Shared posts

11 Feb 18:44

the “geeks are oppressed by high culture” myth hits its apotheosis

by Freddie
Steve Dyer

Ugh I'm loving Freddie in a post-Dish world for my sassy non-Slate contrarian needs

So I’ve made the actual argument many many times, and you’ll ding me for linking to some random Tumblr, but this is too perfect. At Pyrrhic Comedy, there is this picture of a bunch of tween types in the Rijksmuseum, checking their cell phones instead of looking at The Night Watch. The big reveal is that they shouldn’t be judged because they are actually using the app for the museum. Which, OK, whatever.  Great. That’s the kind of lame, fortune cookie “wisdom” that the internet ladles out endlessly. Peep the text:

“That’s what irritates me about this particular strain of elitist dickwankery. Explain how exactly it says anything negative about me if I care more about Dragon Age: Inquisition than whatever that painting is. It’s a pretty painting, sure. Of some guys, I guess. They’ve got hats, and the lighting is nice. But I can think of a dozen vistas in DA:I that were just as pretty. What else is that painting supposed to offer me? How is it relevant to me? Who are those dudes? Why should I care?

Elitist intellectuals keep insisting I should care about things like this painting, and sneering at me when I don’t, but why should I?”

This person, who has the mental faculties necessary to operate a computer, is claiming that “elite intellectuals” are constantly pressuring him to appreciate Rembrandt.

Rembrandt!

We’re not even talking about, like, you should  try a black and white movie sometime. We’re talking about Rembrandt. Let me ask you, denizens of the internet: are you finding it difficult, these days, to get away from that constant pressure to appreciate Rembrandt? Do you find yourselves deluged under all of the Rembrandt coverage online? Do you feel left out by the constant in-depth conversations about Rembrandt on Twitter? Are you getting a little tired of all those Rembrandt-based memes and reference humor? Does your daily browsing experience involve constantly having to click away from heavy-handed Rembrandt coverage, frustrated with the endless stream of bloggers and aggregators, taking advantage of the latest Rembrandt-related fads? That Rembrandt clickbait! So incorrigible! I mean, lord knows, video games are currently a purely niche aspect of our culture, one that you barely hear about in journalism and commentary, which totally aren’t economically dominant or critically ascendant. Rembrandt, on the other hand. That’s the gravy train.

Take it from someone in the actual higher education system: there is way, way more video games in academia now than Rembrandt. I like video games fine, I really do. But if I didn’t, I could not function in the contemporary humanities. To the degree that any subject can be hot in the humanities under current labor conditions, video games are as hot as it gets. They’re getting job lines and conferences and special issues of journals. And in the way this dynamic always goes, there’s still this persistent notion that video game people are disrespected. It’s the same old two step: “my preference for geek art and media puts me at the heart of the culture and the economic engine that exists to serve it, but I still don’t feel respected, so therefore I’m oppressed and you have to put up with all of my bad behavior.” And as this gentleman is once again demonstrating, facts simply have no bearing whatsoever on this dynamic. It doesn’t matter how ignored and marginal the “high culture” you deride is, or how ludicrously praised and popular the “low culture” you celebrate is. You always get to posture as the underdog, and to treat being the underdog as a get-out-of-jail-free card for acting like a jerk.

Rembrandt!

11 Feb 14:27

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11 Feb 13:13

Friendship

The only other Wikipedia vandalism that I would feel zero remorse about is editing the article on active US militia groups to replace "militia" with "fanclub".
10 Feb 15:29

15 Twitter Jokes Everyone Should Read

Steve Dyer

Look at Jimmy being #CONTENT!

10 Feb 12:59

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09 Feb 19:32

The 2015 Oscar-Nominated Live-Action Short Films, In Order

by Choire Sicha
Steve Dyer

Nate it's your wheelhouse!

Here’s a look at the live-action shorts nominated for an Oscar in 2015. (Here’s a look at the animated shorts category, too.) Most of these are really good! I SAID MOST. Here they are from best and winningest to… least best.


La Lampe Au Beurre De Yak. So often, short films feel like compressed features; this is a rare chance to take advantage of the short format. It’s worth reading about in more detail. Really lovely; it may repel voters because it doesn’t use actors, isn’t about someone overcoming a crisis, all that crap. THIS IS GREAT and I felt like I was seeing something new and kinda magical. This is what should win. But what is more likely to win is…


Parvaneh. This is a classical format: an immigrant girl in a distant land gets in trouble. In this case, she is from Afghanistan, and meets a privileged Swiss girl. And they become friends! It’s actually really good. Perfectly done, interesting without being gross. Into it. Nice job. (Warning, this trailer is kind of dumb, but accurate.)


Aya. You know when you’re watching a foreign film and you’re like, “Wow I just don’t know enough about the culture here to tell if this is an allegory or a metaphorical indictment or if this is just weird?” That’s this. Basically a wacky intimacy-obsessed Israeli woman accidentally impersonates a driver and picks up this hot frosty Dane at an airport on accident and not quite kidnaps him but… then they talk and drive on their way to Jerusalem. IS IT AN ALLEGORY? I HAVE NO IDEA. It really might not be! I laughed, I was mystified, I enjoyed.


Boogaloo and Graham. A sweet film set in Belfast about two kids whose dad gives them chickens? It seems like one of those kernels of memoir that gets overly ironed into a Short Film Format. It’s good though! And it has lots of filthy talking children. Weird fact: they subtitled the children??? Who are speaking English??? I mean, it’s 2015, we’ve sat through two seasons of “The Fall,” we can handle a hard Belfast accent.


The Phone Call. This stars actual names (Jim Broadbent!) which means it’s dangerously easy to vote for it if you were too lazy to watch these movies. This is FUCKING TERRIBLE. I’m going to spoil it for you! It’s about a nice mousy lady (the wonderful SALLY HAWKINS!!!) who works at a crisis hotline and Jim Broadbent calls her because he’s killing himself (his wife died, he can’t go on), and then HE DOES KILL HIMSELF, which is represented by an ambulance showing up at his house but then his DEAD WIFE walking in his front door to meet him, and they’re REUNITED IN DEATH, and his sacrifice of life means so much to the crisis hotline worker that she finally asks out the nebbishy dude who works in the same office, even though he has a filthy oil slick of a wig attacking his head. WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCK. This was the worst movie I’ve ever seen. Sorry, I know this film was someone’s blood, sweat and tears—Matt Kirkby’s, in fact. But I HATED it, it was offensive, facile, stupid and senseless. What’s he up to now?

