Search Results for "anal"

Venice is Way Under Water…

Venice is made up of 124 islands, 183 canals and 438 bridges, with water con­stant­ly flow­ing in and around it. As the video below explains, the city has his­tor­i­cal­ly devel­oped an elab­o­rate way of defend­ing itself against the seas. But occa­sion­al­ly moth­er nature wins out, and floods take their toll on the city. This year it’s par­tic­u­lar­ly bad. Heavy rains and strong winds have left Venice 70% sub­merged, with water lev­els reach­ing 60 inch­es. It marks the sixth worst flood record­ed in the past 150 years. You can find footage above, and a pret­ty remark­able pho­to gallery over at The Atlantic. And then anoth­er  com­pelling set at Boston.com.

via @eugenephoto

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Massive Open Online Courses (MOOCs) Go International

A few quick notes from the MOOC front.…

The first major providers of Mas­sive Open Online Cours­es (MOOCs) got their start in Sil­i­con Val­ley, Cam­bridge, Mass­a­chu­setts and Cana­da. Now we’re see­ing them sprout up out­side of the Unit­ed States. Take for exam­ple OpenLearning.com, a ven­ture born out of the Uni­ver­si­ty of New South Wales (UNSW) in Syd­ney, Aus­tralia. Start­ing this week, you can begin tak­ing two of their cours­es (Observ­ing and Analysing Per­for­mance in Sport & Ser­vices Mar­ket­ing – The Next Lev­el). Or you can check into a 12-week course that recent­ly got under­way: UNSW Com­put­ing 1.

Mean­while, if you can exer­cise a lit­tle patience, you can even­tu­al­ly start tak­ing class­es with the Uni­ver­si­ty of West­ern Aus­tralia. By next March, the Perth-based uni­ver­si­ty plans to offer two cours­es (one in soci­ol­o­gy, the oth­er in oceanog­ra­phy) using an adapt­ed ver­sion of Stan­ford’s open source plat­form, Class2Go. The cours­es will be deliv­ered over mobile phones.

Final­ly, if you’re look­ing to learn a new lan­guage, why not try Span­ish­Mooc? It’s billed as “the first open online Span­ish course for every­one.” And it’s seem­ing­ly run as an inde­pen­dent project not asso­ci­at­ed with an exist­ing uni­ver­si­ty. The 12-week course will start on Jan­u­ary 21, 2013.

For a com­plete list of MOOCs, vis­it our col­lec­tion of 130 Free Online Cer­tifi­cate Cours­es from Great Uni­ver­si­ties.

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Filmmaker Errol Morris Gives Us “11 Excellent Reasons Not to Vote?”

All through­out this inter­minably long pres­i­den­tial elec­tion cycle, which has been going on since at least 2010, I’ve had a laser-like focus on polit­i­cal news. You might even call it a death grip. Because I’m a pol­i­tics junkie. It’s a dis­ease, I know, I rec­og­nize I need help, and I’ll get it—after Novem­ber 6th. As a pol­i­tics junkie, I am sub­ject to a cer­tain severe irri­ta­tion: pro­found exas­per­a­tion with those myth­i­cal beasts called â€śunde­cid­ed vot­ers,” who are even more galling than third par­ty vot­ers are to hyper-par­ti­sans. “What?” I shout at the radio, when one of these cryp­to-zoo­log­i­cal crea­tures calls in. “You dream­ers, you obliv­i­ous block­head­ed dream­ers!” I shout, and oth­er things. Yes, in my mania, I’ve shout­ed these things at the radio, because how can peo­ple not have made up their minds months ago, been glued to inter­net news and opin­ion for hours, pored over minis­cule pol­i­cy details, destroyed their eye­sight, col­lapsed their spine under the weight of civic duty? How, indeed. But per­haps (and every pol­i­tics junkie fears this pos­si­bil­i­ty), the unde­cid­ed vot­ers aren’t idiots—perhaps they’re thought­ful, kind, trust­ing, tru­ly… dare I say it, inde­pen­dent….

