Door 25: Stars of Wonder

Here at TBATC we wish you a Most Merry Christmas!

Since the star is the last decoration one puts on the Christmas tree, it follows that the last Advent post we offer you is of a star. Via my earlier post about the Hubble Space Telescope Advent Calendar, here, tucked behind Door 25, is the final, stunning picture of the heavens. It is the "deepest visible-light image of the Universe" and "2.4 arcminutes wide." I don't know really what that means, even after cursory research on Wikipedia, but it seems like a measurement both angels and men might comprehend.

Door 24: Peace in War

With the ongoing war in Afghanistan and our troops spending the holidays without their families and with sand dunes instead of snowbanks, it's worth remembering the famous, generous "Christmas Truce" of World War I that happened between British and German troops at many places along the Front. For an armistice that lasted for 48 hours, together they buried their dead, played football, opened mail from home, and supped.

As recorded in Barnes & Noble's ever-fascinating Daybook, which quotes the "famous British soldier-cartoonist of trench life, Bruce Bairnsfather"—he drew the picture to the left—within Silent Night by Stanley Weintraub,

Even after the extraordinary Christmas Eve, soldiers were astonished by what they saw at daylight on Christmas Day. "I awoke at dawn," Bruce Bairnsfather recalled, "and on emerging on all fours from my dugout, became aware that the trench was practically empty. I stood upright in the mud and looked over the parapet. No Man's Land was full of clusters ... of khaki and gray ... pleasantly chatting together.

This is a modern image of peace that seems to fit within the catalog of animal rivals at peace within Isaiah 11, starting at verse six:

The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the young goat, and the calf and the lion and the fattened calf together; and a little child shall lead them. The cow and the bear shall graze; their young shall lie down together; and the lion shall eat straw like the ox. The nursing child shall play over the hole of the cobra, and the weaned child shall put his hand on the adder's den. They shall not hurt or destroy in all my holy mountain. ...

Should you wish to read more about the brief Christmas armistice—and in the penciled handwriting of Captain Robert Hamilton, of the 1st battalion Royal Warwickshire regiment—click the following image, which I found via this Daily Mail article. (Image will enlarge once you click it.) His last sentence, including the detail of "some jolly good cigars," is particularly charming.

Doors 22 and 23: Be Hatted

It's likely you and yours have seen many festive people wearing Santa hats. You've probably seen a few other people, usually those who adore animals (myself included), donning plush antlers. (If you don't want to buy a pair at CVS, you can make your own out of construction paper, as this little boy shows.)

Today a faithful friend of TBATC told us that you can buy antlers for your car this year. Take a peek at this latest wonder in automobile decoration behind Door 22. They sure are more fun that car bows and car wreaths.

In searching the Internet for antler pictures just now, I found what might be my favorite holiday picture of 2009. But really, I expected no less from Our Lady of Perpetual Astonishment, looking as lost as a deer behind Door 23.

Door 21: What's in Your Glass?

On a cold December night, I settled on the perfect drink to go with the little black dress: bourbon on the rocks in a wee cut-crystal glass. That warm amber hue, glinting inside crystal, looks terrific against black. It also goes very well with menswear (which, I know, is often black).

But sometimes, especially in the deep cold of December, we prefer bourbon not on the rocks or neat but with hot water. Try this recipe for a bourbon hot toddy behind Door 21.

A related, lesser known option is the Rock & Rye hot toddy. You can read about the background for this drink here in one of Eric Felten's terrific WSJ articles and find a recipe for the hot toddy version here.

Door 20: Way Up North

If you haven't visited the North Pole yet, you should. Whether you're still snowed in or just experiencing a slow holiday week in cubicle-dom, this Santa-central website will bring you some entertainment (well, we were amused). It's worth a visit, if only to see what's behind Door 20. And just in case you'd rather visit the North Pole in person this holiday season check out a little bonus door.

Door 19: Make a Path

Here at TBATC, we've been thinking a lot about the clearing of massive amounts of snow. So, here is a helpful, educational door from us to you.

Door 18: Magic Hat

As a humdinger of a snowscape is gathering in Washington, DC, K'Barbic and I are thinking about how we'll stay warm when necessity bids us leave our homes. For me, necessity comes in the shape of my dog Daisy, and she will want to go for a few good romps. When we go romping, there is a very good chance that I will wear my beret pulled down to my ears. It will not be a day for wearing the beret as if it is a plate-sized pancake.

The thought of hats in the snow reminds me of Frosty the Snowman, who came to life only when his friend Karen put that "old silk hat" with the daisy on top of his head.



And if that doesn't make you believe in the power of hats, open Door 18! (Opening this door will also help get the lyrics of Frosty the Snowman out of your head.)

Door 17: Happy Feet

Sometimes Christmas inspires us to buy ridiculous things.