Since I finished editing “The Phone Call” I have been locked away in a cabin in Wales writing. I now have two finished screenplays, one thriller called “Call-Girl.” It makes “Fifty Shades” look like “Mary Poppins.” Imagine Tararantino doing “Basic Instinct”! And also a biopic called “Hair of the Dog” set in the ’80s, a true story about an ex-con who sets his sights on winning Crufts, the biggest dog show in the world. It’s “Shawshank Redemption” meets “Best in Show”! It’s more of a funny drama, it’s got a “Little Miss Sunshine” feel to it.

Sounds like the next Tony Kaye, doesn’t he. Go ahead, give him an Oscar, Hollywood. You’ll get what you get.

09 Feb 17:28

2009 // 2015

by beyonseh




2009 // 2015
09 Feb 17:27

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09 Feb 17:02

Questions Rhetorical

by Matt Buchanan

Quartz asks:

Since at least 2013, Facebook has been making noises about connecting the entire world to the internet. But even Sheryl Sandberg, Facebook’s operations head, admits that there are Facebook users who don’t know they’re on the internet. So is Facebook succeeding in its goal if the people it is connecting have no idea they are using the internet?

Yes. Yes. Yes.

09 Feb 05:17

Jay and Bey’s reaction to Kanye going on stage

by beyonseh




Jay and Bey’s reaction to Kanye going on stage
09 Feb 02:32

How Do I Fight "The Man"?

by The Concessionist
Steve Dyer

Choire's new advice column is wonderful

The Concessionist gives advice each weekend about the sordid choices of real life. Trouble? Write today.

Dear Concessionist,

I want to fight the man. How do I fight the man?

Sincerely,

Fightey McFightsalot

Dear Fightey,

There is literally nothing you can do. Unless you own a private plane. Do you own a private plane? Then FOR FUCK’S SAKE stop flying it around our ecosystem!

Other than that…

I definitely would have said you could do something, twenty years ago. But the amazing advances of evil in the forms of just 1. Dick Cheney and 2. Walmart together mean that the Ship of Change has sailed. It’s all going to be worse from here on out, on fronts both governmental and The Way We Work Terribly Forever Now, and there’s literally nothing you could do about it! It’s all elderly people making minimum wage in a big box store and the evolution of endless infowar from here on out!

HAPPY DRONEMAS TO ALL AND TO ALL A GOOD DRONE.

Still, as always, there are a few little things that will make you feel smugger until you shuffle off this vale of Tears for Fears.

• Leave New York City unless you need to be here to accumulate money for a The-Man-undermining project to execute somewhere else.

• Stop eating that trash! My God, the crap you eat.

• Probably you should never eat beef or chicken.

• Probably you should stop eating things taken from the over-farmed desert of an ocean.

• Probably you should just start eating the cricket-paste bars now.

• If you really cared you probably wouldn’t wear leather either???

• But then you also wouldn’t wear non-leather things sewn by tiny bleeding hands???

• Also eliminate your patronage of employers that don’t pay living wages, whether that’s Amazon or your corner bar.

• Be more patient. It won’t make things “better” but it does have a ripple effect.

• Don’t have sex with jerks. (This is a tough one, don’t worry about it too much.) Society improves when bad people don’t have nice things.

Become a journalist.

Get a time machine (warning, may not work for blacks, gays, migrant workers, et al).

• Do not, under any circumstances, reproduce. You’ve got to be out of your mind (AKA, a perfectly normal human) to reproduce. You need a baby? LOTS OF THEM ARE ALREADY FULLY ASSEMBLED AND ARE WAITING FOR YOU RIGHT NOW. Hurry up and go get one! Making a new one in this world is the height of madness!

Sorry, pregnant friends. I mean, “I respect your choices”! (She among us who is without whatever shall cast the first whatever anyway. I know.) And I have met like four excellent children, and I know it’s not their fault.

But.

We don’t talk about world population like we used to back in the blessed 90s (which really WERE as good as they say), but guess what! It’s still a thing! Really a thing:

The pace of population growth is so quick that even draconian restrictions of childbirth, pandemics or a third world war would still leave the world with too many people for the planet to sustain, according to a study.

Rather than reducing the number of people, cutting the consumption of natural resources and enhanced recycling would have a better chance of achieving effective sustainability gains in the next 85 years….

…which, you’re not going to do, because you’re busy having babies, and consuming more resources together. Good gravy, even the Pope is getting on board with the idea of fewer babies.

Apart from sucking up all the food and and air and stuff (technical terms), child-rearing is also a huge waste of your own time and energy, which you could be expending on something meaningful but instead will use up responding to stupid notes sent home by your annoying school. You can’t fight The Man when little Pepper and LaBeija need help with their pointless homework. (Learning dumb stuff they really won’t need to know when high tide is sloshing around their knees all up and down the eastern seaboard.)

So parents are all useless for a prime twenty years of their lives. I know YOU all don’t like it much sometimes. But society-wide, it’s GARBAGE. Raising children with one or two parents is terrible and inefficient and rotten in dozens of ways, for all of us.

But no one’s going to fix that. So you should ask yourself the hard questions. Do you really need something made out of your own gross DNA? What if you accidentally give birth to the genetic-doppelgänger of your evil Aunt Bettina? Will you have the courage to kill your own baby if it is literally Hitler? Think about that when you are next engaged in the foul act of penis-in-vagina intercourse.

I know none of you baby-makers will listen to this, and at your drink-up playdates you’ll continue mocking the childless for our empty lives. Go for it! The only good argument you had was that there can’t be any more great homosexuals without two heterosexuals to make them, but that’s definitely not true anymore, so you’ve got nothing. Now baby-having is literally indefensible. Yes, sure, I’m going to die unattended and possibly in and/or near a gutter. But let me rebut you first by explaining in great detail exactly how well-rested I am right now. I’m going in for another eight to ten hours of sleep tonight! Oh and what’s this? These are TWENTY-DOLLAR BILLS that I am literally LIGHTING ON FIRE because I CAANNNNNN. I made all this money and time happen simply by not using my genitals!

And, if I wanted to, I could use all this time and energy to make the world a better place.

Hmm.

I guess this is the part where I insert a “Deal With It” dog with sunglasses GIF. Oooh, WHAT ABOUT THIS ONE?

Anyway.

Yeah. I know.

