Maybe we blacks should just give up and provide white people with a day (maybe during Black History Month) on which they are free to go bananas with the blackface...
Has #Quebec media avoided the blackface @joachimStroink story completely? #zwartepiet http://t.co/QpS1b1qav1 @iciradiocanada @ICIDesautels
— Rachel Décoste (@RachelDecoste) December 3, 2013
I am thankful for that guy playing the saxophone on a corner downtown the other day who started playing "Careless Whisper" right as we started walking by. I don't think I'm over the laugh attack yet.
I am thankful for all the bunches of grapes I've eaten in my life, not one of which has contained a deadly spider.
I'm thankful for kids who want to sit at the grown-ups table, and for kids who don't have their own iPads yet, and kids who want you to pretend to be a monkey with them.
I'm thankful for electricity (especially indoor heat), carbohydrates, and living in a large, liberal west-coast city, a thankfulness I feel especially hard whenever I leave said city.
I'm thankful that Paul is happy to run practically this whole damn blog whenever the rest of us are too busy/hungover/lazy to post.
I'm thankful for deleting the Facebook app from my phone, which felt remarkably like curing myself of a disease.
I'm thankful that I haven't set foot in a mall today, which includes a thankfulness that I don't work retail on Black Friday anymore.
Happy day after Thanksgiving, everyone. Be nice to your family. Don't trample anyone.
Earlier this morning, Christopher and I were having a conversation about preview articles and timing and other terminally boring logistical shit, and we both realized we were having a whole conversation based on how we imagined people read the paper.
Technically, The Stranger comes out in the middle of the week—do you read it then? Or do you wait for the weekend? Or does it not matter because you only read Slog and are not aware of anything that happens in the paper unless we put it on Slog?
A $2 bet is riding on the results, so choose wisely.
So many drinks served in mason jars these days. (Who is this mason? John Landis Mason of Philadelphia, American metalsmith and inventor of [or at least patentee of] the screw-top lid, 1832–1902. He also is said to have invented the screw-top salt shaker, and possibly to have burned down his own house.) Also pickles (house-made, thankyouverymuch) and terrines and desserts and all kinds of stuff, all in a mason jar. If you've been eating or drinking out, a mason jar full of something has been put in front of you.
Today, a press release from Tini Bigs tells the world that they are making their own beef jerky and serving it in, yes, a mason jar. This news (and I use the term very, very loosely) prompted the following reaction from Megan Seling:
I HATE MASON JARS SO MUCH. Why is everything in a mason jar these days? STOP IT. PUT IT ON A PLATE LIKE A NORMAL PERSON.
Then, taking up the opposing side, Christopher Frizzelle:
I'm pro–mason jar and I vote.
To the legally binding polls!
If you're anything like me, you sleep like garbage. For instance, last night, I read myself to sleep at about 10:30 pm, but was already in and out of sleep by 2 until I got up at 6. This is totally par for my course. And it's a real downer when you have this problem, because even if you give an honest try at a good night's sleep, you're still screwed the next day. It should be said that I've always been a poor sleeper. When I was a kid, I'd lay awake for hours; my father is a horrible sleeper too. To this day my mom kicks him out onto the living room couch for too much snoring and tossing and turning.
These days, there are expensive and extensive tests, data-collecting apps, and a whole batch of drugs that offer to help you with sleeplessness, after which you may or may not find yourself unconsciously walking down the street in your pajamas eating a ham sandwich.
But you know what, kids? All that stuff is pretty complicated and probably overrated! Here's something you can try for free. A study published in the Journal of Applied Social Psychology found a correlation between exposure to "sleep-related words" and better naps:
After 5 minutes of exposure to sleep-related words like “cozy” and “relax,” people snoozed 47 percent longer during a brief nap period than those who didn’t see the language. Heart rates also dropped significantly among those who read the drowsy cue words—a sign of deeper rest, the study authors say. A follow-up experiment showed the words were just as effective among people with sleep issues.
That's all! Just give yourself nightly snuggle affirmations and you may or may not sleep better. Will it work? Totally maybe! But maybe all of you out there aren't poor sleepers. Surely the astute commenters of Slog have tried-and-true methods for falling and then staying asleep. Booze, weed, masturbation, a glass of wine and an antihistamine, moving to an island country, auto-asphyxiation? Help your insomniac brethren out in the comments section: How do you sleep (well) at night?