That happened a few days ago when, while standing next to K'Barbic at Filene's Basement, I saw something I (kind of) needed to buy: reindeer slipper socks with grippers, stubby legs, and poofy bellies, as pictured to the left. I never have understood why adults would need socks with grippers, but these didn't come in the non-gripper format. Lucky for this sock company, I find the idea of holiday animals on my feet irresistable.

Door 17 features a four-legged creature wearing very similar adornments.

Door 16: Dashing Through the Snow...

Not all of our Christmas associations are innately linked to this holiday season. So it is with Door 16. Call it the effects of marketing, but whenever I see those famous Clydesdales, I think of the holidays (probably because of a familiar holiday greetings ad in which they star). These magnificent animals have a rich history, however, extending beyond their current "celebrity spokeshorse" status.

Originally developed as agricultural "beasts of burden" in early 19th century Scotland by farmers along the River Clyde, Clydesdales are now mostly seen in draft horse shows or agricultural exhibitions. And of course, the best-known to the general populace are the Anheuser-Busch Clydesdales. (The original team was presented as a gift to August A. Busch Sr., to celebrate the repeal of prohibition.) The horses were quickly promoted to a "celebrity" status and sent out "on tour" representing their company. So now, what beast of burden doesn't dream of being a Clydesdale?

Door 15: 'For Pleasant Occasions'

I saw a new movie, Invictus, the other day. There's a scene in it where Morgan Freeman, who plays Nelson Mandela, pours some tea for Matt Damon, the head of the rugby team of South Africa. And Freeman says that afternoon tea is the greatest gift the Brits gave us. It's a great line, and the tea he pours for Matt Damon steams in flawless, lanky tendrils in the sunlight. They look great on camera, and you come to think Freeman's line is right-on. You want to rush out of your plush theater seat and get tea, and then you remember that it's not for sale among the enomorous sodas, wide straws, and Milk Duds. It would have been too expensive there anyway. Double the price of a Starbucks custom latte, probably.

But here at TBATC you can open Door 15 and prepare yourself for afternoon Advent tea! I've also found this one to be superb—a red with the round, vowely scent of vanilla rolling throughout its itty bitty rooibos leaves. And ...those leaves happens to come from South Africa! A little pricey, yes, but a tin of this just costs you four lattes. Or five, with shipping.

Door 14: Burgers and Joy

On this second day of Christmas, TBATC gives to you a special "double" treat. Perhaps, playing off the old German pickle ornament tradition, a new one could be started. The first one to find a cheeseburger in the tree...

Door 13: Santa Paws

Hooray! Today is the first day of the 12 Days of Christmas, and, no, we are not going to say that the confused partridge to the left is your Door 13. That would be too easy.

Instead, we'd like to highlight a very special, wooferrific offering on the Washington Humane Society's blog. Check it out here.

Door 12: The "Michelangelo of Snow"

Behind Door 12, we have a work of art and a winter treat all rolled into one.

To see the work of another great snow artist, enjoy the Calvin and Hobbes snowman gallery.

Calvin & Hobbes Snow Art Gallery

View more presentations from hosss.

Door 11: Tinsel in the Sky

Open Door 11, sit back, and enjoy the sport and spectacle of the heavens, one day at a time.

(Should you wish to sift through the heavens frame by frame on your computer, click here.)

Door 10: Tree Skirt

Bored with the usual tree trimming? NYT features designer trees from Madison Avenue, and our favorite tree can be found behind Door 10. Of course it's no Charlie Brown tree...

Door 9: Houses of Mirth

Most gingerbread houses are all about the candy: the Necco wafer roofs, the Zebra gum siding, the gum drop shrubberies, and so on. But here at TBATC we just spied some houses of a different kind.

The Chicago Tribune asked the region's four top architectural firms to create their own sugary edifices. The results are in and waiting for you to ooh! and ahh! and mmm! at behind Door 9. (Our favorite is Sweet Mies.) Should you wish to make your own version of the firms' creations, the blueprints are here.

Doors 7 & 8: "Better Watch Out ..."

Advent is passing more quickly than we expected this season, and we now rush to open two more doors with Christmas a mere 17 days away. So as you're rushing here and there, from store to store and party to party, we bring you two helpful reminders: Door 7 and Door 8.

Door 6: Cue Snow and Music

Today, Door 6 is opened a day late. With the weekend snowstorm in DC, we now find ourselves dreaming of a White Christmas. Such Christmases, however, are not "like the ones I used to know" (growing up in California). Still the melancholy classic, with its universal appeal, is one I love to hear come over the radio. To increase your appreciation of the classic Christmas tune, the WSJ features the story behind the song. Read the history and then watch the original with renewed appreciation.

Al Gore, Poet Laureate ...of Climate Change?

As storm clouds gather and foment in the Climategate crisis (aka "The CRUtape Letters"), there is still one ray of sunshine, and it comes from the pen of Al Gore.