You want something to love? RESCUE A CAT. It’ll never apply to a $47,000-a-year college. But if it does, then you’ll get so fucking rich off that cat that nothing will matter, not even this smoldering diaper-pail of a planet.




The Concessionist is an adult human in New York City who is somewhat worn down and willing to make a good number of sacrifices for a peaceful life. Is it decision fatigue? Or just ennui? That’s probably a question for a psychiatrist. Anything else, ask me.

09 Feb 02:27

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09 Feb 02:25

When my friend tells me there's something on my face but I can't get it

06 Feb 23:11

Resilient Tom Brady Critics Already Looking Ahead To Next Season

Steve Dyer

ugh i just love haters

WASHINGTON—After the veteran New England Patriots quarterback secured his record-tying fourth Super Bowl championship and third Super Bowl MVP, scores of Tom Brady’s harshest critics across the nation announced Friday that they are already eag...






05 Feb 17:14

Kelly Clarkson Celebrates Love, Gay and Straight, in 'Heartbeat Song' Video: WATCH

by Andy Towle
Steve Dyer

this couple is so adorable

Heartbeatsong

In her new video for "Heartbeat Song", Kelly Clarkson takes a look at how we all have a chance at finding love again after a break-up (and maybe even marriage in the case of the gay couple featured in the clip).

Watch the jubilant video, AFTER THE JUMP...

Clarkson

05 Feb 16:58

No, We Won’t Sandwich the Bride: On Handling Gay Tokenism

by Tom Vellner
Steve Dyer

FYI now that we one marriage and stuff, we're on to policing language. Calling gay people "adorable" is the new calling women "mercurial" or black people "articulate," make a note of it and don't get your tongue cut out!

My boyfriend Danny and I were dancing at a bar in downtown Boston on a recent Saturday night — my hands on his waist, his draped over my shoulders — when I noticed a woman, a 20-something brunette, approaching us. Judging by the giddy look on her face, I knew what was coming.

“I just wanted to say that you guys are so cute,” she shouted over the loud music, out of breath after pushing her way through a sea of straight couples to reach us.

She placed her hand on Danny’s shoulder and grinned. I wasn’t sure if this was part of the act, or if she actually needed to steady herself. She was tipsy and struggling to walk in her black stilettos. We thanked her for the compliment and smiled awkwardly until she scurried back to her friends, looking pleased with herself, as if she had fulfilled her good deed for the month. Her group of seven was a rowdy bachelorette party, decked out in cocktail dresses, feather boas, and tiaras.

I had just finished telling a friend beside me about our newest fan when I noticed she had already returned and was leaning in to Danny’s ear. He looked wildly uncomfortable. “My friend is getting married and we’re having a bachelorette party,” she said, pointing across the dance floor. “Would you guys sandwich the bride?”

Read more No, We Won’t Sandwich the Bride: On Handling Gay Tokenism at The Toast.

05 Feb 16:48

The Blogger Uniform Exposed

by Andrew Sullivan
Steve Dyer

okay i'm glad he's quitting now

This is a disgusting picture, but an actual one we took today of my blogger poitrine every morning. It’s so foul it’s going after the jump:

IMG_6117

The brown Jackson Pollock is created from little droplets of coffee that migrate from my beard and moustache to adorn my bathrobe and, yes, laptop, as I blog through the morning. Hey, we’re all about transparency here. But, yes, I really do need to put it in the laundry, before it is able to do so all by itself. But for the record …

05 Feb 00:29

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05 Feb 00:22

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04 Feb 22:35

The View From Your Window Contest: Winner #241

by Andrew Sullivan
Steve Dyer

Last contest :(

but we got it at least! goin' out with a bang!

VFYWC_241

This, of course, is our final Window View contest. In some ways, I think of this feature as pure Dishness. It began with my desire to let readers know just how amazing and global the full readership is – something that is crystal clear in the in-tray but not necessarily to every Dish reader. I foolishly suggested that readers send in a simple view from their window to give a sense of who the readers are. It prompted an avalanche which, back in the day, I had to figure out how to frame and present on my own. At one point, I begged for mercy. But you wouldn’t let the feature die. As a complement to the rush of news and ideas, it was perhaps our most perfect and simplest creation. See how it all started here.

And then I had the idea, inspired by a reader email, of putting the details of the picture – the place and time – after the jump, just as a tease to see if readers might amuse themselves by guessing. That soon became the contest, which was then transformed, deepened and finessed over the years by the curating genius of Chris Bodenner and then the Special Teams savvy of Chas Danner and Chris as a team. Read more about the history of the feature here:

You can discover a few amazing contest-related coincidences here and here (even today’s view had a happy accident). In due course, VFYWC imitators started popping up all over the web, including the NYT myplacewashdc206pmand CNN. Llewellyn Hinkes-Jones built a zoomable VFYW game, which likely inspired the Google Maps version, GeoGuessr. Pete Warden created an interactive map and rotatable globe of window views. Data-cruncher Jay Pinho analyzed the feature in the depth. We marked our 100th contest by recognizing two grand champions, Mike Palmer and his teammate Yoko. But the undisputed all-time champ is, of course, Doug Chini. His tips for winning the contest are here.

We’re so proud of it – a true collaboration between readers and editors and the world. I could never have happened without the web. And it is, in some ways, Dishness at its purest.

But on to the final mystery. A reader writes:

We’re in México – specifically in el Distrito Federal (D.F.), several blocks from “El Angel de Independencia.” ¡Viva México!

¡Nope! Another:

I’ve done no searching at all to back up my gut reaction, but this looks very much like the view I had one day a few years ago while waiting out a long layover between trains at Union Station. Chicago architecture has always comforted me. I was a heartbroken undergrad traveling as cheaply as I was able in the middle of winter. I took refuge on the top floor of that library, reading magazines and watching the sun pass over the carved stone.

Thanks a million for everything over the years, Andrew and team. I’m going to miss the Dish very, very, very much.

We’ll meet again. Another reader gets us to the right continent:

Dublin, Ireland. No research, just a stab in the dark. Something about the congested buildings and the light rail barely visible in the twilight below. Thanks for all the years of this great contest!

And all the years of gently letting down readers like this one:

Jo napot kivanok (“good morning” in Hungarian). At last, I think I have this one. This is a view of the southeast corner of the Hungarian Opera House in Budapest. In the background is the spire on top of St. Stephen’s Basilica.

This rookie nails the right country:

Florence, Italy. First time entry and I am only entering because I saw the symbol in a video game, which I had up in another tab.