Now with all of our weird vit­ri­ol direct­ed at the “unde­cid­eds,” preter­nat­u­ral­ly myopic junkies lose sight of a bloc with the pow­er to bend, break, or shat­ter the scales altogether—non-voters. In a nation that has expend­ed tril­lions of dol­lars, thou­sands of lives, and quite a lot of inter­na­tion­al good will to give oth­ers the right to vote in Iraq, Libya, Afghanistan, we make a pret­ty poor show­ing at the polls every four years, with rough­ly half of us declin­ing to exer­cise our fun­da­men­tal right to vote for our lead­ers. Think about that: half. Fifty per­cent of Amer­i­cans: when women only won the right in 1920 and after amend­ing the Con­sti­tu­tion. When African Amer­i­cans fought for a hun­dred years and only ful­ly won the right in 1965 with the Vot­ing Rights Act. These are significant–if sig­nif­i­cant­ly belated—achievements, and, to be sure, they’re the rea­son so many peo­ple trea­sure their vote as a pre­cious token of polit­i­cal auton­o­my. But non-vot­ers are an invis­i­ble enig­ma: no one talks much about the appalling­ly low turnout in this coun­try, except to men­tion it in pass­ing. So doc­u­men­tary film­mak­er Errol Mor­ris (The Thin Blue Line, The Fog of War), provo­ca­teur and social crit­ic, decid­ed to dis­cuss the issue with over 50 peo­ple under the age of 40. The result is the short film above, teas­ing­ly titled “11 Rea­sons Not to Vote?”

What Mor­ris found con­founds the faithful—the junkies scowl­ing into their micro­fiche read­ers. Non-vot­ers, and the unde­cid­ed, can take a larg­er view; as Mor­ris points out in his accom­pa­ny­ing New York Times essay, non-vot­ers not only com­ment on the fact that no major par­ty can­di­date has dis­cussed issues so many peo­ple care about—poverty, cli­mate change, the drug war, the dys­func­tion­al prison system—but non-vot­ers real­ize that if no one’s talk­ing, noth­ing will be done. Some of them may be cyn­i­cal, but many more may just­ly say they’re real­ists. Per­haps it’s us, the vot­ers, who are dream­ers.

The 11 rea­sons Mor­ris gives, with tongue lodged in cheek, are as fol­lows (with my explana­to­ry gloss­es in paren­the­ses):

  1. You can’t depend on demigods (Hint: politi­cians aren’t demigods, even when they seem so)
  2. Like jazz, apa­thy is an Amer­i­can art form (slack, an appro­pri­ate response to polit­i­cal fun­da­men­tal­ism?)
  3. Flori­da (deba­cle, year 2000)
  4. The Elec­toral Col­lege (does any­one under­stand this thing?)
  5. Missed entre­pre­neur­ial oppor­tu­ni­ties (one vote, one price)
  6. Poten­tial extra­di­tion (absen­tee bal­lot if under ren­di­tion?)
  7. Awk­ward fam­i­ly din­ners (vot­ing out of spite for fam­i­ly mem­bers)
  8. Traf­fic (acci­dents on the way to polls can­celed out by dat­ing oppor­tu­ni­ties at the polls)
  9. Forced analo­gies (warn­ing: involves foot­ball)
  10. Overzeal­ous advo­cates (car­rots and sticks)
  11. Mas­culin­i­ty is under­ap­pre­ci­at­ed (The Man: stick it to him)

I come away from Morris’s exer­cise sub­dued, not cured, but per­haps ready to wean myself away enough to look at why we make elec­tions mat­ter so much, when they seem to do so lit­tle for so many. That said, how­ev­er, I’m still going to vote. The com­ment that struck me more than any oth­er was this: “If you don’t vote, you can­cel your own vote.” Mor­ris replies, “that’d be stu­pid.” And it would be, I think, damn it all.

Josh Jones is a doc­tor­al can­di­date in Eng­lish at Ford­ham Uni­ver­si­ty and a co-founder and for­mer man­ag­ing edi­tor of Guer­ni­ca / A Mag­a­zine of Arts and Pol­i­tics.

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Neil Young Reveals the New Killer Gadget That Will Save Music

In the open­ing min­utes of his new mem­oir Wag­ing Heavy Peace (I lis­tened to the audio book, and you can too for free), Neil Young talks about his mod­el trains, his exten­sive col­lec­tion of vin­tage cars, and not much about music per se — although he does high­light his entre­pre­neur­ial effort to save the music indus­try with a new-fan­gled audio sys­tem called Pure­Tone. 

