“A place to meet good people, with good food, good drink prices, and good music. Our signature drink is Call-A-Cab which consists of about 64oz of rum, and is designed for more than one person.”—You don’t say!
Interesting that women might care about football for the soap opera aspects, according to Katie. I always hypothesized that baseball could be the most appealing to women because the sport was most like a soap opera: characters with strengths and weaknesses and a “back story,” a daily grind of games/episodes where a fan didn’t actually have to watch each one but could pick it up at any time, and of course, the chance to simply catch the “recaps” in the paper each morning.
Anyway, the NFL is not like a soap opera—women aren’t really watching soap operas these days, besides. (Nor are men). Katie is right: it’s like a reality show, and what viewers of all stripes enjoy on reality shows are pituitary cases who refer to themselves in the third person. Maybe the Glad Family of Products can get a sponsorship deal for scooping Aaron Rodgers brain off the field and into a snazzy plastic container in time for the game next week?
“It’s sort of like a Las Vegas version of New York City.”—
NYT. Nice story by Matt and an appropriate quote by Choire about the Ace, which is verging ever so quickly into “it’s so crowded no one goes there anymore” territory. Just like the Portland property! Both are horrible places to be a guest but have enjoyable lobby scenes that make you wish nobody else knew about them.
Also, not to make everyone sad, but this is the company that owns the properties of the Ace in New York and Palm Springs. I’m not sure who owns the one in PDX as this article just says Calderwood et al are “in possession” of it.
On the plus side, those circular glass tables in the lobby are made from factory reject lenses for the Hubble telescope. So there’s that.
So some folks don’t like Jauntsetter’s female-friendly travel slant, which somehow makes it the Luna bar of travel. Some of us may appreciate the merits of their Jauntsetters of the Week on different merits than others, so I can’t say I agree. And here’s why: I like Luna bars. When I travel, no less!
Sure, there’s a voice in the back of my head that wonders what I might be doing to my body by eating a Luna bar—promoting bone health and feelings, I guess—but I’m comfortable enough in my masculinity to use them as backup food in my bag during a long flight. (For the record, I prefer Luna bars because all energy bars are kind of disgusting and they are smaller than the rest). Thus, Jauntsetter can be awesome and make my bones strong and I don’t worry about who it’s angled towards.
PS Condé Nast Traveler and Travel + Leisure are also angled towards women, if you go by the ads they sell.
“Mubarak’s best option is to offer Egypt a safe landing. He should lift the 30-year state of emergency, renounce his candidacy in Egypt’s September 2011 presidential election and allow civil society to prepare for a free and fair election under full international supervision.”—
Katie’s lovely essay on teenager message board alternate reality is so, so enjoyable and you should read it at once. Katie had the luxury of being a jockette but for nerds like myself at the same time, AOL, Usenet and the like were incredible lifelines. It was short-sighted, but the mere confirmation that people existed who were interested in the same things that interested me was illuminating, thrilling, and of course made me want to lie about how old I was to feel like a part of the (always, always) older club. That’s how I ended up with a boxful of Rolling Stone and TV Guide issues from a suburban housewife in Seattle who I visited on a family vacation at age 13. Not weird at all!
I’m really curious about what will happen with the imminent film version, set to star Paul Dano* (who has been too wussy in too many crappy indies like the terrible Gigantic and the awful The Extra Man, although he can go head to head with Great Actors, so we will see, and I wish it could be an Andrew Garfield, or probably some young UK/Australian actor, since, frankly, they seem like men as opposed to Jesse Eisenberg/Dano/or that Canadian wimp Michael Cera) and Robert DeNiro. Having watched The Wire Season 5 this weekend, I’d be interested in what a David Simon would do with the source material, but Paul Weitz is doing it. We will see! I wonder where it’s going to be filmed; in particular, the Boston in the book is not the Boston of today, I find. But get out of the greater Boston area and there are so many dilapidated mill towns with empty, falling down buildings that could be a fair approximation.
(I haven’t seen this cover of the book and I love it. UK version, maybe? It is so much better than the US cover, which looks like bad 70s art. The cover for his new book of poetry is so creepy and gorgeous, and I first encountered that photo on a Shearwater album about birds. Because every Shearwater album is about birds.)
*Dano is a total upgrade from Casey Affleck, who - ever since I’m Still Here - I feel visceral hate towards, even if there’s just a photo of him in a magazine.
I am nervous about this. The Weitz brothers have a very, very bad history of taking great books—His Dark Materials, cough—and laying a giant egg when it comes to the movie version.
“Walk into Javier Placencia’s Romesco, a cozy boite in a Bonita strip mall, and you might think you’ve wandered into a Long Island Italian joint. You have, kind of, but don’t fret — skate past that portion of the vast menu, designed to please Placencia’s clientele, many of whom are accustomed to eating at his restaurants across the border — and straight to the expertly executed Baja/Mexican dishes — ahi tuna tostadas, elegantly light chile en nogadas, grilled octopus. This is how people with money eat in Tijuana. Now you know.”—NYP
Am I supposed to ogle? They traffic in a level of cleavage that New York City’s bars, even really slutty bars, rarely display. On the other hand, the clothes (what there is of them) stay where they are. Just wondering here. One cursory glance per round of drinks? It’s really hard to maintain cleavage comportment, especially as the evening continues, as I don’t want to be the leering guy.
In August we drove from San Diego to Tucson, getting an earful of Arizona radio along the way (to say nothing of the “border” checkpoints on an east-west road). At the time, it seemed laughable in the way that a man talking about the value of pre-1964 silver dollars can, but clearly there was more to it than just talk radio.
A sad irony in all of this is that Tucson is the sanest part of the state; a college town with a positive relationship with the nation to the south. A shooting like this is the kind of thing that one expects to happen on Sheriff Joe’s turf, not in Tucson.
Sun Belt states continue to grow; while Michigan lost population since the last Census, Arizona’s increased by 25 percent, netting the state an additional representative. It’s unfair to speculate wholesale what drives people to move to Arizona, yet insist that the door be bolted shut behind them. Given the tone of rhetoric on the radio we heard in August, a lot of people simultaneously hate the government and at the same time feel they are owed something by that same government. Combined with a warped mind, the end result is what happened yesterday.
“There aren’t many tourists staying in the 30 or so rooms there, though there is excellent gorilla trekking nearby. The crowd is mostly aid workers, journalists, diplomats and spies, the typical war zone mix. At night, waiters in crisp red shirts set the dinner tables, placing little blackboards on each white tablecloth with the daily specials written in chalk — escargot? rabbit? an ice cream sundae? It’s all very European, some might even say civilized.”—NYT
“Whether this constituted good writing or terrible writing, I could not have said. Nor could I have cared less. What it provided was an uncensored window into the then-cloaked mechanics of female desire, teaching me (a boy who did not yet know a girl could come once) that a girl could come three times if she got the water temperature just right and spread her legs around a bathtub faucet.”—Amsden. Keep reading for the McInerney kicker, which is almost certainly true, given that the author also got Alicia Silverstone to eat French fries at the Corner Bistro. Could there be less vegetarian fries than those at the Corner Bistro? There could not.