Another is more succinct: “Pizzeria + Tram = Italy.” A reader for the first time gets the correct city:

So every VFYW contest I sit there and marvel at the speed with which people narrow things down, while I sit there wondering “where the hell would I even start??” This week was the first time I actually felt a glimmer of hope.

Pizzeria sign, cobbled streets … hmm, would it be too easy to guess Italy? Then there’s that cathedral spire. A quick Google search brings up a match with the Duomo di Milano, so there we go! From there it got a lot more tedious, and my resolve failed me. I’m just proud to have gotten Milan. (Boy do I hope it is actually Milan …)

It’s actually Milan. Another former lurker gets the correct hotel:

I have been a subscriber for two years now (and I was a reader for a few years before that, through your existence under various media umbrellas). I have been an avid follower of the VFYWC – but more as a diligent reader of every single entry you post as the results on Tuesday. In terms of guessing the view, I had thus far satisfied myself with trying to cursorily guess the city/country and moving on. I never had the patience to go through the entire contest – except once when I was happy that I got the city of Buenos Aires right and submitted an entry. Still, VFYWC has been a regular feature every week in my life, and I’ve always marveled at the ease with which my fellow readers zeroed in on a location. But something changed this week – perhaps the announcement that you are winding down? For once, I wanted to get at least the satisfaction of submitting one proper entry.

So this being my first, diligent attempt, I spent some time every day approaching the problem – kind of like preparing for an exam or an important presentation! I finally got it Tuesday morning, just in time … phew. The view is from Una Hotel Maison, 4 Giuseppe Manzini, Milan, Italy. Specifically, it’s from the top most floor, 3rd window from right when facing the hotel entrance:

Screen Shot 2015-02-03 at 9.59.58 PM

I first concentrated on the statue in the background of the photograph – and zeroed in on La Madonnina on top of the Duomo in Milan. From there it was a matter of drawing lines on Google maps and working towards identifying the pizza place and some quality time with Google Street View and Tripadvisor to get the physical address and angle of the photo.

Hope I’m close.

Nailed it, to the cross. A former winner writes:

I haven’t been feeling well enough in the weeks since finally winning to devote any real effort to the contest, and though I feel worse today than I have in weeks, I felt that on the horrible chance that this week is the last chance for me to see “a former winner writes” that I should put in a worthy effort. It’s immediately obvious that the only real effort this week will come in tracking down the specific window, as the iconic Madonnina of the Duomo gives away the game.

This collage kicks ass:

Milan Italy 2.001

Veni, vidi, vici. Thought t’would be hard, but twasn’t. Thought I’d be banging my head over European architectural styles for a few hours, but then who knew that the tiny distant tree topper above and behind the stately edifice in the foreground would turn out to be so recognizable once spotted. Search for “cathedral spire” (since that’s obviously what it is) in Google images and her images pop right up: Santa Maria Nascente atop Il Duomo di Milano. Identifying the hotel as UNA Maison Milano, via Giuseppe Massini 4 then is just that much more cake. The window is no more than a guess, though: top floor, 4th from the right?

I’ll miss the VFYW contest (almost as much as I’ll miss the Dish itself) and have looked forward to it every week since it began as an ingenious adaptation on the daily view feature. But if all good things must come to an end then that must apply to great things too, and The Dish has been great.

And here is our collage from the nearly 200 entries we received this week:

VFYWC-241

No one was happier for this week’s clues than this former winner:

I started with one that got me nowhere. “Oh, good”, I thought, “a distinctive streetcar”. Unfortunately, it was also distinctive for Milan and would never lead me there. On the left is the red streetcar that is visible when the view is lightened up. It’s red with a narrowed nose. On the right are just some of the myriad of different style and color trams of Milan. None are close.

trams

So, then, I focused on the statue on the steeple. I sensed we were in Italy, so a confined search and I soon landed on the Madonnina at the Duomo di Milano. Here she is:

madonnina comp

From the direction the statue is facing, I looked for what could be found nearby just to the south. The one good clue was the pizzeria sign. It’s never a bad idea to search for a nearby pizzeria. The Dogana. Mmm.

PastedGraphic-5 copy

Streetview shows us the view in better light:

streetview milan

If you look closer, you can see the tram behind the pizzeria:

close up streetview w tram

So, where was the picture taken? A reverse view from the other end of the street shows the Sir Edward Hotel at Via Mazzini 4:

hotel from other street

I couldn’t find a good picture of the hotel except via Streetview. Here it is, with the my best guess for the window from where the picture was taken, on the top floor:

sir edward hotel

Here is the VFYW, annotated with what I found:

composite milan

I had so much fun playing this week and love this contest. I am sure all of the regular players will play this week, we will all win, and we will all hope that we will have many future chances to play our much loved VFYW contest. If not, thanks for the opportunity to do a deep dive into a remote spot of the world each week.

Diving deeper into Milan:

Even though this was a fairly easy contest, it has given me quite a lot of pleasure – mainly because now I really want to be there! If I could afford to stay in this hotel, it would be even better.

Milan is such a historic city. St. Augustine was famously baptized here (probably at a partially extant baptistery located at the site of the present Duomo) in 387 by St. Ambrose. As a testament to the antiquity of Christianity in the region, Milan has its own distinctive liturgical practice (predating attempts at unifying European liturgy that began around the eighth to ninth century and which continued on through the Counter Reformation period and beyond). For example, there are six weeks in Advent in the traditional Milanese liturgy and no Ash Wednesday. Also the Milanese church has its own (very old) traditional music, the so-called “Ambrosian chant” distinct from the “Gregorian” performed mostly elsewhere in Western Europe. Speaking of music, many well-known musical compositions have been premiered in Milan (by such composers as Rossini, Verdi and Puccini), often at the famous La Scala opera house, only a few minutes walk away from this particular location.

Some day I hope I can make it there!

Many already have, of course:

I’ve been to Milano on my “Another Damn Cathedral” (ADC) tours in the late ’70s, but this one doesn’t belong on the list. It’s one of the best, and the climb to the sloping roof with its views of the spires and the city scape is outstanding. It is so good that I even returned in the mid-90s with my wife – counter to my personal travel motto, “we don’t go back” (which drives her crazy – she’s a fan of reprises). But my point stands. I have clear memories of my first visit even though it was about 37 years ago, while I can barely remember one thing from 1994. We needed a knife to cut some hard cheese for lunch (we were traveling by bike, but had stashed our gear at a Left Luggage) and so I pilfered one from a self-serve cafeteria, then felt guilty enough that I actually brought it back when we were done.

