Artist Chris Jordan makes digital images depicting just what and how much Americans use and discard every day. This, for instance, is an image of the two million plastic bottles that the US uses and throws away every five minutes.
He’s also done an image of 65,000 cigarettes, one for every teenager who becomes addicted to smoking per month; an image of jet contrails; plastic and paper bags thrown out, and many others. This puts our own actions in context in a very powerful way: it’s not just me, it’s us, and this is what we do and this is the debris we leave behind.
But we knew that anyway. The ass goiter has always bothered me, personally. CNN agrees:Paris Hilton is un-appealing.
Paris Hilton won’t appeal the 45-day jail term she was sentenced to earlier this month for violating probation, according to court documents filed Thursday.
A lawyer for the 26-year-old socialite notified Los Angeles Count Superior Court that she is abandoning her appeal, said court spokeswoman Katherine Roberts.
Hilton was ordered earlier this month to report to jail by June 5 for violating the terms of her probation in an alcohol-related reckless driving case.
Hilton initially called the sentence unfair, and lawyers representing her filed a notice to appeal the sentence.
She then switched attorneys and is now represented by drunken driving specialist Richard Hutton. Hutton did not immediately return several calls for comment Thursday.
Hilton will be jailed for about 23 days of a 45-day sentence and will be separated from the general inmate population, authorities decided after reviewing her case.
The shorter sentence reflects an expectation that Hilton behaves behind bars.
Oh, how little they know of her reputation!
She will be held in a “special needs housing unit” at the Century Regional Detention Center in suburban Lynwood, Whitmore said.
And, presumably, she will be chauffeured there on a shortbus.
But you have to wonder if it hadn’t, or, if it had, who it was who got to make that call.
This song has haunted not my dreams but my waking for nearly ten years, ever since Mister Natural played it for me.
The story is this:
Gavin Bryars, an interesting fellow if ever there was one, was working on a film about the homeless people who populated the neighborhoods of Elephant & Castle and Waterloo Station, a very Hogarthian scene even if gin is not as cheap as it used to be. Not being used to starring in films, the populace enjoyed the attention and in some cases hammed it up for the cameras with appropriate ruffles and flourishes and not a few belts of song or even something stronger.
One of those singers, a teetotaller in fact, came out with this.
I’ve heard it in both the unadorned and orchestral versions, and I must say I prefer the starker one. Adding Tom Waits to the mix is gilding the lily: surely Tom Waits is nothing but an haut-Boho imitation of something the old man was a true original of.
With nothing but this creaky old voice rattling out a single-line message of faith and hope for twenty solid minutes, one can’t help but meditate on it.
This man’s whole life is there, in the tension between his circumstances and his message. He, at least, believes he has never been failed by Jesus (and who are we to say he HAS?) and yet there he is; why, he wouldn’t have been recorded at all if he had not been the very embodiment of society’s lowest castoffs. And so, his cruel circumstances are themselves what enable his inspiring voice to be heard in the first place, yet his moving faith seems so wildly unjustified.
Somewhere between the impossibility of the truth and the impossibility of anything else lies the human condition.
When I copied the loop onto the continuous reel in Leicester, I left the door of the recording studio open (it opened onto one of the large painting studios) while I went downstairs to get a cup of coffee. When I came back I found the normally lively room unnaturally subdued. People were moving about much more slowly than usual, and a few were sitting alone, quietly weeping. I was puzzled until I realized that the tape was still playing and that they had been overcome by the old man’s unaccompanied singing.
This demonstrated to me the emotional power of the music, but also alerted me to the need to approach very carefully anything I did to the tape. I had already thought about a gradually added orchestral accompaniment and I realized that this needed to be simple, to gradually evolve, yet at the same time respect the tramp’s humanity and simple faith.
How to intro this…well, first of all you should know that the prize here is nothing less than immortal glory and the adoring praise of millions. There shall be none other like you on Earth; you will be unique among all peoples:
the one, the only, winner of the FADenclature contest on the ol’ raincoaster blog!
Seriously, how cool is that?
Which is all just a fancy way of saying No, there’s no money in it.
Something along the lines of the Tentacle Pornstar Name Challenge, this is a contest to develop the most amusing name for the soon-to-leave-the-pages-of-Snopes-forever (as soon as Lohan gets ahold of the idea anyway) concept of adorning one’s nether regions with what is known in the yoof community as “bling” and flashing said bling in the presence of witnesses if not actually paparazzi. Where can Paris, Lindsay et al go from here anyway? They’ve got to ramp it up somehow!
See here for background. Suggestions in the comments section. You’re up against some tough competition here; those Gawkerites can be lightning fast with the wisecracks, so bring your best game.
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raincoaster 