i'm going to malaysia/thailand/cambodia, so the phone at sentencelessness will be left off the hook until february 5. thanks for stopping by. see you soon.
Tuesday
PAUSE
i'm going to malaysia/thailand/cambodia, so the phone at sentencelessness will be left off the hook until february 5. thanks for stopping by. see you soon.
inauguration [photography]
advance inauguration links, most will be updating continuously. click each photo for a different link.
modern love [writing]
one random last-august afternoon i got on an uptown F train with a comely brown-eyed girl heading to some event i've now forgotten. we sat down on one orange seat and one yellow seat and held hands. after a stop or two, the elderly man in the seat perpendicular to mine cleared his throat and, when he had caught our eyes, asked if we were brother and sister. with equal parts sheepishness and brazen good humor, we clarified our situation. he seemed happier that it was our way and not his and told us we looked 'real happy together.' then, perhaps to fill the off-balance silence, he told me, 'she's a real pretty girl,' and quickly reaffirmed both his respect and his manhood, allowing, 'i don't mean nothin' by that.' she blushed. i blushed.
for the next who knows how long his watery blue eyes glistened as he told us about growing up in brooklyn, the travails of being a new york city cop, losing his wife, remarrying. incidentally, he happened to be returning from greenwood cemetery, visiting his first wife.
once on the topic of marriage he began to muse on the tragedy of love as a lost institution of our time - lamenting that so many divorce, are unhappy, or never marry, and that too many true loves are lost by chance or foolishness. he spoke about his first wife and his current wife in distinctly different tones, utilizing his old-timer's brooklynite logic and power of suggestion to convey more than he actually spelled out. clearly, he loved both women, but his two loves were as different and necessary as sugar and salt. he spoke of his first wife sweetly, tenderly, with twinges of heartbreak and fondness for familiar super8 memories; he made it clear that love was all they'd needed. he spoke of his current wife less delicately, but perhaps with a greater sense of her being his other half, as if the two relied on each other as partners, foils, lovers, friends. he secretly went to the cemetery every week while she was getting her hair done. 'she don't need to know. i think it'd only hurt her.'
we got off at the next stop.
i was reminded of that day reading the first installment of salon's new series american's talk about love.
...Going home one Sunday night, I go down on the subway and something happened that has never happened before -- ask any New Yorker, they'll agree with me -- there was nobody, I mean no single person on the subway platform.
It was maybe 10:30, 11 o'clock. The train comes, and again, nobody is on the train. Except for a woman sitting at the head of one of the cars. So being a young New York boy I get on the train, I walk the length of the train to where she's sitting, I sit down right next to her, pull out a book, and start reading. And I peruse the page, or a half-page, I turned to her and I said, "Excuse me, does this train go to Brooklyn?" She looks me in the eye and she points across the other side of the car and, of course, there's a big sign: "To Brooklyn." I said, "Oh! Thank you! Goodbye."
Get back to the book. Couple minutes later I turned to her and said, "Could I take you to your home?" She looks at me and she says -- with a pause -- she says, "If you got a quarter you can go anywhere you want." Which was what the subway cost at that time. And she got off at the next station, and I got off with her and followed her.
She's standing here watching me tell this story again. [continue]
DOWNLOAD: bloc party - this modern love [mp3]
*photo
my playground [movie]
aside from the high-fives, which make it kind of seem like a commercial for men's deodorant, this looks kind of (euro)cool in that the architecture is challenging AND when those guys stop flipping around you can't help but hope for there to be a cut to some lost kevin bacon/christian slater footage from the 80s a la gleaming the cube. or is that just me?
Saturday
Friday
hitotoki [writing]
hitotoki is an online literary project collecting stories of singular experiences tied to location in cities worldwide. // the word hitotoki is a japanese noun comprised of two components: hito or “one” and toki or “time,” and is often translated as “a moment.”
DOWNLOAD: bon iver - your love (outfield cover) live [mp3]
Thursday
sun kil moon [music]
i've recently been seeking a new, palatable morning background. i found it by returning to sun kil moon's latest, april. it's subtle, it builds, it doesn't offend slow-waking sensibilities. and if you actually tune in, it's quite mesmerizing.
DOWNLOAD: sun kil moon - unlit hallway [mp3]
Monday
an awesome book [books]
i think i've seen the artwork of dallas clayton's hand-illustrated, aptly named an awesome book somewhere recently, though i can't place it. thankfully, my wonderful sister reminded me of it. these pictures don't do justice to the charm and genius of clayton's efforts, but i've got no time to tinker. tuck yourself in and click them to be transported.
short imagined monologues [writing]
some fun they're having with short imagined monologues, a wide open, revolving cast project over at mcsweeney's. michael nelson price's recent submission - no son of mine plays oregon trail like that - is a pretty great our-generation-specific piece, and there's loads more. from price's oregon trail:
Can't you see that Oregon Trail is a microcosm of life? I'm sure you've seen my high score on the computer: 8,040 points. Did you know that for years people considered 8,000 points impossible? You don't get a score like that by playing it safe and taking the banker. You get a score like that by selecting the farmer, purchasing only oxen and ammo, setting a "grueling" pace, and feeding your party "bare-bones" rations.
