Hi, everybody! Tim Carmody here, guest-hosting for Jason this week.
You probably know that Donald Glover (actor on Community, writer on 30 Rock) also has a rap career under the stage name Childish Gambino. You may not know that the name “Childish Gambino” comes from a Wu-Tang Name…
My Wu-Tang name is either “Fiendish Observational Comedian” or “Intellectual Artist.” Same difference.
Hi, everybody! Tim Carmody here, guest-hosting for Jason this week.
Slate has an excerpt of Haruki Murakami’s new novelColorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage. It’s more or less self-contained, a story within a story. But of course, even within the excerpt, those nesting…
While it was difficult to prove the benefits of nature 100 years ago, today the intervention is supported by compelling evidence. A psychologist at Western Michigan University, Roger S. Ulrich, spearheaded some of the earliest studies. He found that students who viewed nature photos after being exposed to a stressful and demanding task reported increased feelings of affection, playfulness, friendliness, and elation. The group that viewed urban scenes reported feeling sadness.
You turn off the highway, down a road piled with eight feet of snow on both sides. This is Camp Isabel, once the single biggest work camp along the Trans-Alaska Pipeline, now a forgotten gravel airstrip at the base of the Hoodoo Mountains. Perhaps 1,000 motorhomes, RVs and trailers are already here, strewn like fallen Jenga pieces inside the frozen walls. Snowmachines buzz past your doors, above your head on the snow banks and over the distant peaks like swarming gnats. The temperature is way below freezing, but the air still carries the smell of gasoline, grilled meat and alcohol. A four-wheeler rumbles past pulling a big sled and on the big sled is a couch, a so-called Alaskan Rickshaw. Four people are riding, holding drinks. One of them is wearing a full wolf pelt, snout, eyes, ears and all. He nods and tips his cup “Hello.”
Arctic Man is a weeklong, booze and fossil-fueled Sledneck Revival bookended around the world’s craziest ski race. Both the festival and the race at its heart have been firing off every year in these mountains for more than half as long as Alaska has been a state. Over the course of a week, something like 10,000 partiers and their snowmachines disgorge onto Camp Isabel’s 300-acre pad to drink, grill, fight, drink and, at least while the sun is out, blast their sleds through the ear-deep powder in the surrounding hills one last time before it all melts away. Then on Friday morning, anyone not hopelessly hungover or already drunk by noon swarms up the valley south of camp to watch the damnedest ski race on earth.
“Everyone has some very significant things wrong with them. We promise not to look around. There isn’t anyone better out there really. Once you get to know them, everyone is impossible.”—Wedding vows from the Philosophers’ Mail
What if I told you that mozzarella sticks never had to end? That for $10, you could eat for free (for $10) for the rest of your natural life? That there exists a spot in the space-time continuum in which it is always Friday? That there are free refills on all Slushes™ excluding Red Bull® branded items?http://gawker.com/endless-appetizers-mark-beginning-of-our-collective-n-1601076939
A Gawker writer eats endless mozzarella sticks, documents her descent into madness.
A year and a half ago, after the massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Conn., Joe Nocera, an Op-Ed columnist at the New York Times, asked me, an editorial assistant at the newspaper, to find out who gets shot in America every day.
Joe has a young child, and he was haunted by the fact that it could easily have been his own son in that classroom. We realized that we didn’t know who the majority of gun violence victims were, the people whose deaths didn’t make it onto a CNN broadcast.
Six weeks after Newtown, Joe wrote a column consisting of a few lines about shootings that had happened that week, presented without comment. He had a blog he wasn’t using, so starting the next day, I started writing at that blog by searching for America’s shooting victims.
The project began with just a couple of items unearthed during a Google news search, but after a few months I was searching ten pages deep — for “shooting,” “man shot,” “woman shot,” “child shot,” “teen shot” and “accidentally shot.” By the project’s end, the report featured 40 shootings a day. Of course, there were more, but I was only finding the ones reported in the news. This naturally limited my scope — most suicides aren’t reported at all.
In Iowa, it’s easier to sell a gun than lemonade. In Arkansas, it takes less time to buy a gun than to qualify for food stamps. In Arizona, you need a permit to cut hair, but not to carry a concealed weapon. In Florida you’re fingerprinted to be a substitute teacher, but not to buy or carry a gun. It’s easier to buy an assault weapon than it is to vote.
But in order to obtain a firearm in Japan, which has half the population of America and averages about four gun murders per year, you must fill out binders full of paperwork, listen to 20 hours of lectures, take a written test and a shooting class, pass a criminal background check, subject yourself to a physical and psychological exam, submit to half a dozen police interviews, and police interviews of your friends and family, as well. You are asked to produce a floor map of your home and indicate where a firearm will be stored, as well as photos of the locks on your gun safe. Approval usually takes a year. You need to jump through such extreme hoops to own guns — and can get arrested just for firing one — that the Yakuza, the mob in Japan, prefers not to use them.
In America, 60 percent of adult firearm deaths are a result of suicide.
Join David as he gathers expert advice from icemakers, ice sculptors, ice harvesters, and glaciologists. You’ll never freeze water the same way again. GOING DEEP WITH DAVID REES airs Mondays on National Geographic Channel.
I was excited for this show but now I know the truth: it’s the best show. Watch David Rees make some great ice. Go make some Heritage Ice Cubes of your own.
Day 2 of a four-day, Hulk-sized examination into every single James Bond film.
Calling Bond movies “problematic” is like calling the sky blue. Sometimes they work in spite of their problems and sometimes they don’t. This installment of Film Crit Hulk’s book-length series features a bit of everything: surprisingly good Bond movies, unsurprisingly racist and sexist Bond movies, the worst of Connery and the best of Moore. Big budget trash (which these movies all were, you guys) shouldn’t be such a cultural touchstone, but here we are. It happened. Dig it.
Comedian Allan Murray works, during the TV season, as a “warm-up,” a title that can be applied to less than 20 people in the country at this moment. What this means is that Murray is the guy who stands in front of the live, studio audience at a sitcom taping and keeps them invested in the process of filming the program—even when the taping stretches well past midnight. What’s often not known to the audience at home is that for the 22 minutes you see at home, there are sometimes five or six hours spent on a soundstage, tweaking every scene and line to make sure they’re just right. The only thing standing between the show keeping the audience on its side and outright mutiny is often the warm-up (and his reliable sidekick, the DJ), who aims to keep those long gaps between scenes light-hearted and funny, then drop the audience right back into the action when taping resumes. Murray talked to The A.V. Club about his career, why people in the audience might laugh at something that doesn’t play as funny on TV, and why he’s made more money not to act than he has for his acting.