Our trivia master takes us to school yet again, nailing the right room:

The Dish might honor a Beard of the Week, but the Milan Cathedral hosts a Spire of the Month feature. Although currently placing only fourth on the Cathedral’s list of most beloved (a/k/a hottest) spire statutes, this month’s winner is the spire of St. Marius (a/ka/ St. Mario). One of the best things about the VFYW contest is that you end up finding out about some truly interesting yet worthless shit.

For what I fear might be the last VFYW contest, we are in Milan, Italy. The two huge clues -the church spire and the tram – quickly led to Milan and the hotel UNA Maison Milano at Via Mazzini 4 – 20123, Milan, Italy.

Searching spires, steeples and towers usually turns up too many leads to review efficiently. So the hunt began with the tram. Googling “orange tram Europe” first took me towards and then away from Milan. After finally realizing that the tram was pointing away from the window, it became clear that this tram was a Fiat Ferroviaria Series 4900 (photo gallery here). This picture in particular confirmed that the rear of the Series 4900 matched the tram in the contest picture. Because only the Azienda Trasporti Milanesi operates the Series 4900, it took but a few seconds to determine the spire with its Madonnia statue soars above the Milan Cathedral. Finding the Duomo stop for lines 3 and 24 along via Dogana was easy using a Milan tram map and by backing up from the Cathedral in the direction the Madonnia faces. The stop is between the neon sign for Ristorante Pizzeria Dogana seen in the contest photo and Museum of Twentieth Century art (Museo del Novecento) at the far end of the street.

Finding the contest window took much longer than finding the UNA Maison Milano. It looks like the contest picture comes from the hotel’s Madonnina Suite (shown here) on the top floor. The suite seems to be an additional room added above the original red tiled roof. The window is highlighted:

window241

We really appreciate how many of our contest veterans came out of the woodwork this week:

As usual, my wife and I worked together on the contest. Our guess is that the photograph was taken in Milan, Italy. We did not identify the address, but we have included a picture that shows the building from which we believe the contest photograph was taken. Our guess as to the window is circled:

Milan another reverse view (with window)

It has been a long time since we last sent in a VFYW entry. Now that we are worried the contest may be coming to a close, we decided to try to solve this week’s contest for old-time’s-sake.

My wife gets credit for this one: I slept in on Saturday, and she had it narrowed down to Milan before I got up. The pizzeria and the architecture brought her focus to northern Italy, and she identified the gothic spire as being on the Duomo di Milano. From there we settled on the building that served as the photographer’s vantage point, and our best guess as to the window.

We hope the VFYW contest (and the rest of the Dish) find a way to live on. Thanks for hosting the contest!

Our GIF-guesser pulls out all the stops this week:

Some of my best work:

una-maison-milan-biotch

Awesome. Our contest poet:

I ponder the photo with logic so pure.
The Dish lives till Tuesday! Of this much I’m sure.
The Madonna presides and guides – only fitting,
speshly if this is our last contest sitting.

The cities and mountains and hamlets we’ve seen!
Surely the homes of nice human beans.
Such beauty reflected in faraway eyes.
By golly …. I’m growing, empathy-wise.

So heartfelt thanks to Sully and Crew,
for all that we’ve seen, and may yet see too!

Another reader sends a song:

In case this is the last contest, thanks for the challenge and the fun. Or the challenging fun. Or the fun challenges. You get what I mean. I’ll leave it with a loose translation of the song of the “Oh Mi Bela Madonnina,” the unofficial city anthem of Milan:

Oh my beautiful Madonnina, who shines from far away,
All golden and minute, you rule over Milan,
At your feet life is lived, there’s no twiddling of one’s thumbs,
Everybody sings “away from Naples one dies” but then they come to Milan.

Here’s Team Facebook:

facebook-milan

Below is another team effort – examples of which have become more and more common over the past five years:

This Milan contest was our Saturday night. I had dinner with a few friends from law school whose conversations about Iraq, Hillary, and gay marriage back then often revolved around what Andrew had written. I’d said I’d win one of these one day, and now we realize the time is nigh. Regardless of what the future holds for The Dish, know that you all have made a huge impact on the intellectual and cultural development of my little group of friends. Here we are working on one last VFYW at midnight:

0

A family team effort:

On the eve of my grandmother’s funeral, our family had a lovely and lively multigenerational dinner and discussion around how we read, how we communicate and how we share information. My son just got his first smart phone; my daughter only uses an iPad instead of textbooks for school; my stepbrother is a voice reader for Audible. My just-shy-of-97 grandmother sent typewritten letters well into her final decade, often prompted by a newspaper article with the clipping stuffed inside the envelope.

That same night I learned you were ending the Dish. I shared a few lines of your justification with my father who cheered at the notion of spending time in one’s own thoughts and reading slowly and deeply. I bemoaned the loss of my VFYW challenges. Just after Thursday’s funeral my wife flew up to New York. The next morning she texted a photo from a Manhattan window to each of us: “View out a Window. Where am I?” In two minutes I had easily located the window from The Strand.

I will miss my weekend VFYW contest, but you have launched a new family game to supplant it and sparked another form of communication. Thank you.

Emails like that don’t get any better. On to this week’s winner: she has been playing the contest since the beginning and finally takes the prize with her 55th entry:

VFYW_Milan-Madonnina overlay

I’m so sad right now – I feel like this is it, the final VFYWC. Now I’m never going to win this damn contest! At least this week’s view is giving everyone a chance to play.

I immediately recognized the Madonnina on the Duomo di Milano. With the sun setting, you can tell that the view is West of the cathedral – from the Una Maison Milano. Everyone on Trip Advisor keeps talking about how great the views are from room 751, the penthouse. So I’m going with that.

Scored at the buzzer.

This week’s view comes from another long-time reader:

It’s been a week of mixed emotions for me – first getting my Brunei picture published (I thought the obscurity of the location would sway you), then Andrew’s announcement, and finally my Milan picture as this week’s contest. Wow.

I know you’ve been getting tons of mail in response to Andrew’s announcement, so I will keep this part of my email short: please continue! I’ve been reading the Dish since its days with The Atlantic and I was an early subscriber when the Dish went independent. As a German who has lived in the US more or less for the last 13 years, the Dish has played an enormously important role for me in helping me understand politics, policies, society, and discourse in my new homeland. Please keep it going.

