Entry: Palm Dog Award

This is adorable.

Since 2001, the critics at the Cannes Film Festival have awarded the Palm Dog to outstanding performances by a canine or group of canines, real or animated, in one of the films shown at the festival.

Of course, out of the winners and nominees listed, I've only seen two of the films: Dogville and Triplets of Belleville. And let me say, I am pissed that the dog in the former won over the dog in the latter. Bruno is a charming, funny dog, who is pretty realistic for an animation. Moses is, for 99.99% of the role, a sound effect. Lame.

Entry: Lynda Barry

I like to think that TILfW is generally a merry little blog, hewn from the sturdy wood of open-source encyclopedia articles and varnished with my weak attempts at humor. Its very concept is propelled by the sense of nerdish glee felt upon learning something interesting, and the resulting questions that crop up from wondering about said interesting fact.

Sometimes, however; sometimes learning can be a painful experience.

I had recently been rereading Lynda Barry's autobiographical graphic novel One! Hundred! Demons!, which I highly recommend if you're into that sort of thing, and went on the Wik' to find out more about her.

Apparently she and Ira Glass were a couple at one time. Initially kinda interesting, but then I found this in one of the footnotes, a quote from an article from some journal that doesn't change what it says according to the whims of random yahoos with a wifi signal (ie. a "reliable" source):

Barry does not remember the relationship fondly. The louse in her excellent One! Hundred! Demons! story "Head Lice and My Worst Boyfriend" has been identified as Ira Glass. She is quoted in a 1998 Chicago Reader article as saying of Glass, "I went out with him. It was the worst thing I ever did. When we broke up he gave me a watch and said I was boring and shallow, and I wasn't enough in the moment for him, and it was over." Glass confirms, "Anything bad she says about me I can confirm."

My reality was shattered. Okay, not shattered, but the world seemed a little sadder and duller upon this discovery.

See, I'm sort of in love with him. Googling "crush on Ira Glass" yields 2,170 hits, which makes me feel less alone. He does appeal to the nerdy girl's sensibilities: smart, articulate, quirky, good listener, works for a nonprofit, wears funny glasses. I listen to the This American Life podcast every week, of course. I imagine Ira and I drinking chai lattes and browsing through flea markets, while he regales me with interesting stories unified around a theme; sometimes our friends David Sedaris and Sarah Vowell would be there too, and coincidentally have their own anecdotes to contribute. But this is apparently never going to happen (besides the fact that he's significantly older than me and lives halfway across the country and is married and probably not into girls who live with their parents) because he is a jerk. Or at least he was a jerk in the Eighties.

I'm too heartbroken to pick on the article author for his or her awkward use of "confirm."

Entry: Wood (musician)

I was reading the article for the band British Sea Power, and was going to pick on the band members for having one-word stage names, but the stub for Wood, the drummer, was just too cute to pass up. Kind of like your mom.

Anyway, the stub reads:

"Matthew Wood (stage name Wood) is British Sea Power's drummer. He also helps design most of the artwork for the sleeves.

He is often seen as the quietest member of the band (rarely taking part in interviews), and when seen playing bass on 'No Red Indian' it is also evident he is the tallest member of the band. He has blond hair."

That's it! It's like a blurb you'd find in an indie rock version of Tiger Beat, right in the corner of the softly lit, airbrushed photo of the band. A tall, blond drummer. Dreamy.

Entry: The Monster at the End of This Book: Starring Lovable, Furry Old Grover

(Before I start the post, it's only fair to warn you that it contains spoilers for The Monster at the End of This Book. I give away the ending. If this is a problem, visit the children's section of your local library before continuing.)

One thing I hear a lot is, "OMG, Regina, you're so pretentious." All the freaking time! Even more often than "Ma'am, you're making a scene."

And, okay, it is kind of true. Every cultural object I love is meta-this and post-that. And I thought it all started in college, or maybe late high school, when I saw Being John Malkovich and it opened my eyes to a whole new world of highly theoretical intellectual masturbation. And if it features John Cusack in some way, so much the better.

The Wik', however, has proven me wrong. My love of post-modernism apparently extends back to early childhood.

When I was a wee child, and the family computer was only useful for playing Reader Rabbit, one of my favorite books was The Monster at the End of This Book: Starring Lovable, Furry Old Grover. We probably owned a copy of it, but my memory situates me in my pediatrician's waiting room, reading it with my mom. I liked Grover, probably because he was the only creature in existence more neurotic than I. (Well, okay, Telly could have probably benefited from the occasional benzodiazepine tablet too.)

