When you’re at the end of the line and you just don’t know where to turn, you might as well throw yourself into the insatiable tentacles of the utter horror which is the Great Old Ones. In fairness, Cthulhu is a more attractive host than Howie Mandel.
Well, it’s not new if you’ve been to Gawker or Defamer recently and trolled through the Fox-related comments, but it’s new to the larger world, and it’s original to my mother, so here it is, straight from the foal’s mouth.
My mother used to work at the Children’s Hospital here in Vancouver, and the story she heard (and she heard it the same day, from people in the room) was that Michael was getting a tour and saw one of their scanners. He was told that there was a several months long waiting list for scans, because they couldn’t afford to buy a new one.
He asked how much it was…something like $20,000 (this was in the Eighties).
He wrote them a cheque.
Also, his sister(? or in-law, can’t remember) gave Greenpeace $200 when I was doing door-to-door for them. She was very nice.
I was quoting this for some jaded youth on Boris‘ blog when I thought I might as well post it here. It is the winning essay from last year’s Vanity Fair Essay Contest, and the subject was, basically, what in tarnation is up with kids today? the real cris de coeur coming from the fact that, like frogs in a slowly warming braising pan, nothing at all, no matter how severe, seems to bother them.
I cannot understand why prophylactic tranquillizer sales are so high when, in fact, nothing seems to upset these people because nothing whatsoever seems to register. Maybe the answer is in here:
Another Feitelberg Against the War
…We are spoiled realists. History has funneled us into deeply individual, almost solipsistic lives. We’re a generation that doesn’t expect, in its wildest dreams or worst nightmares, to be directly affected by something so oblique as politics. When my sister’s reserve unit was called up to serve in Afghanistan, I was flabbergasted that her life should change or suffer because of her moment in history. Not particularly optimistic (as our 60s-era parents were), nor particularly well equipped to deal with hardship (as our grandparents were), we have learned history’s lessons about the way things really work, yet have no real need to put that knowledge toward any great cause. Oh, sure, we have plenty of promise, but, as yet, haven’t been given a screen to project it on.
We don’t have a common enemy with a greasy handlebar mustache, although Dick Cheney does come close. Not that we want one. But, as a result, we don’t always know who the bad guy is.
We do know from our parents’ divorces that marriage actually isn’t forever.
We know that free love isn’t a great idea and can kill.
We know that Democrats lie and Republicans lie. We know that good presidents lie as much as the bad ones do.
We’ve learned from cheap furniture, the sprint of technology, and the pendulum of fashion not to get too attached to anything…
Which is as good a point as any to note that Vanity Fair no longer has this essay on its website. This link goes to the Google Cache version, and how long that remains useful is anyone’s guess.
Things get unsurprisingly complicated, and still our rage is bloodless…
This is a beautiful and sophisticated vintage animation of Edgar Allan Poe‘s The Tell-Tale Heart. The illustration hearkens back to the early days of the Thirties, and particularly reminds me of my copy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, which is illustrated by the American Lynd Ward.
raincoaster 