For quite some time now, Young has lament­ed the decline of music dur­ing the dig­i­tal age. It’s not pirat­ing that’s the cul­prit. It’s the MP3, a for­mat that degrades the qual­i­ty of the music we hear. Speak­ing at a Wall Street Jour­nal con­fer­ence ear­li­er this year (watch here), Young com­plained that the MP3 can’t “trans­fer the depth of the art.” â€śMy goal,” he con­tin­ued, “is to try and res­cue the art form that I’ve been prac­tic­ing for the past 50 years.”

Enter Pure­Tone, which has actu­al­ly been renamed Pono more recent­ly. The device/music ser­vice will hit the mar­ket next year, and it essen­tial­ly promis­es to let fans hear record­ings in super high fideli­ty, as if they owned the orig­i­nal mas­ter tapes cre­at­ed by var­i­ous artists. Not long ago, Flea, the bassist of the Red Hot Chili Pep­pers, raved about the sound of Pono, telling Rolling Stone: â€śIt’s not like some vague thing that you need dogs’ ears to hear. It’s a dras­tic dif­fer­ence.”

If that’s right, Young may do a great ser­vice for musi­cians every­where, and make a lot of mon­ey for him­self and oth­ers along the way. I mean imag­ine the num­ber of remas­ters that could hit the mar­ket in the com­ings years, start­ing with two by Bob Dylan â€” The Free­wheel­in’ Bob Dylan and High­way 61 Revis­it­ed. A per­fect place to begin.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Neil Young on the Trav­es­ty of MP3s

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World Shakespeare Festival Presents 37 Plays by the Bard in 37 Languages: Watch Them Online

I’ve seen Shake­speare per­formed all over the coun­try, from Cen­tral Park to Gold­en Gate Park, and in every kind of adap­ta­tion imag­in­able. By far, the most mem­o­rable per­for­mance for me was a Noh stag­ing of Oth­el­lo, in Japan­ese, with masks and haunt­ing cho­rus. I didn’t under­stand a word of it, but I spent the entire per­for­mance riv­et­ed by the cul­ture shock of watch­ing a play I knew so well trans­formed by a cul­tur­al vocab­u­lary I didn’t. While I’ve some­times bris­tled at best-sell­ing lit­er­ary crit­ic Harold Bloom’s seem­ing­ly banal claims about Shakespeare’s “uni­ver­sal genius,” I can­not deny that the Bard’s work seems to trans­late across time and space with­out a loss of its incred­i­ble pow­er and pathos.

Shake­speare-lovers in Lon­don this past spring were treat­ed to a sim­i­lar expe­ri­ence as mine, mag­ni­fied by 37. As part of the mas­sive World Shake­speare Fes­ti­val, the Globe to Globe project pre­sent­ed an unprece­dent­ed oppor­tu­ni­ty for the­ater­go­ers to see all 37 of Shakespeare’s plays per­formed in 37 dif­fer­ent lan­guages at the bard’s own the­ater, the Globe. The plays (watch them here) were staged by some of the world’s top the­ater direc­tors, with over six-hun­dred actors from “all nations” and attend­ed by “audi­ences from every cor­ner of our poly­glot com­mu­ni­ty.” In a time when var­i­ous parts of Europe strug­gle to come to terms with increas­ing­ly mul­ti­cul­tur­al demo­graph­ics, this fes­ti­val was an oppor­tu­ni­ty for a glob­al the­ater fel­low­ship of actors and audi­ences to come togeth­er in mutu­al appre­ci­a­tion and cama­raderie.

The video above gives us a glimpse of sev­er­al cer­e­mo­ni­al, behind-the-scenes moments; before each per­for­mance, a mem­ber of the com­pa­ny sprin­kled alco­hol around the stage as an offer­ing to the god of the­ater and wine, Diony­sus. In a rapid mon­tage, we see a dozen dif­fer­ent actors from var­i­ous plays sprint, skip, dance, and slide across the front of the stage, joy­ful­ly pour­ing liba­tions. After­ward, anoth­er actor releas­es two bal­loons, one labeled The Globe, the oth­er with the company’s name. The pro­duc­tions, all avail­able to view online, are impres­sive not only for their lin­guis­tic range, but also for the range of cos­tum­ing and stage­craft on dis­play. Watch, for exam­ple, Troilus and Cres­si­da in Maori, with a fierce band of Maori war­riors stomp­ing across the stage. Or see The Mer­ry Wives of Wind­sor in Swahili by Nairobi’s Bit­ter Pill Com­pa­ny. To my delight, the Japan­ese pro­duc­tion of Coro­lianus by the Chiten com­pa­ny fea­tures actors in Noh masks. As an added bonus, the Globe to Globe site has audio of actors from the var­i­ous com­pa­nies dis­cussing their expe­ri­ences of the fes­ti­val in both their native lan­guages and in Eng­lish.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