What is it good for anyway? No, really. And post-pageant Twitter? Have you seen these, via Buzzfeed and everywhere else today? Jeeeeeez, "America."
...the fact that the Raleigh, N.C., News & Observer put a test page live online with the header "Blah blah blah" and some nonsense body copy, but all I can see when I look at this logo:
is NEW SOB SERVER.
It reads like an Onion story: Successful male entrepreneur raises $6.5 million in venture capital to start a feminist website which, he says, he plans to "make a fortune" off of.
Sadly, it's not a joke.
Yesterday Bryan Goldberg, founder of Bleacher Report, announced that he has launched a new website called Bustle, which is going to do what "Jezebel, Refinery29, and PopSugar" do, but with a profit. He says he "aims to completely transform women's publishing" and has hired "talented women with experience at Entertainment Weekly, Glamour, Daily Beast, and Seventeen" to lead the editorial team.
He says, "Are there many great women's websites out there? Absolutely. Are many of them attracting huge audiences and mainstream advertisers? No."
Is that what's been missing? Pop-up Tampax ads with dancing ladies in colorful dresses? Finally! A man has come to rescue the feeble feminist blogging industry with his cutting-edge concepts!
Don't worry, he's not going to be a voice on Bustle—he's leaving that to the women. Goldberg says:
My job, as CEO, is to hire the right people. My job is to know a lot of engineers, editors, venture capitalists, and salespeople — and to bring them together. Knowing the difference between mascara, concealer, and eye-liner is not my job.
Oh for fuck's sake, dude. Seriously? Do you want us to hate you? Saying shit like that will really make us hate you. To make him even less likable, Goldberg has also gotten a kick out of working in a female-dominated environment. He's taken to Twitter to express just how kooky these adult "girls" can be:
Women's Website Drama — one of the ladies didn't get the bowling ball all the way to the pins. Maintenance guy on the way...— Bryan Goldberg (@bgoldberg) July 19, 2013
NAME THE BABY JOFFREY.
Rabid bats always remind me of my stepmother, Chris.
Chris is a practical woman. A methodical woman. A woman who, when I was growing up, stored the heads of rabid bats in old ice cream containers in our freezer. Dessert could be a pint of Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia or it could be a mound of decapitated bat heads, frozen in mid screech.
Chris argues that her collection of frozen bat heads (and lice—there was also dead lice specimens in our freezer) were a necessary byproduct of her job as an epidemiologist, but I rather like to imagine that she was subtly teaching me healthy eating habits.
Oh! And while we're on the topic of bats—did anyone else go out at twilight with, like, a tennis ball or a ping pong ball stuffed into an old sock, and toss them up to trick bats into latching onto them? I can't remember who taught me to do it growing up, but the theory was that bats get confused and grab onto the sock, their little feet become tangled in the fabric, and they drop to the ground. Anyway, this was a thing that I did with my friends as a teenager. (For the record, it worked once, maybe twice. The bat falls, you scream, then it gets up and flaps away.) I thought it was a normal summer pastime but, since leaving Idaho, I have begun to suspect that it is not. My internet searches for "trap the bat game" and "bats + dirty socks" have proven fruitless.
Anyone else play this game? Anyone??? Or was it simply another test devised by my family to build up our natural rabies immunity?
We get these "Weekend Event Traffic Advisory" emails from the city of Seattle every Friday. I've never actually looked at one until now. Christ on a bicycle, are they always like this?! Don't drive anywhere! Ride your bike, walk, or stay home and drink gin-and-tonics.
Friday, July 12
West Seattle Summer Fest [it is fun!]: 10 a.m. – 8 p.m.
West Seattle Junction (Alaska and California)
Streets closed 6 p.m. Thursday – 11:59 p.m. Sunday: California Avenue SW between SW Edmunds Street and SW Genesee Street. Expect congestion in the area. http://wsjunction.org/summerfest/
Seattle Mariners vs. LA Angels [how are the Ms doing, anyway?]: 7:10 p.m.
Expect congestion on adjacent streets before and after the game.