Now for the photo: I will never forget the hotel room this photo was taken from. It is the weirdest room I’ve ever stayed in, weird in a good way though. The Hotel Una Maison in Milan has six floors. Our room was on the 7th floor. There’s an extra door on the 6th floor that opens directly into a tiny elevator. The elevator barely holds two people, goes up one floor, and opens directly into Room 751. The room itself is a tiny triangular addition on the roof of the old building. As a result, the room has windows along all three walls with an amazing view over the rooftops of central Milan. The famous “duomo” is right around the corner from the hotel – in my submission you can see its top with the golden angel statue peak above the roofline of the building on the left – probably one of the few good clues in the picture. I snapped it as soon as we walked into the room; it was evening, it had just stopped raining, and the lighting was beautiful and almost surreal. It’s hard to remember where exactly I took the photo, but I’m pretty sure I took it from the first window on the left in this interior shot:

image1

Our two-night stop in Milan was the last on a short, beautiful, and very relaxing trip with my wife through northern Italy last July. My parents where watching our two boys in my small hometown in the Black Forest of southern Germany, and my wife and I enjoyed every second of our first child-free vacation in over 4 years.

Meanwhile, one of our best players writes:

I’m still feeling disappointed about last week’s contest. Some time ago Doug Chini said something about his white whale – a view he had not been able to guess. Well, my own white whale is … Chini himself. I’ve always dreamt to beat him – just one time, only once – in a particularly difficult contest. Well, what happens when a particularly difficult contest finally arrives, and Chini is unable (apparently, at least) to guess it? It happens that I am busy working with an impending deadline and have very little time for the game, so when I have just begun to check the Eastern European capital cities, the time is out.

Ok, probably I would have not found the exact location – nobody else managed to guess it, after all – but still one wonders …

Our final entry after 241 weekly contests goes to who else but the legendary Chini, back after a rare and mysterious one-week hiatus:

VFYW Milano Bird's Eye Marked - Copy

”Chill for a minute, Doug E. Fresh said Silence!”
– The Abstract

And at the end of all our journeys, we’ve returned to the, uh, country … my, er, family started from. This week’s view comes from Milano, Italia. The picture was taken last summer from the 7th floor penthouse of the Una Maison Milano, room #751, and looks almost exactly due east along a heading of 89.0456349 degrees. Trust me. ;)

As a few of you noticed, I missed last week’s scandal in Bohemia, partially because I’m an idiot and partially because I’d just finished my own meta-contest the week before: getting every view right for an entire year (51 contests in 52 weeks; the staff takes off Christmas week). As proof of the unbelievably epic accomplishment, he wrote, channeling Archer’s self absorption, I’ve attached a high-res collage which includes every image I sent in for those contests along with a wee pic of my crazy self:

VFYW Doug Chini 5151 in 52 Collage - Copy

More seriously, as this may be one of the last contests, it’s time to answer the question folks keep asking that didn’t come up in my AMA: why do you do this, you nerd? What’s the lure, why spend all that time on the elliptical hammering away on your phone looking for some obscure detail about air conditioning in Romania?

The answer is, it’s simply the purest, most challenging, most enjoyable liberal arts test I can imagine: here’s a picture, now find where it was taken. No rules, no limits; just your brains and your ability to apply your knowledge of the sciences and humanities as creatively as possible. Astronomy, geography, history, architecture, botany, you name it, at some point they’ve all come into play. That’s what’s kept me coming back all these years, and hopefully will for a while longer, especially if the Dish or the contest somehow survive Sully’s retirement. But if not, well there’s only one thing to say to the Dish team and all the readers out there. So long, and thanks for all the views!

P.S. We’re not really gonna end this whole Dish thing, right? Where else are we supposed to hide from Clinton-Bush VIII: Even Police Academy Never Got this Far?

In a subsequent email, he adds: “I’m definitely not hanging up my yellow circles; so long as there’s a window contest, I’ll be mixing it up with the rest of the nutters, whether’s it’s for another week or 10 years.”

Although the blog is ending on Friday, we have some ideas for resurrecting the Window Contest in the future. We have your email addresses, so you’ll be the first to know. And again, this has been one of the most dynamic and enjoyable features to emerge from our readership, and a community within our community. What a pleasure it’s been. Thank you.

(Archive: Text|Gallery)


04 Feb 21:58

Super Bowl victory parade for the New England Patriots

Steve Dyer

hi haters



Thousands of fans lined the parade route on the snow-covered sidewalks of Boylston Street to watch the New England Patriots celebrate their Super Bowl win. (John Tlumacki/Globe Staff)

04 Feb 16:57

Channing Tatum is Everything

by Roxane Gay
Steve Dyer

duh happy channing tatum day

Either you understand why Channing Tatum is perfection or you do not. If you do not, I am not sure what to say to you.

Read more Channing Tatum is Everything at The Toast.

04 Feb 16:56

A Note To Our Readers, Ctd

by Andrew Sullivan
Steve Dyer

good boat metaphor sully

It’s been a highly emotional and tough week for the Dish team, especially given the outpouring of love from the in-tray. We’re so grateful and not a little moved by your insistence that the Dish somehow go on, post-Sully.

But the truth is: we’ve been grappling with that question now for months, and this is not as sudden a decision as it may appear from the outside. Since last summer, we’ve been thinking through whether a transition to a Sully-free Dish could work, and what it would take to re-launch the Dish as simply an aggregation/curation news and opinion site, who would run it, who would write for it, etc. We’ve talked to potential investors; we’ve discussed how it would work editorially; we’ve gone through the numbers; we’ve assessed exactly how heavy a lift it might be. And we concluded it would be a very, very heavy lift. The tipping point was my health, which made a core decision for me (and us) last month, as our auto-renewals loomed. We’re all only human. At some point, the marathon has to end.

We revisited all of this again in the wake of your emails. You deserved that. But the simple truth is: all three co-owners of the site, me, Patrick Appel and Chris Bodenner, have come to the conclusion that the practical, financial and editorial challenges of continuing on are howler beaglesimply too great for us to bear as we are, let alone without me. We’re a tiny team, already stretched beyond any sane life/work balance, with no financial backer, and a work ethic that might be alternately described as manic or masochistic. I’m not the only one exhausted and drained after years and years of intense, always-on-deadline work – not just editorially, but also these past two years in running a small business. We’re a very tight ship as we are, with a drained crew. The seas ahead would be extremely rough, and the danger of sinking without a captain quite high. We’re incredibly proud of what we’ve achieved, which is why, in some ways, we’d rather end it while it’s still thriving than run the risk of seeing it all slowly fall apart. We owe that to the Dish itself, to ourselves and to you.