12 Ani­mat­ed Plays by William Shake­speare: Mac­beth, Oth­el­lo and Oth­er Great Tales Brought to Life

Shakespeare’s Satir­i­cal Son­net 130, As Read By Stephen Fry

Impres­sion­ist Does Shake­speare in 25 Celebri­ty Voic­es

Josh Jones is a doc­tor­al can­di­date in Eng­lish at Ford­ham Uni­ver­si­ty and a co-founder and for­mer man­ag­ing edi­tor of Guer­ni­ca / A Mag­a­zine of Arts and Pol­i­tics.

 

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Election 2012: Your Free Ticket to a Popular Stanford Course

Last Tues­day night, Stan­ford Uni­ver­si­ty kicked off a big course on the 2012 Elec­tion. 600 stu­dents packed into a crowd­ed audi­to­ri­um, fill­ing every seat, wait­ing for the course to begin. Led by David Kennedy (Pulitzer Prize-win­ning his­to­ri­an), Rob Reich (Polit­i­cal Sci­ence, Stan­ford), and James Stey­er (CEO, Com­mon Sense Media), the course brings togeth­er “experts from Stanford’s fac­ul­ty, along with dis­tin­guished par­tic­i­pants in and ana­lysts of Amer­i­can pol­i­tics.” And, togeth­er, they’re exam­in­ing major issues at stake in the elec­tion — for­eign pol­i­cy, the econ­o­my, the Supreme Court, cam­paign financ­ing, cam­paign strat­e­gy, etc.

The first week fea­tured con­ver­sa­tions with two sea­soned cam­paign strate­gists — Mark McK­in­non and Chris Lehane — who put away their dag­gers and had an unusu­al­ly civ­il con­ver­sa­tion about the Oba­ma-Rom­ney con­test, and the state of Amer­i­can pol­i­tics more gen­er­al­ly. Also join­ing the con­ver­sa­tion was Gary Segu­ra, a Stan­ford expert in polling, who offered up some firm pre­dic­tions about the elec­tion.

Although the course is filled to capac­i­ty, you can attend the course vir­tu­al­ly on iTunes and YouTube for free. (It will be added to our col­lec­tion of 500 Free Cours­es Online.) A com­plete list of upcom­ing speak­ers can be found here.

Full dis­clo­sure: This course was part­ly orga­nized by Stan­ford Con­tin­u­ing Stud­ies where I hap­pi­ly spend my work­ing days. If you live in the San Fran­cis­co Bay Area, you should check out our amaz­ing pro­gram.

 

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Sean Connery Reads C.P. Cavafy’s Epic Poem “Ithaca,” Set to the Music of Vangelis

This video com­bines three things that make me hap­py: the voice of Sean Con­nery, the music of Van­ge­lis (Blade Run­ner, Char­i­ots of Fire), and the poet­ry of C.P. Cavafy. Put them all togeth­er and you get a bliss­ful sound­scape of rolling synth lines, rolling Scot­tish R’s, and a suc­ces­sion of Home­r­ic images and anaphor­ic lines. And the video’s quite nice as well.

Cavafy, whose work, I’m told, is real­ly untrans­lat­able from the orig­i­nal Greek, always seems to come out pret­ty well to me in Eng­lish. “Itha­ca,” one of his most pop­u­lar poems, express­es what in less­er hands might be a banal sen­ti­ment akin to “it’s the jour­ney, not the des­ti­na­tion.” But in Cavafy’s poem, the jour­ney is both Odysseus’s and ours; it’s epic where our lives seem small, and it trans­lates our minor wan­der­ings to the realm of myth­ic his­to­ry.

Any­way, it seems rude to say much more and drown the poem in com­men­tary. So, fol­low along with Sean Con­nery and enjoy… hap­py Fri­day.

