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Showing posts from March, 2009

Tweeting the Earthquake

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[Legenary columnist Herb Caen (1916-1997)] As I write this, an earthquake just shook the Bay Area. While we could feel our third-floor Ocean Beach apartment shaking, tweeters on my Twitter page were checking in: “We just had an earthquake in Half Moon Bay. I estimate about 5.0”—“Lasted a couple seconds here in Russian Hill”—“Just felt a short 4.4 earthquake in our Mill Valley office”—“at my place in lower haight. didn’t feel the quake”. If Herb Caen , God rest his soul, were still around and writing, we wouldn’t have had a chance to read his thoughts on the quake until the following morning, his boss the Chronicle being a morning paper. Yet here we all are on Twitter and Blogger, getting the scoop and filing our stories for our handfuls (or more?) of readers.

Dirty Serge

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A nice picture of Serge. I’ve just uploaded three classic photos of Serge Gainsbourg doing his thing with the ladies—one of them, I think, is his daughter Charlotte, which probably ties in with the whole “Lemon Incest” theme. Let’s see how long I get to keep them up on Flickr. [ J'taime...Moi Non Plus ] SUBSCRIBE TO MY OCCASIONAL NEWSLETTER. CLICK HERE. _____

Paul Potts on Britain's Got Talent

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Was rooting around YouTube to find something to cheer me up after reading about Natasha Richardson's untimely death and discovered Paul Potts. Now I'm a believer in life and its possibilities again. This is Paul at the finals of Britain's Got Talent, where he sings "Nessun Dorma" ever better than the first time: SUBSCRIBE TO MY OCCASIONAL NEWSLETTER. CLICK HERE. _____

The Little Swedish Frog Dance

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You think I don’t know this song? Hey, I was born and raised in Minneapolis. I learned it at school when I was six: Små grodorna, små grodorna är lustiga att se, Små grodorna, små grodorna är lustiga att se. Ej öron, ej öron, ej svansar hava de, Ej öron, ej öron, ej svansar hava de. Kou ack ack ack, kou ack ack ack, kou ack ack ack ack kaa. Kou ack ack ack, kou ack ack ack, kou ack ack ack ack kaa.

A Doisneau Moment

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God, I love this picture. Young love in springtime, San Francisco style. SUBSCRIBE TO MY OCCASIONAL NEWSLETTER. CLICK HERE. _____

John Edwards, Love MacGuffin

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This is how women are different from men. When a man calls out another man, what usually happens is that the two of them go round to the alley, roll up their sleeves, slug it out, and whoever wins, wins. Sometimes the two of them even end up pals. Sometimes men just want to size up each other. When a woman squares off with another woman, what usually happens is that each of them calls on the loyalty of supporters—almost always other women. So it isn’t just Betty squaring off against Veronica, it’s Betty’s Army against Veronica’s Army, and it can be terrifying. Because women do not let up. Women have long memories. I’m not talking brute force—a look or a word from a woman or two or three can kill you for years. Sometimes I think I’d rather be a man and just take the punch. All this came to mind this morning when I read in the National Enquirer that John Edwards has, indeed, copped to last year’s least-secret guilty secret—he has admitted to his wife that he is the father...