I know this is a brutal decision and I can tell you in all candor how deeply painful it has been for us. Each of us has given our all to this adventure; it has dominated our lives for years; it has been a source of enormous joy and satisfaction as well as profound strain and anxiety. We are as addicted to it as you are, and withdrawal will be really tough. But we’ve made the call that there is a time for everything, and that the Dish will and should live on as a pioneering fifteen-year experiment at the dawn of the new media age. We feel we’ve left behind a model of what an online community can truly be, what a site uncontaminated with p.r. can achieve, and how it’s possible for less than ten people to corral a million people a month and 30,000 paying subscribers into a conversation without end.

And yes, the conversation will continue – just not in this form and not in this place. The Dish, after all, is a very new media invention. It’s less an institution than an organism – a living breathing creature that is more than the sum of its parts. It’s you and me and life and the Dish team all living and thinking and writing together in real time through the twists and eddies of history. It’s not a physical object, or an institution. We’ve never had an office. And we’ve tended to it like a living organism, listening to its intimations, letting it take us where it wants us to go, always innovating but also retaining core elements that never change. Once you start dismantling bits of it, or removing parts of its DNA, or reconstituting it without me, you risk an unraveling. The Dish’s legacy deserves better.

As for you and us, we will stay in touch. We have 30,000 email addresses – and we’ll reach out to you as the team goes on to new projects and as I figure out my own future. I know that Friday, our last day of Dishing, will be deeply emotional. But better to end something cleanly and clearly than drag it out.

And for the next few days, let’s celebrate. Let’s remember the highs and lows, the insanity and the wisdom, the humor and the deadly seriousness of what the Dish has created and spawned these past several years. Let’s remember what we created together and be glad. For we have something wonderful to be glad about.


04 Feb 15:44

The View From Your Window Contest

by Andrew Sullivan
Steve Dyer

We have to get this because what if it's the last one ever!

VFYWC_241

You have until noon on Tuesday to guess it. City and/or state first, then country. Please put the location in the subject heading, along with any description within the email. If no one guesses the exact location, proximity counts. Be sure to email entries to contest@andrewsullivan.com. Winner gets a free The View From Your Window book or a Dish t-shirt. Have at it.


03 Feb 15:46

Just one little tattoo

Steve Dyer

HAHAHAHAH this is so wonderfully awful at every twist and turn. ENJOY

Put out the bunting, crack open the beers, stand there in the kitchen smiling from ear to ear, because he's home – our student son is home and the family is together again. And after supper, after the washing up is done, the others – his younger siblings – drift off to watch television, and he says: "Would you like to see my tattoo?"

I say, "You're joking."

He says, "No, I'm not."

But still I wait. Any minute he's going to laugh and say, "You should see your faces" because this has been a running joke for years, this idea of getting a tattoo – the hard man act, iron muscles, shaved head, Jason Statham, Ross Kemp. He's a clever boy. Maybe during his school years he thought a tattoo would balance the geeky glory of academic achievement.

His father says, "Where?"

"On my arm," he says, and touches his bicep through his shirt.

His lovely shoulder.

In the silence, he says, "I didn't think you'd be this upset."

After a while, he says, "It wasn't just a drunken whim. I thought about it. I went to a professional. It cost £150."

£150? I think, briefly, of all the things I could buy with £150.

"It's just a tattoo," he says, when the silence goes on so long that we have nearly fallen over the edge of it into a pit of black nothingness. "It's not as if I came home and said I'd got someone pregnant."

It seems to me, unhinged by shock, that this might have been the better option.

His father asks, "Does it hurt?"

"Yes," I say, cutting across this male bonding. "It does. Very much."

For three days, I can't speak to my son. I can hardly bear to look at him. I decide this is rational. The last thing we need, I think, is an explosion of white-hot words that everyone carries around for the rest of their lives, engraved on their hearts. In any case, I'm not even sure what it is I want to say. In my mind's eye I stand there, a bitter old woman with pursed lips wringing my black-gloved hands. He's done the one thing that I've said for years, please don't do this. It would really upset me if you did this. And now it's happened. So there's nothing left to say.

I know you can't control what your children do. Why would you want to, anyway? If you controlled what they did, you'd just pass on your own rubbish tip of imperfections. You hope the next generation will be better, stronger, more generous. I know all you can do as a parent is to pack their bags and wave as you watch them go.

So I cry instead. I have a lump in my throat that stops me from eating. I feel as if someone has died. I keep thinking of his skin, his precious skin, inked like a pig carcass.

My neighbour says, "There's a lot of it about. So many teenagers are doing it." I stare at pictures of David Beckham with his flowery sleeves, Angelina Jolie all veins and scrawls. Tattoos are everywhere. They seem no more alternative than piercings these days. But I still don't understand. Sam Cam with her smudgy dolphin, the heavily tattooed at Royal Ascot – these people are role models?

"My niece had doves tattooed on her breasts," says a friend, "And her father said, you wait, in a few years' time they'll be vultures."

It's the permanence that makes me weep. As if the Joker had made face paints from acid. Your youthful passion for ever on display, like a CD of the Smiths stapled to your forehead. The British Association of Dermatologists recently surveyed just under 600 patients with visible tattoos. Nearly half of them had been inked between the ages of 18 and 25, and nearly a third of them regretted it.

I look up laser removal. Which is a possibility, I think miserably, that only works if you want a tattoo removed. And I'm not in charge here. My son is.

My husband asks, "Have you seen it yet?"

I shake my head. Like a child, I am hoping that if I keep my eyes tightly shut the whole thing will disappear.

"It's his body," he says gently. "His choice."

"But what if he wants to be a lawyer?"

"A lawyer?"

"Or an accountant."

"He'll be wearing a suit. No one will ever know. And he doesn't want to be a lawyer. Or an accountant."

I know. I know.

I meet a colleague for lunch. "He knew how much it would hurt me," I say, tears running down my face. "For years I've said, don't do it. It's there for ever, even after you've changed your mind about who you are and what you want to look like. You're branded, like meat. It can damage your work prospects. It can turn people against you before you've even opened your mouth."

She says, "Tell him how you feel."

