Bees Love Truth

This is the best thing I have seen today.

(I don't even mind if it is shopped; I think its merit as an image does not necessarily have anything to do with its construction.)

Those of you who wear earrings or know people who do may wish to peruse the shop of a certain velocipede. I find these particularly attractive; watch gears should be a more common jewelry ingredient. Also these.

Aww! George Takei is getting married!

Aww, I got lunk by the triloblog for my little trilobite-walk.

I also made some rocking soup. The salient bits were thus: squished-with-potato-masher butternut squash and zucchini as a base, turkey kielbasa, and a bunch of rice.

And... the new Film Comment came (I accidentally left it sitting in the mailslot all day yesterday, when I could have been READING IT), and I sold some shoes on ebay, and the weather continues to get colder, which makes me ever more happy about moving. This may invalidate me as a New Englander, but, hey. L.L.Bean stuff never fits me right anyhow (although my parents are up at the store/outlet in Kittery at this very moment).


(The title of this post is pretty silly, but it could be worse.)

Okay, I am happy now. This song is the reason. Enjoy some Dokaka-oid Carmen stylings.

You know, this is a perfect response to postsecret, which is so soundbite-heavy and stylistically codified that it may as well have already gone this far.

The man with the slightly suspect url has got a sweet post with sketches from Night on Bald Mountain.

This is one of the reasons why I don't disrespect Ebert for stating that games aren't art. At least he's cool enough to post some nice, well-reasoned responses.

Although in among those there is this: "Guy gamers seem to think of the movie bits as interruptions in the real action of running around and shooting things. Girl gamers sometimes think of the video game part as an interruption in the movie."
Sigh. Don't we have a sisterhood here, female game people? Do we really need to do this shit? Make these stereotypical generalisations that don't help anyone?

Also, I'm so sick of people arguing about the definition of art.

Since I'm sort of paying attention to the Transformers movie (which I have not yet seen and probably will not pay for in the future), further hilarity can be found at the New Yorker. It doesn't live up to the marvelous deconstruction of Dude, Where's My Car? I read in I think Sight and Sound back in 2003 (which was just beautiful), but then LITTLE DOES. (I'm still trying to find a copy of that issue.) Anyway, this thing is a lovely example of exactly what you'd think; snooty and not-quite comprehending, but gamely trying to diss a crummy director who deserves it, for the wrong reasons.