Saturday, July 13
Group Health Seattle to Portland Bicycle Classic [damn bikers!]: 4:45 a.m. (final wave riders leaves by 7:30 a.m.)
University of Washington E-1 parking lot Starting point
Seattle Police will provide escort riders until participants reach Lake Washington Boulevard.
Expect a rolling slowdown as riders move through. http://www.cascade.org/EandR/stp/index.cfm
Crown of Queen Anne Fun Run & Walk [running isn't fun unless something is chasing you]: Walk – 8 a.m. Run – 8:20
Top of Queen Anne Hill
Run/walk route: Starts at Fifth Avenue W and W Halladay Street; runs 3.3 miles along Queen Anne Boulevard; ends at Coe Elementary School at Seventh Avenue W and W McGraw Street. There may be a rolling slowdown as participants make their way along the course. http://www.queenannehelpline.org/funrun.php
While the word "glamping"—that's "glamour" plus "camping"—is an atrocity, this here thing sounds fantastic. Take it away, press release:
LAKEDALE RESORT WELCOMES JAMES BEARD AWARD-WINNING CHEFS TO GO “GOURMET GLAMPING”
Maria Hines, Holly Smith to Head North, Show There’s S’More to Campfire Food than Graham Crackers, Marshmallows, and Chocolate Bars
FRIDAY HARBOR, WA – June 2, 2013 – Seattle-based chefs Maria Hines (Tilth, Agrodolce, Golden Beetle) and Holly Smith (Café Juanita) have been friends for years. Now, the two James Beard Award-winning superstar chefs are going “gourmet glamping” in Washington State’s San Juan Islands.
Each has signed on to host an evening of fireside gourmet cooking as part of Lakedale Resort’s Gourmet Glamping series. Hines will headline July 13 with help from renowned pastry chef Sue McCown. Smith takes center stage a month later, August 10.
For guests, the Gourmet Glamping experience starts at $448 and includes meals from the weekend’s guest chef, a cooking class for two, and a two-night stay in one of Lakedale Resort’s “glampsites” – luxury canvas cabins available in four models to accommodate groups of all sizes.
Each 225 sq. ft. standard canvas cabin features one queen bed with pillow-top bedding, cotton sheets, pillows and a flannel duvet, a table and four chairs, a cordless lantern, storage, and bath linens, as well as a full-size futon that sleeps two...
The title of this post is the top comment for this video on YouTube, and it's true... the guy behind the iPhone is a dick. But because I'm a horrible person I still laughed.
I'm currently sitting in a north, north, north Seattle coffee shop, working, eavesdropping on teenagers, discretely inhaling their youth. As if to encourage my eavesdropping, a group of four young women (high schoolers?) next to me just got out of a screening of Bling Ring and are now discussing getting matching feminist tattoos when they're old enough. So far, their ideas include:
• A pair of boobs made out of the infinity sign
• A chainsaw (?)
• The word "femi-fist" (tattooed on knuckles, I think)
• Mermaid waving a penis
• Rosie the Riveter waving a penis
• Madame Curie waving a (radioactive) penis
These young women are creative thinkers! So visual! But as you can see, they seem to have fallen into a penis-waving rut in the last 30 seconds or so. I'm working up the nerve to interrupt them with my idea—a full moon peeking out of yawning vagina with the word "power" inscribed on the labia, maybe somewhere tasteful, like the inner wrist?
If you have any good feminist tattoo ideas, leave them in the comments and maybe I will relay them, or more likely I will tactfully keep my mouth shut and someday when they're old enough to get their matching tattoos, they'll Google "Madame Curie waving a (radioactive) penis," just to see if it's been done before, and they'll see this blog post and maybe feel a bit flattered by my unique brand of creepy female camaraderie. (It ages well, I'm told.)
Make good choices, ladies! Not on the neck!
No, but he came close. From CNN:
Michael Jackson died while preparing to set a world record for the most successful concert run, but he unknowingly set another record that led to his death. Jackson may be the only human ever to go two months without REM—rapid eye movement—sleep, which is vital to keep the brain and body alive. The 60 nights of propofol infusions Dr. Conrad Murray said he gave Jackson to treat his insomnia is something a sleep expert says no one had ever undergone.
