!ℜ¡ Loser's Review: ∇

Friday, June 1

Living in the House of the Dead

Depends on what you mean by “prison”

Generally speaking, the whole tribe, with the exception of a few unquenchably cheerful souls, who for that reason enjoyed universal contempt, was sullen, envious, terribly conceited, boastful, touchy, and preoccupied in the highest degree with forms. The capacity not to be surprised by anything was the greatest possible virtue. They were all vitally concerned about one thing: what sort of figure they cut. But not seldom the most arrogant bearing changed with the speed of lightning to the most pitiful. There were a few genuinely strong characters, but they were simple and did not pose. But, strangely enough, some of these really strong people were superlatively, almost morbidly, conceited.

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Wednesday, May 30

해일 비너스

beon-yeog ?

Clazziquai Project W (Where The Story Ends) W & Whale BoA

I learned that Loreen had won the Eurovision thing late this past Saturday night because I needed the Wikipedia homepage URL wherein her arresting visage was found. That was my first mistake. Wikipedia's front door aggregator always sends me off on wildly inapposite diversions, impeding my ever expanding course of much delayed study. My second mistake was stumbling down YouTube's advertising rat-hole to reconnoiter toute cette agitation.

Clicking on Loreen's vaguely war-painted face here will lead you to a play list I assembled as a testament to the depressing waste of time spent vainly searching for something—anything!—that wasn't a complete bouillante pile de merde. Yeah, more than a hour skipping through mindlessly saccharine and unnecessarily sexualized third-rate cabaret acts incongruously plodding across some multi-euro(FAIL!) stage in ... Azerbaijan? ... really? That Azerbaijan?

Trackshittaz. Austrian. I guess they don't suck that much. Alles klar, Herr Kommissar. Chah!

MrEclipse.com
h/t Steve Clemons
@ The Atlantic

I needed restitution, though retribution was foremost amid my now meandering, wantonly unguided mentation. Clearly 40°25′N 49°50′E wasn't working. Serendipity swept her brightly colored Chima to 37°35′N 127°0′E making good my foray into the nominally brain crushing vapidity of the billion dollar(FAIL!) narcissist network, thankfully eclipsing all the “sexy sexy sugar” in Central Asia. (Azerbaijan. Europe. Azerbaijan. WTF?)

Funny Story #1

This all amounts to what I can at present best describe as "Yet Another Object Lesson In Why I try Not To Pay Attention To (Almost) Anything Everybody Is Talking About," a subject ranging from Mad Men—likely a worthwhile diversion—to Hunger Games, Game of Thrones, or any gaming of vampires, werewolves and ghosts ... id est: occult. Life is all about choices. Are you happy with yours?

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Wednesday, May 23

Oh Brudder

“D'ere goes me bread 'n' buttah”

My wife and I, in view of our own less than lavish accommodations, tried to imagine that we were in touch with Davos’s roots as a destination for a spa cure—literally the place about which Thomas Mann wrote The Magic Mountain.

Mann, of course, had no idea quite how magic the mountain would become. Walking through the metal detector into the welter of activity in theKongress Hotel’s lobby, it was once again clear. A small pride of women swaddled in mink and all manner of tasteful bling glided past looking vaguely predatory and, frankly, frightening. Behind them came their husbands, a group of U.S. senators including John McCain of Arizona.
p. 16

David Rothkopf, Superclass - 2008