Find the text of the poem after the jump. (more…)

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Philosopher Slavoj Zizek Interprets Hitchcock’s Vertigo in The Pervert’s Guide to Cinema (2006)

Philoso­pher and psy­cho­an­a­lyst Slavoj Zizek is a polar­iz­ing fig­ure, in and out of the Acad­e­my. He has been accused of misog­y­ny and oppor­tunism, and a Guardian colum­nist once won­dered if he is “the Borat of phi­los­o­phy.” The lat­ter epi­thet might be as much a ref­er­ence to his occa­sion­al boor­ish­ness as to his Sloven­ian-accent­ed Eng­lish. Despite (or because of) these qual­i­ties, Zizek has become a fas­ci­nat­ing pub­lic intel­lec­tu­al, in part because all of his work is shot through with pop cul­ture ref­er­ences as dif­fuse as the most stud­ied of fan­boys. And even though Zizek, a stu­dent of the Freudi­an the­o­rist Jacques Lacan, can get deeply obscure with the best of his peers, his enthu­si­asm and rapid-fire free-asso­ci­a­tions mark him as a true fan of every­thing he sur­veys.

The Zizek I just described is ful­ly in evi­dence in the short clip above from the three-part doc­u­men­tary The Pervert’s Guide to Cin­e­ma. Direct­ed by Sophie Fiennes (sis­ter of Joseph and Ralph), The Pervert’s Guide places Zizek in orig­i­nal loca­tions and repli­ca sets of sev­er­al clas­sic films—David Lynch’s Blue Vel­vet, Stan­ley Kubrick’s Eyes Wide Shut, and Hitchcock’s Ver­ti­go, to name just a few. Zizek’s scenes of com­men­tary are edit­ed with scenes from the films to give the impres­sion that he is speak­ing from with­in the films them­selves. It’s a nov­el approach and works par­tic­u­lar­ly well in the video above, where Zizek gives us his take on Ver­ti­go. As he says of Hitchcock’s film—which could apply to the one he is in as well—“often things begin as a fake, inau­then­tic, arti­fi­cial, but you get caught in your own game.” View­ers of The Pervert’s Guide get caught in Zizek’s inter­pre­tive game; it’s a fas­ci­nat­ing, ridicu­lous, and unset­tling one.

In the clip, through a series of close analy­ses of plot points and cam­era angles, Zizek con­cludes that Ver­ti­go is the real­iza­tion of a male fan­ta­sy, which nec­es­sar­i­ly involves vio­lence and night­mar­ish trans­for­ma­tions. In the “male libid­i­nal econ­o­my,” he says, in the jargon‑y psy­cho­an­a­lyt­ic speak of his trade, women must be “mor­ti­fied” before they are accept­able sex­u­al part­ners. Slip­ping out of aca­d­e­m­ic argot, he clar­i­fies: “to para­phrase an old say­ing, the only good woman is a dead woman.” It’s this kind of blunt and utter­ly unsen­ti­men­tal way of speak­ing that rais­es the hack­les of some of Zizek’s crit­ics. But I’m not here to defend him. Watch­ing (and read­ing) him for me is a game of edge-of-your seat “what out­ra­geous or incom­pre­hen­si­ble thing is he going to say next?” and I’ll admit, I enjoy it. So I’ll leave you with a final Zizek-ism. Per­haps it will scare you off for good, or per­haps you’re game for a few more rounds of “per­ver­sion” with this ency­clo­pe­dic crit­ic of the self, the social, and the sex­u­al:

“A sub­ject,” says Zizek, “is a par­tial some­thing, a face, some­thing we see. Behind it, there is a void, a noth­ing­ness. And of course, we spon­ta­neous­ly tend to fill in that noth­ing­ness with our fan­tasies about the wealth of human per­son­al­i­ty and so on, and so on. To see what is lack­ing in real­i­ty, to see it as that, there you see sub­jec­tiv­i­ty. To con­front sub­jec­tiv­i­ty means to con­front fem­i­nin­i­ty. Woman is the sub­ject. Mas­culin­i­ty is a fake.”

You can watch the film in its entire­ty here.

via Bib­liok­lept

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Žižek!: 2005 Doc­u­men­tary Reveals the “Aca­d­e­m­ic Rock Star” and “Mon­ster” of a Man

Good Cap­i­tal­ist Kar­ma: Zizek Ani­mat­ed

Slavoj Žižek: How the Marx Broth­ers Embody Freud’s Id, Ego & Super-Ego

Josh Jones is a doc­tor­al can­di­date in Eng­lish at Ford­ham Uni­ver­si­ty and a co-founder and for­mer man­ag­ing edi­tor of Guer­ni­ca / A Mag­a­zine of Arts and Pol­i­tics.

