A half-century ago, scientists and lawyers agreed to strict self-regulation in DNA research to avoid catastrophe. Can A.I. follow the same model?
Whenever I'm on a train & we're stopped next to the train going in the opposite direction I don’t let myself look over at the other train, scared I'll fall in love at a glance through the window & be haunted by her for the rest of my life.
Today:
There's a list of the number of times in my life I've been a total fucking badass and that list is "me refusing to finish home setup on my Apple TV no matter how many years it's been".
On his first day in office, Trump changed the name of North America’s highest peak from Denali back to Mount McKinley.
Then he famously became obsessed with putting his own name on the Kennedy Center.
And now he apparently wants to do the same with Ford's Theater, aka where Lincoln was shot.
Sooooooooooo...what's up with Trump's obsession with presidents who were assassinated? Is it because of his own attempt in 2024, and should a certain somebody start to worry he’s next?
I'm no expert on art - I don't even think I took an art class in college, which is strange for me I think? - but I've looked at & loved a lot of paintings in my life (as opposed to anytime else, I suppose?) & I think this is the first time I've ever seen some sort of see-through technique like this? With oils? 😲🤯🤯
The Absinthe Drinker
by Viktor Oliva circa 1901
Insta Mukluks: darkgloomyart
I hate hate hate the Diamondbacks but this is easily the best thing you'll read all day. 🤣😭🥲
“And she said man I’m glad we heeded Joe Strummer’s every word,PREVIOUS HOLD STEADY GENIUS FROM XMASTIME HERE
But maybe we shoulda focused more on what Peter Buck had to say,
And then she puked blue Big Gulp ice all over my Keds."
I can’t believe I'm saying this but besides being known as The Year of Cheap Pork, it looks like 2026 is going down as the year I finally fell in love with Marquee Moon after decades of fighting it. 😲🤯🎸❤️ #cbgb #nyc
I'm sure there's a lot of weird things about living at The White House but I’ve always thought this by far has to be the weirdest:
The president must pay for all personal meals, groceries, and family food expenses consumed at the White House.Like, what's the purpose of this? Some stubborn arcane leftover meant to prove a point? Isn’t this just more of a hassle than it's worth? And yes I am now starting a band called The Stubborn Arcane Leftovers, rock you very much.
"But Xmastime", you say in the voice of Craig “Ironhead” Heyward from those soap commercials (RIP), "do you possibly have a BRILLIANT idea for a movie or tv show about this?"
Sigh. Yes I do, faithful readers, YES I do:
The new president discovers this little factoid about living at The White House and it really sucks for him because he has 12 kids so he has to get a second job, and hilarity ensues. And yes that second job is probably driving an Uber.
LOOKING FOR INVESTORS PEOPLE, LET'S MAKE SOME REAL MONEY, PEOPLE!! 💰💰💰💰
Here's something Phil Spector should have said:
"When you hear the gold, stop."
What if everything we understood about mainstream American music exploded from a single identifiable Big Bang moment and, setting aside other juicy potential candidates for it, that moment was Beatlemania? Or what if things had gone … another way?
Chuck Klosterman’s Rock*: A Mainstream Alternative History of Alternative Mainstream Music uses that premise to get history boomeranging in another direction. The book beams in from a world where the culture overlooks the professionalism and earnestness of the Beatles because Velvetmania took off in its place. It all starts, in Klosterman’s alternate history, when 1967’s The Velvet Underground & Nico becomes a a massive influence on rock, drone, and punk music rather than (as in our reality) a commercial slow burn that led Brian Eno to claim that the few people who bought the album each started their own bands.
Rock* extrapolates wild timelines from this notion, fleshing out a late 20th century where gender experimentation, enthused simplicity, occasional inscrutability, and biting apathy become prominent after Lou Reed, Andy Warhol, & Co. log the best-selling album of all time. Suddenly, papers report rashes of women lapsing into monotone “Nico Speak.” The brutalist thump of drummer Moe Tucker renders the showmen in Led Zeppelin and the Who irrelevant. The clout and moxie of unionized rock critics exceeds that of the Teamsters in the 1970s.
Of course it's already in the mail, winging its way to me on flights of drone rock fancy.