If the singer had not died on June 25, 2009, of an overdose of the surgical anesthetic, the lack of REM sleep may have taken his life within days anyway, according to [Harvard Medical School sleep expert Dr. Charles] Czeisler's testimony Friday. Lab rats die after five weeks of getting no REM sleep, he said. It was never tried on a human until Murray gave Jackson nightly propofol infusions for two months. Translating that to a human, Czeisler estimated, Jackson would have died before his 80th day of propofol infusions. Murray told police he had given it to him for 60 nights before trying to wean him off it on June 22, 2009—three days before his death.
Michael Jackson will never not be fascinating.
Over in comments on Now Closed: Recent Restaurant RIPs, commenter K X One tells us that Herfy's in Fremont has gone to the great hamburger beyond. Apparently, there are still Herfy's (Herfy'ses?) in the food court at Uwajimaya, in Georgetown, and scattered across the Eastside... so, yay?
Over here in the deep Stranger archives, we learn:
Herfy's [was] an Everett-founded, now-defunct burger chain noted for a photo-realistic cow's face as its logo. (A few scattered burger stands still operate under the Herfy's name, but are all independently owned.)
(...not to be confused with Herfy, the Saudi Arabian chain, though it is confusing.)
I've never been to a Herfy's. Is it sad that the one in Fremont is gone?
If you wanted to say something was garlicky without the K it'd look like garlicy which looks like it's garlic flavored lice or something. So while I get that the K in garlicky is totally necessary, I still hate that it has to exist. It's so presumptuous.
As per Rachel Eggers' 2011 review, Fuji Bakery's head baker Taka Hirai* spent three years at Joël Robuchon's three-Michelin-starred restaurant in Tokyo, and this expertise is reflected in everything at Fuji (except maybe the decor). They use a particular European cultured butter; they make their own yeast. Japanese-meets-French offerings include curry buns, green tea danishes, and baguette sandwiches with fillings such as smoked salmon, milk cream (!), and mentaiko butter, while the straight-up French stuff—croissants, tiny quiches, etc.—is WAY better than some so-called French bakeries.
Now inquiring minds over here in comments want to know when the long-delayed Interbay Fuji is opening, so we asked, and they answered:
Thanks for checking in! We're aiming to open the third location before summer starts, so hopefully around late May or early June.
Meanwhile: Anyone been to G.A. Bakery, which joined Fuji in the Bellevue location in January, offering "authentic Bosnian food and baked goods"?
*UPDATE: Baker Taka Hirai is back in Tokyo and no longer with the company (thanks, johan_smithe). Anybody been to either of the Fujis since they reopened without him?
...but sometimes I can't help myself. An ongoing email exchange:
Hope you get AIDS Fagget
Best illiterate than a cock sucker with AID. Hope you get AID fag.
Let me help you with that: "Better illiterate than a cocksucker [one word!] with AIDS. Hope you get AIDS, fag."—Dan
"I find it amusing that May Day ended up with you buying an iPhone."
But you should pre-order it anyway!
Did you like Devil in the White City? Of course you did. Who doesn't? Chicago By Day and Night: The Pleasure Seeker's Guide to the Paris of America was a guidebook published for visitors to the 1893 World's Fair in Chicago. Daniel Burnham might've picked it up, though he's never once mentioned (the book was written before we began to worship architects as artists). H. H. Holmes's hotel might've rated a mention, had it been built when the book was composed. If you're a DitWC fan, this book will complement your enjoyment of Larsen's.
CBDN guides potential visitors to "free and easy" shows, saloons, carousels, masquerades, and other fun things to do away from the Fair itself. It's a fascinating artifact of the late 19th Century, when any woman who flirted with a man on the street might be an "adventuress" who planned to take him for all he was worth, via blackmail, the badger game, or the panel room. A taste from that chapter, with our notes after the jump:
The term adventuress is applied to women of careless reputation who, being much too smart to endure the ignominious career of professional demi-mondaines, resort to various shrewd schemes to fleece the unwary. Some of their class work in concert with male partners, and in such cases the selected victim generally becomes an easy prey. The confidence man may be dangerous; the confidence woman, if she be well educated and bright, as well as pretty, is irresistible except with the most hardened and unsusceptible customers. The shrewdest old granger of them all, who steers safely through the shoals and traps set for him by male sharpers, will go down like the clover before the scythe under a roguish glance, as it were, from a “white wench’s black eye,” as Mercutio said.