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Fear of a Female Planet: Kim Gordon (Sonic Youth) on Why Russia and the US Need a Pussy Riot

Coura­geous fem­i­nist punk band Pussy Riot has received more pub­lic expo­sure than they ever could have hoped for since three mem­bers were arrest­ed after a Feb­ru­ary 21st per­for­mance at Moscow’s Christ the Sav­ior Cathe­dral and charged with “hooli­gan­ism.” The band formed last Sep­tem­ber in direct response to Vladimir Putin’s deci­sion to seek the pres­i­den­cy again in March 2012, and they have demon­strat­ed against his rule ever since, stag­ing con­fronta­tion­al, but non-vio­lent, protest per­for­mances in Red Square and oth­er Russ­ian land­marks. They draw much of their ener­gy and inspi­ra­tion from work­ing-class British Oi! bands of the 80s, the Amer­i­can fem­i­nist punk of the 90s Riot Grrrl move­ment, and from the stal­wart Son­ic Youth, whose three decade run has put singer/bassist Kim Gor­don in the spot­light as a musi­cian, artist, and icon.

In the video inter­view above from Explod­ed View, Gor­don offers her take on Pussy Riot’s sig­nif­i­cance and their rel­e­vance to the polit­i­cal strug­gles of women in the U.S.. Gor­don reads Pussy Riot as “dis­si­dent art… tar­get­ed as a weapon” against a sys­tem, and its author­i­tar­i­an leader, that has wide­ly sup­pressed dis­sent. Like the noto­ri­ous online col­lec­tive Anony­mous and their end­less­ly pro­lif­er­at­ing Guy Fawkes masks, Pussy Riot eschews the trap­pings of indi­vid­ual fame, wear­ing bal­a­clavas to obscure their iden­ti­ties. As they state in a Vice Mag­a­zine inter­view before the arrests, “new mem­bers can join the bunch and it does not real­ly mat­ter who takes part in the next act—there can be three of us or eight, like in our last gig on the Red Square, or even 15. Pussy Riot is a pul­sat­ing and grow­ing body.” The band keeps its focus on the body, as a grow­ing col­lec­tive or as a sym­bol of resis­tance to patri­ar­chal con­trol. One mem­ber explains the band’s name in the Vice inter­view:

A female sex organ, which is sup­posed to be receiv­ing and shape­less, sud­den­ly starts a rad­i­cal rebel­lion against the cul­tur­al order, which tries to con­stant­ly define it and show its appro­pri­ate place. Sex­ists have cer­tain ideas about how a woman should behave, and Putin, by the way, also has a cou­ple thoughts on how Rus­sians should live. Fight­ing against all that—that’s Pussy Riot.

The choice of name—which has forced dozens of news­cast­ers to say the word “pussy” with a straight face—is, in all seri­ous­ness, a point­ed ref­er­ence to what Gor­don calls a “fear of women,” which may explain what near­ly every­one who has an opin­ion on the case char­ac­ter­izes as an extreme­ly dis­pro­por­tion­ate sen­tence for the three con­vict­ed mem­bers. As Gor­don says above, “Clear­ly Putin is afraid.” Relat­ing the events in Rus­sia to the back­lash against women’s leg­isla­tive gains in this coun­try, Gor­don says, “what’s going on in Wash­ing­ton is real­ly indica­tive of that [fear],” and she won­ders “why there aren’t more men who aren’t con­cerned about it or bring­ing it up. It’s beyond a women’s issue.” Nev­er­the­less, she strong­ly implies that the U.S. is ripe for a “pussy riot”—a new punk-rock women’s movement—since “women make nat­ur­al anar­chists and rev­o­lu­tion­ar­ies because they’ve always been sec­ond-class cit­i­zens and had to claw their way up.”

