will someone do the courtesy of explaining to me the point of the ipod shuffle? who in their right mind would by such a device! i mean truly? at least with pandora you can blame the website for picking a poor chanson, but with shuffle, you don’t even know what you’re getting next. and you have only yourself to chide.
(then again, in my salad days i once remarked with staunch sternness, “who in their right mind would want to watch a DVD on a computer?!” what a fool i was…and continue to be! now, i watch films almost exclusively on my big mac (book). plus, the occasional tv series.)
anyway, the shuffle is a rather unattractive device.
yet, one song i certainly would not skip on my ipod is “beautiful nebraska,” the official song of the cornhusker state (and the 37th one to join the union!).
let me explain. i have heard a wonderful song recently and the chorus of voices has been dans ma tete ever since. hear it is!
another thing. that old feminist said, ‘a rose is a rose is a rose.’ well duh. kippy says: a toilette is a toilette is a toilette! why is it that certain bathrooms appeal to the sense more than others? there is a bathroom in an office-i-often-frequent that is by far the best. good lighting scheme, private and spacious. there is even a little chair in case you want to invite in a friend! someone i know, who also visits the office frequently, will even use that chair to meditate.
surely his excellency the buddah would have approved!
one more thing: this douche, i mean dude, compares theatre-making to drug dealing. (the rest of what he says is actually quite smart and nice and probably he is a great human being…) but umm, theatre and drugs? really?? i love a bizarre contradiction but only when it is based in some truth. and this comparison overlooks three big ones. ie. theatre does not have money, danger or glamor–but surely drugs do! i know my naysayers will claim that drugs are not glamorous, but i would urge them to name one cool theatre practioner. every drug dealer i’ve known is cooler than even the coolest theatre cats with whom i’ve ever meow-ed.
three musical things have crossed my kippy eyes (and ears… duh!) today.
the first is old school.
a little italian somberness to put you in a focused state of mind. i did not know who the heck gesualdo was until a day ago. can you believe? but now that i have discovered him, i am most keen on hearing more gesualdian tunes! (apparently he invented chromatisms…whatever they are…which might just turn into daily catechisms!)
har har and jk… by now you should know that this kippy is irreligious!
…speaking of choral bits and pieces, i am so excited for the social network movie. i don’t care what anyone says, jesse eisenberg is as cute as corn-ball toot. i quite loved him in that squid whale flick and much enjoyed the new yorker article about mark zuckerberg. even if the movie is a mellow drama flip flop, i know i will love it. the trailer, btw, is amaze.
so is the children’s chorus to one of my fave radiohead songs. call my kippy, don’t call me corny! (but you can call me a cute corn ball if you must)
lastly, this is a music video with dogs dancing in it. and the lead singer looks quite a lot like marcel duchamp prize winner!
qu’est ce que on peut dire? beau coup des choses, bien sur! mais au jour’dui, i will just say a few things.
in line with my recent missive on foam soap, you may be nonplussed to learn i have some thoughts on ‘automatic’ or ‘self’ checkout machines… found most often these days at CVSes in nyc and grocery stores in le beantown.
(this image comes from the website of the delightfully cantankerous lord belmont of belfast. cherrio old chap… and merci pour l’image!)
anyhoo, what is there to say, really about automatic checkouts? auto mate me? oh how i long for a mate quando faccio la spesa! a checkout person to chit chat with, perhaps make a joke or two with, or share a commonplace philosophy or perhaps even a commiseration.
imagine:
kippy: lordy, i am no longer a teenager. i played soccer the other night and my hamstrings are tighter than my jeggings. checkoutperson: ooh i hate having a tight hamstring!
or
checkoutperson: what did the duck say to the wheat thin? kippy: wait a minute, i’ve heard that one before!
or even:
kippy: glorious weather isn’t it? checkoutperson: why yes, it’s absolutely splendid. (finishing a tally) that’ll be $8.93. kippy: mmm hm. ooh i can pay with cash. (fumbling with a dossier and wallet) checkoutperson: how old fashioned! kippy: i know! born in the wrong century, i was. checkoutperson: sigh. oh don’t forget your peanut m&ms. kippy: i certainly will not. (crunch) merci, mon ami. a bientot!
but no. with the automatic self checkout, there are no longer such exchanges. (even if there never were any…)
these machines are bonkers indeed! sure, there is a fun novelty in “doing it yourself” for the first time but in my experience, the self checkout most often includes the feeling of lonesomeness and alienation. meanwhile an attendant peers over your neck saying, “yes that’s right!” or “good job” or “now wait a minute, did you hit that button already?” as they juggle between you and an octogenarian.
everyone ends up feeling foolish. ooh and i blush like the dickens! then i feel the need to overly thank l’attendent instead of hopping along on my merry way. i realize stores believe they are saving money with these self checkouts but ooh how they are loosing in luxury! in comfort! and in sensible human contact!
such small scale woe.
nevertheless, i was pleased as punch the other day when i bought some shampoo at a cvs for 53 cents. now that’s what i call a bargain of christmas tree shop proportions!
btw, with fashion week buzzing about in the greater gotham area, i have returned to an age old quandry. why is it that jeans and heels are a high/low mix of sex kitten appeal while skirts and sneaks just make for frumpy? unless you have twig thighs the latter is impossible.
will anyone tell me what terry jones was thinking with his little threat to burn a holy text? i have been tempted to expound on this for days but have held off and feel relieved (finally) that he’s called off his stunt.
not cute.
but you know what is cute? the taqiyah that imam muhammed musri, standing next to fire-marshall-terry, is sporting.
i prefer my taqiyahs in purple, or a light lavender, or perhaps with a bit of gold sequins but i guess that’s just my shade-of-the-moment preference piping up! i do like imam’s classic white. simplicity is the keynote of elegance.
but getting back to business, i just have a hard time understanding why people are so bummed out about plans to build the islamic center near where those former twin towers stood. naturally those grounds are holy–and the tragedies that took place there should not be taken lightly–but what better way to aim for peace and forgiveness than by building such a center near those hallowed blocks? perhaps alongside the islamic center could be a center for peace….