How many gold medals would Michael Phelps have won if all he cared about was making it across the pool? How many championships would Jordan have if all he'd wanted to do was dribble the ball down the court? Sure, you can make it across the country in relative comfort. But let me ask you this: How many spare wagon wheels do you think Michael Phelps takes with him? Why not push a naked, starving family to the brink of collapse and hunt your ass off for food all the way to Oregon? Isn't that what Jordan would do? [continue]
other imagined genius: it was i who flipped over the risk board last night // a pep talk for the new pair of shorts i will wear everyday this summer
Tuesday
i've been reading short stories [writing]
[the zagat history of my last relationship // noah baumbach]
AASE’S
Bring a “first date” to this “postage stamp”-size bistro. Tables are so close you’re practically “sitting in the laps” of the couple next to you, but the lush décor is “the color of love.” Discuss your respective “dysfunctional families” and tell her one of your “fail-safe” stories about your father’s “cheapness” and you’re certain to “get a laugh.” After the “to die for” soufflés, expect a good-night kiss, but don’t push for more, because if you play your cards right there’s a second date “right around the corner.” [continue]
[a young girl in 1941 with no waist at all // j.d. salinger]
The young man in the seat behind Barbara at the jai alai games had leaned forward finally and asked if she were ill and if she would like to be escorted back to the ship. Barbara had looked up at him, had looked at his looks, and said yes, she thought, she would, thank you, that she did have kind of a headache, and that it certainly was awfully nice of him. Then they had stood up together and left the stadium, returning to the ship by taxi and tender. But before she had gone to her cabin on B deck, Barbara had said nervously to the young man: “Hey. I could just take an aspirin or something. I could meet you on the deck where the shuffleboard stuff is. You know who you look like? You look like a boy who was in a lot of West Pointy pictures with Dick Powell and Ruby Keeler and—when I was little. Never see him anymore. Listen. I could just take an aspirin. Unless you have something else—” The young man had interrupted her, saying, in so many words, that he had nothing else to do. Then Barbara had walked quickly forward to her cabin. She was wearing a red-and-blue striped evening gown, and her figure was very young and sassy. There were several years to go before her figure stopped being sassy and just became a very pretty figure. [continue]
[on seeing the 100% perfect girl one beautiful april morning // haruki murakami]
Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened.
One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street.
"This is amazing," he said. "I've been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you're the 100% perfect girl for me."
"And you," she said to him, "are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I'd pictured you in every detail. It's like a dream."
They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It's a miracle, a cosmic miracle. [continue]
[the region of unlikeliness // rivka gilchen]
It’s not as if Jacob wasn’t lovable in his own abstruse and awkward way. I admired how much he read—probably more than Ilan, certainly more than me (he made this as clear as he could)—but Jacob struck me as pedantic, and I thought he would do well to button his shirts a couple buttons higher. Once, we were all at the movies—I had bought a soda for four dollars—and Jacob and I were waiting wordlessly for Ilan to return from the men’s room. It felt like a very long wait. Several times I had to switch the hand I was holding the soda in because the waxy cup was so cold. “He’s taking such a long time,” I said, and shrugged my shoulders, just to throw a ripple into the strange quiet between us.
“You know what they say about time,” Jacob said idly. “It’s what happens even when nothing else does.”
“O.K.,” I said. The only thing that came to my mind was the old joke that time flies like an arrow and fruit flies like a banana. I couldn’t bear to say it, so I remained silent. It was as if, without Ilan, we couldn’t even pretend to have a conversation.
There were, I should admit, things about Ilan (in particular) that didn’t make me feel so good about myself. For example, once I thought he was pointing a gun at me, but it turned out to be a remarkably good fake. Occasionally when he poured me a drink he would claim he was trying to poison me. One night I even became very sick, and wondered. Another evening—maybe the only time Jacob wasn’t with us; he said his daughter had appendicitis—Ilan and I lay on his mattress watching TV. For years, watching TV had made me sick with a sense of dissoluteness, but now suddenly it seemed great. That night, Ilan took hold of one of my hands and started idly to kiss my fingers, and I felt—well, I felt I’d give up the rest of my life just for that. Then Ilan got up and turned off the television. Then he fell asleep, and the hand-kissing never came up again. [continue]
LINK: most of salinger
LINK: and this about old j.d.
Monday
Wednesday
freeman transport [bikes]
freeman transport exists based on that old adage about doing something yourself because you want it done right. nathaniel freeman, an artist, and benjamin ferencz, a designer, don't like to leave home without their bikes, which is why their custom track frames are built to travel. each bike comes with an airport-friendly 26" x 26" custom waxed-leather travel bag made by billykirk, and can be fully assembled and disassembled using only one tool. if you can't splurge for the whip, they also sell t-shirts and wallets.
retroreflective bright bike [bikes]
from gizmodo:
michael mandiberg turned his ride into the bright bike by layering it with adhesive scotchlite 680, for a dark-as-the-batmobile look by day, and a safe reflective glow by night.thanks, eric. ride safe dudes.
LINK: buy scotchlite 680 here
Tuesday
Friday
athens riots [photography]
riots rage on in athens following the fatal december 6 shooting of 15-year-old alexandros grigoropoulos by a police officer. click the photos to chase links. some are the same, roll over to sift.
LINK: a warning?
LINK: this and this (via btbn)
Thursday
Tuesday
yankees sign iraqi hurler
In their latest bid to beef up their pitching rotation for the 2009 season, the New York Yankees today signed Iraqi journalist Muntadar al-Zeidi to a three-year deal worth $32 million.(via huffpo)
The right-handed al-Zeidi, 28, impressed the Yankee scouts with his performance in Baghdad yesterday when he threw both of his shoes at President George W. Bush.
While neither of the shoes hit their target, both throws "had great velocity and good movement," said Yankee owner Hank Steinbrenner.
"The first shoe was high and outside but the second one was right down the middle," Mr. Steinbrenner said.
The Yankee boss said that he was also impressed with Mr. al-Zeidi's fighting spirit when Secret Service agents tackled him.
"That could come in handy when we have a series with Boston," he said.
Monday
taipei thundercat race II [photography // bikes]
mine aren't up yet, but click the photo for some good ones.
Friday
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