Anyway: the Wikipedia article describes The Monster at the End of this Book as a "post-modern children's book" that is self-reflexive; Grover is conscious of the fact that he is a character in a book (he tries to stop the reader from turning the page by tying the pages together). I guess you could also argue that since it ends with the reader and Grover confronting the monster at the end of the book-- which turns out to be Grover himself-- thus forcing Grover to accept his identity as a monster, it is a sort of bildungsroman as well. Although, he doesn't really age during the course of the book. An $80,000 liberal arts education put to use, ladies and gentlemen.

I was so excited to have one of my favorite books growing up put in this light. Next time I'm at a party drinking PBR from a keg and feeling insecure because I'm not dressed like I got attacked by a Goodwill, I'll be sure to smugly mention the fact that I've been into metafiction since I could read.

That, and I was totally into Rilo Kiley way before they got all mainstream.

Commons: Picture of the Year/2008

Okay, so this entry is technically cheating, since it's from Wikimedia Commons-- doesn't that sound like a delightful spot to go a-picknicking? "Oh do come down to Wikimedia Commons with us, Millicent! Grace has assembled a delightful basket for our dinner, and the Kensington boys shall play bowls and fence for our amusement!"-- ahem, as I was saying: Wikimedia Commons.

The article I was looking at was the results of Picture of the Year 2008. The entries were the year's featured pictures, and the voting body were users from the various Wikimedia projects, including my reason for existing on this planet, Wikipedia.


One would expect that the top ten photos would be images from great scientific and historic occurrences and far-flung locales frozen in time and put on the Internet for the benefit of those of us who, for whatever reason, are probably never going to be privy to such sights in reality. Most of the entries are really beautiful and intriguing photos. (First place: HORSIES! Second place: GUY BREATHING FIRE!)

But there was one picture on the top ten that really caught my attention. Cooler than a fountain of pahoehoe lava spurting from a Hawaiian volcano. More dramatic than a burning building in Quebec. More iconic than Dorothea Lange's photos of migrant workers during the Great Depression.

What was this amazing picture that captured the hearts and minds of Wikimedia users the world over, gaining the #7 slot?

A scantily-clad anime girl. Comma, you hopeless pack of nerds. Wikimedia users: turn the computer off, sit in the corner, and think about what you've done.

Entry: Hamlet

I'm not feeling terribly witty today ("But Regina," you say, "when has that stopped you from posting before?"), but luckily my good friend Greg from Art History, LOL also peruses the Wiki, and has some thoughts on Hamlet. And considering that he played Guildenstern-- oh yes he did-- he is an expert on the subject.


"It's 4:30 on a Tuesday, so I am surfing the Wik. And I've looked at the origins of Hamlet before, but today I just really, really read it. I noticed a few things of interest!

1. The names are WAY better. Gertrude is Gerutha. Claudius is Feng. Old Hamlet? Horvendill! Other notables? Former King RORIK SLENGEBORRE! (I guess he's the Fortinbras analog...)

2. The first half sounds pretty close to the play: king is slain by jealous brother, jealous brother marries queen, pissed off son concocts a plan of faked madness, and is shipped off to England before coming back and killing people. But, then there's this whole part that, uh, I don't quite remember. Amleth/Hamlet marries the English princess, kills the ENTIRE court of Denmark by getting them drunk and pinning them down with a burning tapestry, demands the people make him king, goes back to England for his wife, kills HER father, hops up to Scotland to win the heart of the Scottish queen, takes them both back to Denmark, and dies in battle with the young Fortinbras analog.

Um. Is this the plot of Hamlet 2? I didn't see it."

[Ed. note: No. The plot of Hamlet 2 involves Jesus, a time machine, and a gay men's chorus, wrapped up in a package of gratuitous nudity and satire of the Inspirational White Teacher Helps Urban Minority Teens trope. In other words, it's better than anything Shakespeare ever wrote or thought about writing. Although I admit it could have benefited from a burning tapestry.]

"3. The article contains the phrase: '[he] sent Amleth as proxy wooer for the hand of a terrible Scottish queen Hermuthruda, who had put all former wooers to death'. Proxy wooer? It doesn't get much better than that."

I am changing every username I have to proxy_wooer.

Entry: British Film Institute list of the 50 films you should see by the age of 14

...made me feel like an uncultured hayseed.

