An arm and a leg or three
March 11, 2010
I’m tempted to ask if this is what is meant by “a buttload” but, seeing as how I’m a classy chick, I’ll refrain.
Glass makes the news
March 10, 2010
Hey–just a fast note for Ernie lovers: Ernie’s mom is in the news.
Brenda Griffith, the powerhouse GlassValkyrie wonderwoman of Atlanta, is doing her best to convert the South to kilnforming (and beadmaking and glassblowing and, apparently, nude dates at the gloryhole, but that’s another story). She’s got a blog that’s fun to read; I’ve decided I want to be Brenda when I grow up.
And now FoxNews has reported on what she’s up to in a few segments. I’m not normally a fan of FoxAnything, but this is very cool. Give it a look.
I love it when glass (and a buddy) gets a headline. (And not a bad promo, either, Brenda. I notice you got a Bullseye t-shirt in there, your book, date night…way to go!)
Lisa
March 6, 2010
Right around lunchtime I heard a quiet tapping on my front door and sighed. (door to door peddlers famously interrupt my Saturday afternoons) I opened the door to a woman about 25, slim, vivacious and smiling.
“Hi!” she said brightly, “I’m Lisa, and you’re going to think this is really weird, but can I take a picture of your tree?”
Tea and crumpets with the Mayor
March 4, 2010
Well, sorta.
I mean, the Mayor wasn’t there, and they were serving apples and beer and wine instead of tea and crumpets, but other than that it’s true.
Portland Open Studios’ “10×10″ show opened tonight at City Hall in downtown glassland, and from the looks of things it’ll be a popular show. The rules were simple: Artists who’d been selected to be on the Portland Open Studios tour in 2009 were invited to submit a single work no bigger than ten inches by ten inches. The show would kick off, amidst much pomp and circumstance, with a formal unveiling of the city’s newest acquisition: The work of one of our artists.
Mayor Sam Adams was supposed to be there (Wouldn’t you know that Portland would have a mayor named after a beer? I swear, if glasslanders don’t have beer or coffee, what do they do? Die of thirst?). Unfortunately he couldn’t attend, so someone else did the ceremony stuff.
They unveiled the painting that was selected, read a proclamation declaring the second and third weekends in October as “Portland Open Studio Tours Weekends,” and we dove headfirst into the art.
Some cool stuff there. One of the coolest, in fact (and for multiple reasons), is at the top of this post: Peggy Alter‘s hummingbird sculpture. It’s made of sugar and chocolate, is absolutely stunning in person. And, given my “you can make art of anything” attitude, makes me chuckle whenever I see it.
And y’all ought to thank me–I was VERY tempted to entitle this post “Sweet Tweet” in honor of Ms. Alter’s sculpture…but nobly refrained.
Given that Portland IS glassland, there’s surprisingly little glass in this show–Andy Paiko offered a glass tricycle; Karumi Conley showed a lovely little glass chair (above, right), Laurene Howell had a glass panel there, and Morgan Madison (who I’ve yet to meet despite the fact that we’ve been in a couple of shows together) showed a really nice glass panel.
There were a couple of other glass pieces I couldn’t get to in the crowds, including mine. Interestingly enough, I think there was more encaustic in this show than glass–whoa! What’s up with that?
We definitely have to work on this whole glassland-at-POS thing.
The hay is feverish once more
March 4, 2010
Whoever invented spring should be SHOT.
There’s a reason I like looong winters and avoid bright, hot, sunshiny places like a vampire: Hay fever. I’m not entirely sure what I’m allergic to, but when I see blossoming trees and rivers of pollen flowing down the gutters with the rain, I know misery isn’t far behind.
The dog stork cometh
March 1, 2010
Meet my new little brother. His name is Kobe. Or Tobe. Or Toby. I’m not sure which, and now my dad’s calling him “doggy-dog.” Their last beloved critter was named “Pusscat,” and the one before that, “Bunnyrabbit.”
I see an unfortunate continuation of a trend here, but at least nobody makes any embarrassing misidentifications of species.
Kobe-Tobe-Toby-DoggyDog (“The Dog,” for short) is a 27 month-old neutered male Maltese with an attitude. If you read my previous post on the subject, you’ll note he’s been a long time coming.
Mom’s been dog-hunting for about six months; she was determined to find a rescue pooch, not a puppy, not elderly, who fit her requirements: White and fluffy, well-behaved, the general size and shape of a dust mop. She pretty much got her wish, except for maybe the well-behaved pet part. And the quiet part.
But they’re working on that.
The previous owners gave up The Dog because…well, because, I guess. They told Mom & Dad he’d never been microchipped (but he was–the chip lists him as belonging to them), that he’d been obedience-trained and that he was housetrained, quiet and well-behaved.
Within 48 hours The Dog made several messes on the carpet, staged (and probably won) several “who can bark the loudest” contests and went after my youngest niece like a terrier after a rat.
Trained. Yeah. Right. He very nearly became the The Ex-Dog, but after much earnest discussion they decided to wait and see what a little time and training would do.
Fortunately, it appears to have done wonders, and I’m not sure if it would have mattered if it didn’t, because Mom and Dad are purely, totally, absolutely in love with The Dog. I think the feeling is mutual. He’s been to the vet (he’s healthy), taken his first obedience classes, and seems to be settling down. He’s also gone shopping with Mom. Several times.
He now possesses more outfits than a supermodel, although Mom insists, rather pointedly, that The Dog’s extensive wardrobe of coats, sweaters, parkas and rainslickers are NOT the product of some ditzy anthropomorphization kick. Instead they’re (a) solely to keep him warm and dry in the damp glassland winters, (b) on sale and (c) necessary because Maltese have hair, not fur (I still don’t get the distinction).
