Latest Parries
April 2012
From Nokia N95 to iPhone 4S
Annoyances and upsets with the iPhone 4S have been more than offset by its screen, the silkiness of its surfaces, the camera, and the third-party market for both software and hardware.
February 2012
2001: A Space Odyssey: Dry, Juicy, Linear, Luminous
After they finished watching the Bond movies, I figured the next series John Gruber and Dan Benjamin would discuss on The Talk Show would be Stanley Kubrick’s oeuvre. But Gruber refused — too personal for podcasting, he said. Disappointed, I rewatched 2001.
January 2012
A Scheme of a Number of Friends
Instead of acknowledging the wisdom of leading from behind, the Right jumped on the Obama administration’s handling of Libya as yet another example of at best incompetence. They lost me there.
October 2011
The Mouse and the Cantilever
Steve Jobs we lost at the age of 56; when Frank Lloyd Wright reached that age it was still only 1923, the time of merely his second comeback with Tokyo’s Imperial Hotel.
March 2010
Friendship is for Weenies
It’s amazing, given the adulation he enjoyed elsewhere, that the Israeli public knew from the start not to trust this US President.
Before the Setup
Nobody from usesthis.com has asked me what my setup us, nor is likely to anytime soon. So I’m just going to mouth off here about it. But first, some background.
February 2010
Walter Russell Mead steps gingerly into the Wieseltier/Sullivan imbroglio
On the Leon Wieseltier/Andrew Sullivan spat, Walter Russell Mead seems to want to have his strudel and eat it too.
October 2009
My Hope: Obama’s Change
Defeat in the Olympics bid may focus the mind in the Oval Office where it should be: Afghanistan.
July 2009
At Modi’in Mall
There’s nothing else around here except empty desolate pretty hills. The Israel Trail passes by a bit to the west. It’s a hot July Wednesday morning. Things are reasonably busy. The shops are mostly franchises, almost all homegrown — Super-Pharm, Aroma, Tzomet Sfarim, Cup O’ Joe’s, LaMetayel, Mega, Fox, Castro, H&O.
Israel, the Bad So Far
I’m surprised at the general appearance of Tel Aviv folks. Yes, it’s hot, but people appear dressed as if they’re in, I don’t know, Be’er Sheva. And the people in Be’er Sheva, last time I was there, looked to me like they’re dressed for Gaza.
F orgive me I’m a malcontent. I just went for a late-night walk, as I was so wont to do whilst not dogless, the first time ever really in Brighton, and this therefore is a good time to stop making mentions here and there with a sigh, stop driving Irit crazy with reminisciences of times before her, and let it be free: I miss Tel Aviv, and quite deeply.
I did not miss the city that much when I left it for the Jerusalem hills. One time in particular, close to my leaving the country, I was driving to TA and at the Jabotinsky exit from the Ayalon said to myself, Nah, this isn’t my city any more. Thing is, it hadn’t been replaced by any other, so it was foolishness, the mind trying to decide things it cannot, because a city can only stop being your city if and when another replaces it.
Tonight I walked along the beach and though there is something pleasant about squelching over the pebbles, like futons to people who don’t like futons, it lacks the sensuousness and relaxation of being barefoot in the sand. A bunch of loud white kids came running down from the promenade shouting vilely to each other. Yesterday we had seen El Topo at the fabulous Duke of York cinema and this scene at the beach reminded me of when the three bandits gradually build up their cackling harassment of the man in black as he rides into their valley. But of course the kids left me alone. A few minutes earlier back on the streets I’d passed a group of darker young fellows speaking Spanish or Portuguese or something and felt much more comfortable walking past them. Is it because I’m more at home with Mediterranean people after all?
On the streets at night, yes, because it seems among the White English the only people out and about at night are teenagers looking for something — anything — to do; policemen; and the sort of people the policemen are there to deter. Sure, it’s 2am on Monday morning, yes, most people are sleeping, but not all, and not all of these are doing something indoors. From a population of 150,000-odd this leaves a sizeable chunk to be out and about—
[Wait. I’m trying to find just what the town’s population is. I’ve gone to http://www.brighton-hove.gov.uk. I clicked on your city — not a very friendly URL, that. Don’t they never expect someone to go direct to /city? See if there’s a redirect. Nope, not for /city nor /your-city. Ah, but there is for my third try, /yourcity! They are thinking — but within the box of their own site design.
[Nor is there an introduction to the city on this homepage. No minature essay. What does it actually say? “This area is dedicated to our city’s environment. It’s packed with information on environmental issues.” Packed is it? I’m pleased, as it is a section dedicated to the environment after all, as we learned in the previous sentence. This is not quite at the level of the statue of Cody Burrow on the Old Steine is it? What happened to the terse and dynamic feel of the active verbs introduced at the top-level menu? Once we’re out of navigation and into content it’s back to idiotese, eh? Packed with information. Last time I read that phrase was on the Food Force site before I, ah, suggested an alternative.
[There’s nothing about the city’s history. Has that just been relegated to a different site? So it’s back to Google to type “brighton sussex population”. Surprise, Wikipedia. 155,919. Ah, ok, these things are all at the national level — the info is at another site: statistics.gov.uk. These are the nation’s top mathematical minds so I type “brighton popularion” into the statistics site search engine just to see how clever it is. It’s not. Perhaps there is good reason to use Google’s search rather than that of the content management system. But I’m being optimistic. “brighton population” produces no results neither. Nor can I find it using the index they politely suggest I use since their search engine isn’t up to much in the searching department.]
Some places tonight were actually open, among them the Fishbowl, which was lively with people of all ages. The gardens at the Royal Pavilion stay open at night and from in there the Pavilion is gorgeous. It seems shoddy however that the streets at night platform strutting seagulls, undisturbed by passersby of any sort as they peck and tear at orange garbage bags. We’re just lucky that seagulls have pretty craws.
And yet there is beauty here stepping out the door, it’s undeniable. Even if it is mild beauty — not arresting, not dazzling — it’s nonetheless completely seductive. The residential streets around Clifton Hill are a lovely balance between elegance — some of which you see closer to shore in the grand Regency period residential squares — and picaresque homeyness.
So where was I?
Previously
Shite on Brighton