Friday, December 5, 2014

A Random Assortment

~ The brooch is back!

~ I had no idea that she was 94! (I was in the middle of the BBC production of Death Comes to Pemberley.)

~ Artist Textiles: Picasso to Warhol:
By the 1960s, Picasso was allowing his pictures to be printed on almost any fabric, with the exception of upholstery. The sofa was a line he wouldn’t cross, as the curators note: “Picassos may be leaned against, not sat on.”
~ The best part of this is the picture of Laurie Colwin and her daughter at the top. The worst part is all the rest--like the recommendation that you start with Family Happiness or the position that it's unbelievable that someone would be a backup singer. And especially the part that the e-books are attractively packaged. Who cares what the cover of an e-book looks like? It's not like you're going to put it on your coffee table or bookshelf. (Although it is very cool that the e-books include family photographs.) Also, unrelatedly, I'm very frustrated that not all of Colwin's works are collected--some of her essays in different magazines I haven't been able to get my hands on. And there's a tv-version of one of her short stories that is impossible to get a hold of. That kills me. (Via Francisco.)

~ I'm not sure about the credibility of The Guardian, "Winner of the Pulitzer Prize" (as Francisco pointed out, the Philadelphia Inquirer notes that is has won 20), but I feel a bit of vindication: "Mindy Lahiri: the greatest tv character of the year?" In my opinion, take out the question mark.

~ Another vindication: why a McDonald's cheeseburger is not that bad. Their only criterion is calories, which isn't too logical, since it's pretty clear to me a Whole Foods salad is still healthier, even if it has more calories. Anyway, Francisco and I ate McDonald's tonight to celebrate. (We live across the street from one, which is a pretty bad influence on us.)

~ Lawrence sent me this, saying, "This sounds like the kind of story you would enjoy." I guess that's because, as Francisco pointed out the other day, I'm irreverent. I do like a first daughter who will be found:
smoking in public, chewing gum, wearing pants, racing her own car too fast down D.C. streets, sometimes with male passengers and always unchaperoned, placing bets on horses (a news photographer snapped her collecting her winnings from a bookie)
  especially if it's to horrify a step-mother who thinks that
a lady’s name should appear in print only to announce her birth, marriage and death.

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