…one for buddhism, another for judaism and christianity. ooh and lets not forget hinduism, zoroastrianism and that favorite black sheep of mine: atheism!
[one quip i am most proud of. when asked about my own belief in g-d, i always respond: i’m more of a seventh … as opposed to an eighth-theist! yes my friends, this kippy is an agnostic]
on other light notes–you may find yourself fighting off tears of laughter and fits of stomach spasms when you see this hooligan, phil davison, bloviating about his run for stark county treasurer.
may i pose a question, and simultaneously summon the days of seinfeld yore, by asking:
what’s the deal with foam soap?
initially, i was intrigued…amused…bewitched even (!), that such an old product–i.e. soap–could somehow seem innovative, fresh, and perhaps even a little fun. i marveled at this ‘foam’ soap when i’d spot it on road trips, use it in a fancy office building, or lather up in some unknown, never-to-be-returned-to restaurant stall.
charmed was i by this new fangled soap!
but then something happened.
something changed.
foam soap became ubiquitous!
suddenly it seemed that this frothy concoction followed me everywhere, even to an office building i frequent monday through fridays when not traveling. so insidious was the arrival of this foamy soap i barely noticed. in fact, i almost took glee b/c the old soap did not have such a fragrant scent.
(ooh not to mention—long gone are the days of bar soap. imagine seeing one of those sad confections in a public restroom. ick! i will say, however, that in a household, i much prefer my soap in bar form. it’s exceedingly personal, intimate even. you really can tell a lot about a person by looking at the condition of his or her bar soap)
but i digress. how does foam soap even work? according to wisegeek, it is ‘a form of liquid soap which has been whipped with air to create a foam of soap bubbles.’ how vile! i would rather let the soap meet the air in my presence. meet the pressure from my hands in my presence (!) i would rather be the author of creation to a rich lather to cleanse than have it pre-made in some factory.
imagine: foam soap is like already-chewed bubble gum. or a bicycle whose wheels are pre-spun. where is the fun in that? i never thought soap would mean so much to me until foam soap sprouted everywhere. it almost makes one give up on the desire to wash hands at all. why bother? the lather having already been created, do you really need to rub your hands together? what’s the point?
ooh sigh. what is the world coming to?
don’t even get me started on hand sanitizer. wink!
andy rooney‘s currently kindred spirit,
kippy winston
ps. i revise some of my previous statements re bolt buses. i took one down to the district of columbia recently and was most impressed by the speed, drivers, and cleanliness. plus, the seats (on one ride they were leather!) were a bit nicer than fung. i will continue to fung to my homeland but just may give boston-bound-bolts another chance.
or the lucky star depending. i’m not picky–so as long as that box-on-wheels leaves from chinatown on time and goes well beyond the speed limit to deliver me to my native beantown.
you might laugh and say “why on earth would you ride the chinatown bus when there are other affordable (and safer) options?”
i will pause for your laughter.
pause for you to pose your question.
and then i will tell you why i ride the fung wah bus.
chinatown buses provide a freewheeling freedom that this wanderluster loves. there’s no thrill like walking up to a jankity old window in chinatown and saying “one for boston, please.” then handing over a twenty to the tired lady with the faded smile behind the counter and getting a ticket and fiver dollar bill in return. that’s what i call freedom.
with the chinatown buses there’s no fuss, no muss. i have tried those other affordable buses (namely bolt and mega) but they chaff at my libertarian wheelings and dealings. i don’t like having to punch in credit card numbers, check email confirmations, make print outs, or contend with that rude request to “please arrive 15 minutes prior to departure to ensure a seat” … no, no my friends, such tasks are not for me. i will show up when i please and take all the chances i can get!
those other buses feign to be ‘better’ with their highspeed wireless or lack of trash bags, but i know the real deal. and the real deal is this: people smell bad everywhere. and the seats are just the same. not so com-for-table.
on these other buses, there is a long and unruly process of getting out the big apple. to leave from the west side of manhattan is senseless, nonsense, makes no sense and positively incenses me every time i’ve had to endure it!
no, no my friends. i prefer to zip on out of lower manhattan and fly straight on to that bqe slice-of-pie highway into the sky. gets you to your destination faster, don’t you know!
now, i will admit. i have enjoyed a certain fancy bus (when on someone else’s dime, natch!). and though i love a little class and comfort (snacks and beverages are served complimentary on the limoliner), i much prefer to break the rules and arrive looking fine and with time to spare. i do love how the limoliner attendants treat it like an old fashioned airplane-on-wheels. but you and i know deep down that only bus that really flies is the fung.
still, even old fung and lucky are getting a bit browbeaten by some bureaucracy (or bureau-crazy as i call it!) one feels it particularly upon leaving boston where the bus leaves from south station (as opposed to chinatown) and where the tickets are now sold behind a proper stand (until recently it was still willy nilly town at the gate).
sigh.
anyhoo. c’est tout for today’s rhapsodizing.
btw: nothing like a little pam thai with an old pal to reboot the spirit and enliven the taste buds. (don’t be fooled by the flashy website. it’s a jankity as i am ridiculous!)
one last thing.
as for today’s nytimes article on san francisco style, i can only say that flip flops and woolen coats are never au current! i have visited the city-on-the-bay a hat trick of times now, and i can say with certainty that the fashionables described by guy trebey have never once been spotted by this reporter. hmph!
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