But I can't. For a start, I know I'm being completely unreasonable. This level of grief is absurd. He's not dying, he hasn't killed anyone, he hasn't volunteered to fight on behalf of a military dictatorship. But I feel as though a knife is twisting in my guts.

I get angry with myself. This is nothing but snobbery, I think – latent anxiety about the trappings of class. As if my son had deliberately turned his back on a light Victoria sponge and stuffed his face with cheap doughnuts. I am aware, too, that I associate tattoos on men with aggression, the kind of arrogant swagger that goes with vest tops, dogs on chains, broken beer glasses.

Is this what other women feel? Or perhaps, I think, with an uncomfortable lurch of realisation, just what older women feel. I stand, a lone tyrannosaurus, bellowing at a world I don't understand.

Tattoos used to be the preserve of criminals and toffs. And sailors. In the 1850s, the corpses of seamen washed up on the coast of north Cornwall were "strangely decorated" with blue, according to Robert Hawker, the vicar of Morwenstow – initials, or drawings of anchors, flowers or religious symbols ("Our blessed Saviour on His Cross, with on the one hand His mother, and on the other St John the Evangelist"). "It is their object and intent, when they assume these signs," says Hawker, "to secure identity for their bodies if their lives are lost at sea."

Tattoos, then, were intensely practical, like brightly coloured smit marks on sheep.

Perhaps even then this was a fashion statement, a badge of belonging. Or just what you did after too much rum. Later, the aristocracy flirted with body art. According to the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich (they know a lot about tattoos), Edward VII had a Jerusalem cross on his arm while both his sons, the Duke of Clarence and the Duke of York (later George V), had dragon tattoos. Lady Randolph Churchill, Winston's mum, had a snake on her wrist.

But you can do what you like if you're rich.

On day three, still in a fog of misery, I say to him, "Shall we talk?"

We sit down with cups of coffee. I open my mouth to speak and end up crying instead. I say, "You couldn't have done anything to hurt me more."

He is cool and detached. He says, "I think you need to re-examine your prejudices."

I think, but I have! I've done nothing else for three days! But I don't say that because we aren't really talking to each other. These are rehearsed lines, clever insults flung across the dispatch box. (This is what comes of not exploding in anger in the heat of the moment.)

I say, "Why couldn't you have waited until you'd left home? Why now when you're living here half the year?"

"It's something I've been thinking about for a long time. There didn't seem any reason to wait."

Which makes it worse.

"I'm an adult," he says. "I paid for it with my own money. Money I earned."

But we're supporting you as well, I think. As far as I know, you don't have separate bank accounts for your various income streams. So who knows? Maybe we paid for it. "If you don't want to see it, that's fine," he says. "When I'm at home, I'll cover it up. Your house, your rules."

In my head, I think, I thought it was your house, too.

He says, "I'm upset that you're upset. But I'm not going to apologise."

"I don't want you to apologise," I say. (A lie. Grovelling self-abasement might help.)

He says, "I'm still the same person."

I look at him, sitting there, my 21-year-old son. I feel I'm being interviewed for a job I don't even want. I say, "But you're not. You're different. I will never look at you in the same way again. It's a visceral feeling. Maybe because I'm your mother. All those years of looking after your body – taking you to the dentist and making you drink milk and worrying about green leafy vegetables and sunscreen and cancer from mobile phones. And then you let some stranger inject ink under your skin. To me, it seems like self-mutilation. If you'd lost your arm in a car accident, I would have understood. I would have done everything to make you feel better. But this – this is desecration. And I hate it."

We look at each other. There seems nothing left to say.

Over the next few days, my son – always covered up – talks to me as if the row had never happened. I talk to him, too, but warily. Because I'm no longer sure I know him.

And this is when I realise that all my endless self-examination was completely pointless. What I think, or don't think, about tattoos is irrelevant. Because this is the point. Tattoos are fashionable. They may even be beautiful. (Just because I hate them doesn't mean I'm right.) But by deciding to have a tattoo, my son took a meat cleaver to my apron strings. He may not have wanted to hurt me. I hope he didn't. But my feelings, as he made his decision, were completely unimportant.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one; pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.

I am redundant. And that's a legitimate cause for grief, I think.

Tess Morgan is a pseudonym

03 Feb 15:44

Photo



02 Feb 19:16

Actual footage of me just trying to get through the day

Steve Dyer

these are really important gifs

02 Feb 16:29

Photo

by beyonseh
Steve Dyer

I CAN ALSO DO THE EYE VIBRATION THING

THE VEYEBRATION THING

















31 Jan 03:19

Photo



29 Jan 17:38

Why You're So Unhappy Now

by Alex Balk

Earlier this week I was commiserating with a friend who expressed discomfort over an increasing feeling of futility that had made itself manifest only recently and, as something of an expert in the field of not totally being in love with life all the time, it occurred to me that the knowledge I have concerning this condition might be helpful to more than just the people in my social circle, so I will share my message with anyone else out there who is similarly situated from an emotional standpoint. You are not wrong to feel down: This is winter. Real winter. We’re in it now. The holidays are a distant memory, spring seems impossibly far away and even the lengthening of the days is something you observe solely through windows. Whatever flash of light you see in the hours before the evening is a taunting reminder that most of your life is spent indoors, in an artificially brightened environment designed to disguise a darkness that is always with you no matter how you try to convince yourself otherwise. We’re at the point in the calendar year where the pervasive hopelessness of nature sends a signal to your brain to start a steady leak from its carafe of chemicals that more than ever makes you realize just how bleak and pointless life really is and that there is no amount of alcohol or television or sex or expensive noodle dishes and the photos you post thereof that can keep you from confronting just how alone you are no matter how many people you number in your life. You are suffering from a state that can best be described as human existence, the only cure for which comes at its end, and even that eventual promise of blissful oblivion makes it no easier to cope with the shabby scrim of suffering that drapes itself over all that you see in your sad eyes. Normally this is the part where I would offer some hope but I am sorry to tell you that I cannot. It’s all dark. It doesn’t get better. There is a temporary respite come spring and summer but even that you will waste and suddenly you will find yourself back in fall, the days growing shorter and your ability to delude yourself that it will all be okay once again proving wanting. It is an endless cycle of suffering only occasionally interrupted by your brain’s begrudgingly allowing you to pretend things might work out while the weather is warm. That said, I hear flights to L.A. are not super-exorbitant these days; if you can swing it, it might make you okay for a week or two, which is really all you can ask for.