The BFI composed this list in an attempt to convince parents and educators that film can be a legitimate art form, and that children should be exposed to great films the same way they are to visual art and literature; I can only assume that means "until the school has budgeting issues or one parent thinks their child might be exposed to something potentially offensive."

I like to think that I have good taste in movies, and I have seen a whole bunch in my day, but according to the BFI, I have been woefully underexposed. Here are their top ten films that kids should see by age 14, in order:

1. Bicycle Thieves (1948)
2. E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982)
3. Kes (1969)
4. Les Quatre Cents Coups (1959)
5. The Night of the Hunter (1955)
6. Show Me Love (1998)
7. Spirited Away (2001)
8. Toy Story (1995)
9. Where is My Friend's House? (1987)
10. The Wizard of Oz (1939)

Out of these films, I have seen E.T. (although I was so young when I saw it, I don't remember it-- is there a part where E.T. gets rabies? Because I've been laboring under that impression), Spirited Away (which came out after I turned 14, but is one of my favorites), Toy Story, and The Wizard of Oz. The Night of the Hunter and Show Me Love are on my Netflix queue. I had never before heard of Kes or Where Is my Friend's House?, and now I'm convinced that there are British tweens out there mocking me for it.

Now, I agree that exposing children to classic movies and teaching them to view them as art is a good idea, but I'm not sure I'd want my kids to see some of these films if they were under 14. I haven't seen Les Quatre Cens Coups, but maybe you should let your kids hit puberty before exposing them to French New Wave. And to be honest, I'm a little surprised that Show Me Love is listed, considering it's about two teenage girls that fall in love; I guess Brits are a lot more queer-friendly than Americans.

The rest of the list is also in the article, and there's a lot of fantastic movies listed... but I can't speak for the whole thing, because as it turns out, I've seen less than half of them. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some very important reality shows to watch.

Entry: Palimpsest

I learned what a palimpsest was in a Women's Studies class in college (I have no idea what it had to do with Women's Studies. Um. I vaguely remember a connection with Slavoj Žižek? If anyone wants to enlighten me on the connection between palimpsests and the works of Žižek, you will earn serious brownie points).

Stupidly put: when a monk wanted to translate the Bible or something into the vulgate but didn't have a blank parchment, he'd find a used parchment, scrape his grocery list or what have you off, and use it anew. And when you can see the old writing behind the new, that's a palimpsest! Apparently, the term is also used in architecture, and I will let the Wik' speak for itself:

"Architects imply palimpsest as a ghost —- an image of what once was. In the built environment, this occurs more than we might think. Whenever spaces are shuffled, rebuilt, or remodeled, shadows remain. Tarred rooflines remain on the sides of a building long after the neighboring structure has been demolished; removed stairs leave a mark where the painted wall surface stopped. Dust lines remain from a relocated appliance. Ancient ruins speak volumes of their former wholeness. Palimpsests can inform us, archaeologically, of the realities of the built past."

Awfully poetic for a Wiki article, don't you think?

You might be wondering why a slacker like me who usually updates twice a week is making two posts in a day, and one is about something she already knows about. The reason is quite simple: one of my favorite authors, Catherynne M. Valente, has a new book out today, and guess what the title is!

...Palimpsest. It's-- the title is Palimpsest. No, no, that was a good guess too.

Anyway: I heard her give a sneak preview reading at SalonCon a few months ago, and I'm very excited for this book. Her novels are incredible post-modern fairytales: I recently read The Orphan's Tales: in the City of Coin and Spice, and it was transcendent. I very rarely get so caught up in a book, but I was sitting at my desk at work, reading and trying so hard not to cry, because if someone had asked me why I was so upset, I would have blubbered something incoherent about soul-leaves and been advised to take the afternoon off and gone to see a doctor.

But I heartily encourage you to give Palimpsest a try-- there's more information about it on the amazon.com page. But don't take my word for it-- Warren Ellis liked it. And he's way cooler than I'll ever be.

Entry: Sedlec Ossuary

I'd heard from some non-Wiki source (probably Ripley's Believe It or Not) about the Sedlec Ossuary, a chapel in the Czech Republic decorated with human bones. But what I learned about from the Wik' was the accompanying documentary. Good Lord.

It was filmed in 1970 by Jan Švankmajer (hell yeah I got the diacritic in there), macabre animator and influence for directors such as Tim Burton and Terry Gilliam, who had been commissioned to do so by the Czech government. And film he did. To quote the article: "The result was a 10 minute long frantic-cut nightmare of skeletal images overdubbed with an actual tour-guide's neutral voice narration. This version was initially banned by the Czech Communist authorities for alleged subversion, and the soundtrack was replaced by a brief spoken introduction and a jazz arrangement by Zdeněk Liška of the poem 'Comment dessiner le portrait d'un oiseau' ('How to Draw the Portrait of a Bird') by Jacques Prévert."