There is no mortal man in this universe of ours, be he never so homely or ill-favored, who does not cherish in his heart of hearts the impression that there is a woman or two somewhere whom he could charm if he wished to. It is the spirit of masculine vanity that forms the material upon which the adventuress may work. With the art of an expert she sizes up the dimensions of her victim’s vanity the instant she has made his acquaintance and plays upon it to just the extent she deems expedient and profitable. If it were not for masculine vanity, the American adventuress could not exist.
Along with my colleague Paul Durica, I've introduced, edited and annotated this fascinating bit of history. Some key features you might like: lots of dirty jokes, along with serious economic history (the chapter on gambling, for instance, includes the Chicago Board of Trade as just another way to lose your shirt, along with back-alley craps games or faro banks in saloons). Reminders of how cities change, and how they stay the same. Very cool illustrations, and lots of double-entendres (watch for the "delicious lays").
But all in the service of scholarship. Pre-order! Use the code DURICA13 for a discount.
J & D's Foods, a Seattle company that also makes bacon lubricant—which "began as an elaborate April Fool's prank and was never intended to be a real product" but nonetheless persists out of sheer novelty—has topped itself by offering a pork-flavored prophylactic.
But have at it, Slog. Tell me if you find anything interesting.
When I did not smile (I continued looking for my keys in my purse and avoided all eye contact, in fact), he told me my "pretty face was going to waste."
I kept walking, I did not want to interact with him. In hindsight, I wish I would've responded like this (his words are the stuffed toy, I am the puppy who has had enough):
I've been watching Star Trek: Voyager on Netflix streaming. While I've seen almost very episode of the preceding three series (the original series, Next Generation and Deep Space Nine), I'd only ever watched one or two episodes of Voyager. Now, five seasons in, I can safely say my suspicions were confirmed: this is my least favorite Star Trek series. (Though I have yet to see even one episode of Enterprise, which is next on my list, so maybe I'll change my mind. Deep Space Nine remains my favorite of the shows.)
Look, I love having a female captain, and Janeway has her moments, no doubt. And The Doctor is kind of delightful. But Andy Dick was a guest star, you guys. And then there's the moment where Chakotay is trying to revive Janeway on an away mission and he literally yells, "Breathe, damn you, breathe! Don't you die on me now!"
ANYWAY please vote in these binding Slog polls. (You may remember our very important DS9 poll from December.) Be sure to tell me in the comments how wrong I am about preferring DS9 to Voyager, and why Neelix is the most interesting of all Star Trek characters ever.
People have been extremely interested in talking about the Holocaust denials of Nazi-imagery artist Charles Krafft, which I first wrote about in The Stranger a month ago. I was asked in a podcast last week whether I'd smash it if I owned it. The answer to that was easy: I wouldn't bother martyring it. What I would do with it was a slightly harder question. I answered that I guess I'd hide it behind objects by better artists, and let it moulder in shadow. I'm pretty tired of talking about Charles Krafft.
But many people are not, and I understand that, too. The questions now are mainly about the fate of the objects. About what they mean now. About how to think about a teapot in the shape of Hitler's head, or a perfume bottle stoppered with a swastika and titled Forgiveness, or, for that matter, any of the works Krafft has made that are on their surface not directly related to the Third Reich or war or violence—although there are surprisingly few that are indirectly not related to those subjects. For me, they've become one hell of a lot less interesting now that I know they all spring from the mind of an aspiring demagogue claiming to be a victim. Dullest. Trick. In. Book.
Most of why the conversation isn't going away is because the art itself keeps popping up. It's everywhere. Tim Detweiler, former Museum of Northwest Art director, who spoke eloquently on public radio's Studio 360 about what museums can do when showing Krafft's works now, tipped me off last week that Krafft's work is currently on display in an exhibition at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. The accusation that the community of Seattle is especially complacent compared to the East Coast, Detweiler said, is ridiculous. Maybe. But since this is where I live, this is where I care about.