I bought her reasoning until I saw the black rubber raincoat with the red polka-dotted lining. AND matching rainhat. The Dog (at least) had sense enough to refuse the hat, which makes me think he’s smarter than the average bandanna-wearing, superman cape-sporting pooch.
And at least he’s not wearing motorcycle leathers (yet). Turns out my cousins also have Maltese, and regularly have portraits done of their togged-out doggies (right):
You just try putting that nonsense on a cat. You’ll be lucky if you only lose ONE arm.
Anyway, The Dog’s obedience classes seem to be paying off (his barking is down to a dull roar). He sticks within a couple feet of my mother at all times and seems to adore both Mom and Dad.
In the end, that’s all that matters.
Private parts
February 28, 2010
Interesting piece today in the New York Times on the differences in privacy laws between Europe and the US. It forecasts a significant show-down over privacy rights vs. free-flow of online information.
The article zeros in on Google/YouTube’s current Italian legal woes; the court has given prison sentences to Google execs for failing to protect a boy’s privacy. It’s caused waves of shocked incredulity in the online world but demonstrates what “localization” experts understand through painful experience: The global playing field only LOOKS level. In reality, global transactions often paint a thin veneer of universality over a whole bunch of cultural chasms.
Backstory on the case: Someone posted a video on YouTube, showing brutal harassment of an Italian boy with Down’s Syndrome. As is its policy, YouTube reviewed and removed the video in response to a formal complaint, but the Italian courts said that wasn’t enough; by permitting the video to be shown at all, YouTube had ripped this boy’s privacy to shreds. And, BTW, this wasn’t just a civil case; three Google executives received prison sentences (suspended). Google has said it plans to appeal.
In the US, we err on the side of disclosure–if you have a good reason, right-to-know trumps right-to-privacy. There’s a much greater emphasis on individual privacy in continental Europe, but it wasn’t really a problem for US businesses until the Web.
Up till now, the biggest online communities and information centers have been US-based, and their information policies are built on US First Amendment-style notions: Post now, pay later. Don’t blame the online provider for delivering the gun; it’s the membership that actually shot someone with it.
Members can post anything from libel to tutorials for committing illegal acts; as long as the provider can show he wasn’t selectively editing or actively soliciting such content, US courts (mostly) won’t hold him responsible. Many online forums simply couldn’t exist without that protection, and I’m not sure search engines would have gotten very far, either.
That just flat-out doesn’t jibe with old European notions of privacy (ironic, coming from a country that invented the term paparazzi). In their world, no gun=no problem. That’s a notion that sets my geek and journalistic teeth on edge, even as the private me applauds.
US or Europe, freedom of expression doesn’t mean freedom of responsibility for that expression, which is why YouTube did remove the video. The big question is not whether you protect privacy but when. Google and other online providers, despite facing a growing number of privacy lawsuits in Europe (and elsewhere), seem to be dismissing that question as Stone Age thinking.
Personally, I’m not so sure. Given the swiftness of viral information spread once something gets online, the US’ “remove and repair” policy seems more than a little old-fashioned.
I am (and always have been) a strident supporter of First Amendment rights; I’m equally passionate about the right to privacy. Content folk continually work to balance both sides, but I’m beginning to wonder if technology has shifted that balance.
I have no idea how you suppress–or even adequately define–damaging content that shouldn’t be allowed online. Technically, and morally, it’s a really hard problem. A few more decisions like the Italian courts’ and I suspect we will find out exactly how hard it is.
Pancakes in Coos Bay
February 21, 2010
You know you’re in Oregon when you walk into a dockside pancake shack and the sign on the wall says, “Gluten-free pancakes with organic chai tea.”
I’m down in Coos Bay this weekend, about five hours south of Portland, working through a casting problem* with Hugh McKay of Cast Glass Forms. Hugh’s in Port Orford; Gigi the iPhone led me a merry GPS dance through cow pastures and abandoned farmland to get here.
“Geeeez, that’s hours out of the way,” said Hugh, “Don’t you computer people ever look at a map?”
Dick Francis: Thanks, old friend
February 14, 2010
I will sorely miss Dick Francis.
Mr. Francis, who died this week at the age of 89, was a legendary British jockey turned sportswriter turned detective novelist. He wrote about the world he knew best, racetracks and horses and jockeys and trainers and grifters. I’ve been reading his books since I discovered them as a child.
They weren’t high-minded tomes on weighty subjects but simply detective novels. I’m not a huge fan of the genre, but Mr. Francis’ were different. His protagonists were usually modest, hardworking men with a penchant for understatement and a habit of getting the job done. Minimal gore, maximum thought and if the good guy wasn’t exactly a superhero he still seemed like the kind of guy you’d want living next door.
If you haven’t read one, you should.
Chessboxing
February 12, 2010
I am NOT making this up. Chessboxing is an up-and-coming new sport, alternately known as “the thinking person’s contact sport,” or ”the strategic violence game.” And there’s talk of making it an Olympic contest.
Whodathunkit?
Chessboxing is pretty much exactly what it sounds like: Rounds of chess alternated with rounds of, well, punching. Lest you have visions of nerd-bespectacled Bobby Fisher duking it out with a grimacing Kasparov, the guys who do it are more athletic, if not actually boxers.
It started in 2003 after Europeans read an account of chessboxing in a comic book (why am I not surprised?), and decided it sounded like fun. From what I’ve seen so far, the boxing definitely loses ground to the chess–you need to be a rated chess master to play, which does kinda cut into your gym time–but I suppose they’ll get better with time.
And there’s an interesting strategy here: If your opponent is getting too close to your queen, whack him in the head a few times. Maybe he’ll forget all about it.