Pussy Riot has cit­ed Son­ic Youth’s “Kool Thing” (above) as an influ­ence, a taunt­ing fem­i­nist retort to male come-ons that asks its tar­get “are you gonna lib­er­ate us girls / From male white cor­po­rate oppres­sion?” The unstat­ed answer is, no, he isn’t. As Gor­don implies above, and as Pussy Riot explain in an inter­view with The Guardian below, the only response to so-called “wars on women” every­where may be a “fem­i­nist whip”:

Josh Jones is a doc­tor­al can­di­date in Eng­lish at Ford­ham Uni­ver­si­ty and a co-founder and for­mer man­ag­ing edi­tor of Guer­ni­ca / A Mag­a­zine of Arts and Pol­i­tics.

 

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The Evolution of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Signature: From 5 Years Old to 21

Fun fact about F. Scott Fitzger­ald: he was a ter­ri­ble speller. No, real­ly. And his gram­mar was­n’t much bet­ter. Lit­er­ary crit­ic Edmund Wil­son described his debut nov­el This Side of Par­adise (find in our Free eBooks col­lec­tion) as “one of the most illit­er­ate books of any mer­it ever pub­lished.” Hem­ing­way couldn’t spell either, and nei­ther could Faulkn­er. With­out the patient revi­sion of great edi­tors like Maxwell Perkins, much of the prose of these Amer­i­can mas­ters may well have been unread­able. Nov­el­ists are artists, not gram­mar­i­ans, and their man­u­script quirks—of spelling, hand­writ­ing, gram­mat­i­cal mistakes—can often reveal a great deal more about them than the typ­i­cal read­er can glean from clean, type­set copies of their work.

Take, for exam­ple, the evo­lu­tion of Fitzgerald’s sig­na­ture (above). From the labored scrawls of a five year-old, to the prac­ticed script of an eleven-year-old school­boy, to the exper­i­men­tal teenaged pos­es, we see the let­ter­ing get loos­er, more styl­ized, then tight­en up again as it assumes its own mature iden­ti­ty in the con­fi­dent­ly ele­gant near-cal­lig­ra­phy of the 21-year-old Fitzgerald–an evo­lu­tion that traces the writer’s cre­ative growth from uncer­tain but pas­sion­ate youth to dis­ci­plined artist. Alright, maybe that’s all non­sense. I’m no expert. The prac­tice of hand­writ­ing analy­sis, or graphol­o­gy, is gen­er­al­ly a foren­sic tool used to iden­ti­fy the marks of crim­i­nal sus­pects and detect forg­eries, not a min­dread­ing tech­nique, although it does get used that way. One site, for exam­ple, pro­vides an analy­sis of one of Fitzgerald’s 1924 let­ters to Carl Van Vecht­en. From the minute char­ac­ter­is­tics of the Gats­by novelist’s script, the ana­lyst divines that he is “cre­ative,” “artis­tic,” and appre­ci­ates the fin­er things in life. Col­or me a lit­tle skep­ti­cal.

But maybe there is some­thing to my the­o­ry of Fitzgerald’s grow­ing matu­ri­ty and self-con­scious cer­tain­ty as evi­denced by his sig­na­tures. He pub­lished This Side of Par­adise to great acclaim three years after the final sig­na­ture above. In the pri­or sig­na­tures, we see him strug­gling for con­trol as he wrote and revised an ear­li­er unpub­lished nov­el called The Roman­tic Ego­tist, which Fitzger­ald him­self told edi­tor Perkins was “a tedious, dis­con­nect­ed casse­role.” The out­sized, extrav­a­gant let­ter­ing of the artist in his late teens is noth­ing if not “roman­tic.” But Fitzger­ald achieved just enough con­trol in his short life to write a ver­i­ta­ble trea­sure chest of sto­ries (many bril­liant and some just plain sil­ly) and a hand­ful of nov­els, includ­ing, of course, the one for which he’s best known. Most of the rest of the time, as most every­one knows, he was kind of a mess.

Try a lit­tle ama­teur hand­writ­ing analy­sis of your own on the last sen­tence of The Great Gats­by, writ­ten in Fitzger­ald’s own hand below a por­trait of the writer by artist Robert Kas­tor.

And for an added treat, watch jour­nal­ist and sports­writer Bill Nack recite the final lines of Gats­by to his friend Roger Ebert. “Gats­by believed in the green light…”

via I always want­ed to be a Tenen­baum

Josh Jones is a doc­tor­al can­di­date in Eng­lish at Ford­ham Uni­ver­si­ty and a co-founder and for­mer man­ag­ing edi­tor of Guer­ni­ca / A Mag­a­zine of Arts and Pol­i­tics.

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