame for American economic problems -- caused, he said, largely by the Bush administration's tax policy, and compounded by our own refusal to fund education and the sciences as fully as other first-world nations -- was being wrongly assigned to a fictional Chinese threat.
I don't know that he was right, but he was backed up, more or less, by this guy, and the right-winger brought on later in the program didn't say anything to refute his case. Yet, as the show proceeded, the host all but mocked his interviewees, asking them repeatedly to join him in the jingoistic fantasy of inevitable clash-of-the-superpowers which they were insistent on -- and articulate about --debunking.
Ashbrook's journalistic creditials are impressive enough that I hesitated before snarking off in the above fashion, but I've been listening to this show for a good while now, and it's taken me some time to realize that this kind of thing is happening night after night. The guests are good, the subject offers promise, but the premise of the questions is rendered for more flash than substance, and there's no turning aside from its flattening presumptions. There's a sense that the guests must be herded back to it as a preset talking point, and an overall atmosphere of frustration sets in -- all ideas must compete with the host's endless return to a soundbite-level of understanding.
It's desperately sad to think that this is WBUR's replacement for Lydon's elevated but thoroughly democratic style.
Recently, we mentioned that we had finally found an item worthy to be presented as the grand prize for our December Quizvitational.
As the the in-the-know already know, trivia-pasha Soren "Scraps" DeSelby has been patiently, nay, more than patiently waiting, for months and and weeks and some more incidental months now, for news of his just deserts after trouncing all comers in our answerfest just before the new year.
We now announce that, to mark his achievement, Mr. DeSelby will be presented with an artifact so singular and powerful in nature that, when it arrived through a bizarre chain of events at the Wombat Home Office, it was almost instantly recognized as The Grand Prize.
Ladies and gentlemen, we present the Most Disturbing Children's Puzzle Ever, the work of an anonymous (for now) artist/artisan, at work depicting a scene we believe is best entitled "Mr. Pig, At Last Undone by Pyromania."
Click on the image to view the large-scale pictorial cataclysm.
Injured tots are, of course, an immortal subject when it comes to kids-puzzle-making. One supposes that these efficient EMTs are ducks. But then one looks again at the feet, and realizes that all supposition here is futile.
Here, however, is the true focus of the puzzle, and the stamp of the Nameless Genius what painted it. Many is the time I have tried to visualize what a pig, shivering with guilt over the recent commission of an unalterable mistake or, worse, a dreadfully purposeful act of destruction, would look like. Behold, in a form which also helps the toddler with his or her mastery of spatial relations, the very picture of porcine shame!
Congratulations, Scraps! Please come and claim your genuine piece of Outsider Art at any time!