I can see how it would be interpreted as subversive, but honestly, is there any way to film a chandelier made of human skulls and make it seem like a testament to your country's glorious culture and rich history? And how would a jazz arrangement change any of that?

And because I love you so much, here's a link to the film in its entirety. Warning: it's pretty disturbing. If you are on drugs, were on drugs, about to do drugs, or are contemplating doing drugs in the future, I would recommend not watching it.

Entry: Proust Questionnaire

If you're a highbrow snobby type like me (or if you've ever been bored and channel surfing on a weekend afternoon), you've probably seen Inside the Actor's Studio with James Lipton on Bravo. Or maybe you've seen Will Ferrell parodying Lipton on SNL. If you haven't done any of the above, perhaps you have the vivacity of imagination required to summon up an admittedly pretentious show where a middle-aged man with a goatee and glassy stare interviews various actors about their craft.

Are we all on the same page? Good.

One of the best-known aspects of this show is the ten short questions that Lipton asks his guests. This is commonly known as the Proust Questionnaire, named for the author Marcel Proust (aka the Guy that Steve Carrel's character was talking about in Little Miss Sunshine). The questionnaire is often misattributed to Proust; the truth is that they were a turn of the century fad, published as diary-like books known as confession albums. Proust was simply a fan of them; two manuscripts of these lists filled out by him have been found (and one was sold at auction for over 100,000 euros). The list of questions and his answers can be found in the article.

It's nice to see a writer of such great renown humanized (his favorite fictional hero is Hamlet); he liked to do little egocentric memes from time to time, just like the rest of us. On the other hand, how far would he have gone if allowed to indulge? Just imagine what his Livejournal might have looked like.

Entry: the Butterfly's Evil Spell

If you've ever been a pie-eyed young poetry geek (like me), you've probably read-- if not fallen in love with-- Frederico Garcia Lorca, the fey modernist Spaniard who wrote about love and gypsies and the moon. Well, he apparently also wrote the occasional awful play.

No, Lorca defenders, I'm not talking about The House of Bernarda Alba, I'm talking about his first attempt, The Butterfly's Evil Spell. A symbolist work, the play is about a wounded butterfly (as far as I can tell, a literal butterfly) and a cockroach whose love for her goes unrequited. Yeah. It was cancelled after four performances; later in his life Garcia Lorca would claim that Mariana Pineda, which debuted seven years later, was his first play. Kinda makes me feel better about the crap that I try to write.

Entry: Julie Taymor

Sometimes I say to myself, "Hey, this director made a movie that I really liked, I wonder what else s/he's been doing recently?" And sometimes I don't want to know the answer.

Julie Taymor (Frida, Across the Universe) will be directing a Spiderman musical. No, really. Bono and the Edge have reportedly composed the music. No, really. I promise this isn't a throwaway joke from Family Guy.

Entry: Jean-Baptiste Lully

17th century French composer, for those of you not in the know, and nominee for Lamest Death Ever.

Lully was conducting a piece at a concert in honor of Louis XIV recovering from illness-- and before I go any further, yes, that beeping is the irony detector going off. Anywho, in the 17th century, conductors kept time by pounding a big stick against the floor, instead of waving a little stick, as is the modern fashion. Lully botched, as the gamers say, and pounded his conducting staff on his foot. The resulting wound developed gangrene, Lully refused to have his foot amputated, and he died. Because he was a dumbass. Twice over.

Entry: Seagram Building

This Wiki article was brought to my attention by my friend Ziggy. Sir, you are a gentleman and a scholar.

The Seagram Building is a skyscraper in midtown Manhattan, the location of the famous Four Seasons Restaurant. The neat part about the building is architect Ludwig Mies van der Rohe's commitment to uniformity. I just have to quote the article, because, well, it speaks for itself:

"One aspect of a façade which Mies disliked, was the disordered irregularity when window blinds are drawn. Inevitably, people using different windows will draw blinds to different heights, making the building appear disorganized. To reduce this disproportionate appearance, Mies specified window blinds which only operated in three positions - fully open, halfway open/closed, or fully closed."

I guess attention to detail is important to being a successful architect, but there is a line. And it has been crossed.