Mark Hertsgaard, author of the forthcoming Living Through the Storm: Our Future Under Global Warming, writes on VF's Power & Politics Blog that

with the publication of his new book, Our Choice, Gore has unveiled a fresh and most unexpected talent: the book’s opening chapter concludes with a poem he wrote—21 lines of verse that are equal parts beautiful, evocative, and disturbing.

Remember those three fawning adjectives. Now read a portion of the poem that makes Hertsgaard eager to crown Gore the "Poet Laureate of Climate Change":

One thin September soon
A floating continent disappears
In midnight sun

Vapors rise as
Fever settles on an acid sea

Soareagle in the comments section reacts, "Algore, the poetic, literary genius. What a twit." BernardL says, "oh barf!" Indeed, there are better nature poets out there. One gets the sense that Hertsgaard cares simply for what the poem is all too patently about.

What also confounds me is the illustration paired with Hertsgaard's post: Al Gore in a photoshopped black beret. Why? Why are berets here associated with poetry? Is this an instance of the hat being used as a sort of crown-in-disguise, or a wreath of Apollonian laurels? Is Hertsgaard hinting that Gore is an artist, too?

Who knows. But outside my window yesterday's snow is melting, and it still seems appropriate to think of the wavering climate. But I prefer to say goodnight to Gore's verses, pick up a book of Horace's Odes, and read 4.7, Diffugere nives ("the snows have fled"). I would invite you to share a pot of tea with me as I read, but the Internet is not advanced enough to allow that. I can provide the Latin, however, which is here, and William Maxwell reading A.E. Housman's still unmatched translation here. As Housman writes, Feast then, thy heart!

Door 5: Sealed with a Pixel

Yesterday, TBATC's most stylish friend told me about the next best thing after Evite. And now it is here for you to enjoy as well. Here it is, behind Door 5.

O National Tree

O National Tree, O National Tree,

How unprecedented are Thy branches,

You are so green, and oh so bright;
Your GE LED bulbs light up the night.
O National Tree, O National Tree,
You are a big blue spru-uce.

Last night we decided to make our first, unprecedented appearance at the National Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony. Here at TBATC we believe it is important to go see history in the making, whenever we are given the opportunity (in this case courtesy free tickets from a friend).

The crowds were cheery and anxious for their first glimpse of the First Family, and we were excited to learn all sorts of fun facts about the National Tree (thus inspiring my verses above).

If you haven't heard how energy efficient this White House Christmas will be, don't worry, you will. Rather than regurgitate glowing reports of the tree's wonders, we send you to the good people at the National Park Service where you too can learn the history of this holiday treasure and check out the schedule for nightly performances at the Ellipse.

Door 4: LED the Halls

After checking out what we've got for you behind Door 4, learn all about the technology behind this bright Christmas tradition.

Door 3: A Spot of Joy

On this third day of Advent season, K'Barbic and I have found for you a holiday treat with a squeak. It's waiting for you behind Door 3.

Door 2: The Gift of Whimsy

There are 23 days left in the official Christmas countdown which means it's time for Day 2 on our Advent Calendar. Today brings an image that has lit up our faces here at TBATC this holiday season. Presenting the Neiman Marcus Christmas fantasy gift that tops our list this season. If you haven't yet perused the Christmas Book, check it out. Happy shopping!

A Door in the Corner

Over here at TBATC, K'Barbic and I are going to give you a small door—that is, a little link—to open every day, starting today, December 1. Why? Because we are upon the season of Advent, and we are fond of Advent calendars, whether they're plush or made of colored cardboard or, in our case, of pixels. Let's be festive.

K'Barbic and I will have more holiday specials for you, so stay tuned!

Here's your first December door to open. Enjoy!

(P.S. The image to the left is an illustration of a December hunt, with a starry blue calendar at the top, there in the hemisphere. This artwork illustrates the month of December in the early 15th-century Très Riches Heures of the Duc de Berry. Read more here! I guess I just gave you two doors to open. Oh well. Choose your own adventure!)

The Little Black Pancake

St. Thomas Aquinas richly identified Christ's body as a "seamless garment" made by divine hands in a mortal womb. In the Townley passion play called 'The Crucifixion,' Mary, standing by the foot of the cross, watches the body/robe of her son being torn apart:

To deth my dere is dryffen
His robe is all to-ryffen
That of me was him gyffen
And shapen with my sydys

The notion of a seamless garment was once miraculous, but today, in an age of fancy sewing machines, we can go into any department store and find plenty of clothes with tags that say something like, "Touch me! I'm seamless" or "I'm seam-free 'n' carefree!" (Most of them happen to be women's underthings.) But there's another item of clothing, one that predates Christ, that is usually seamless: the beret. Ancient Greeks in military service were the first to wear them, and they've been a part of fashion history, inside and outside the military, ever since. Click here for more about the history of the beret.

I've lately become quite fond of this simple, malleable pancake of hats, and not just because— unlike a pillbox or bowler—you can stuff it into your coat pocket or purse. I bought my first, a little black one, a few months ago for a few bucks, and have been wearing it most days since then because it's my most glamorous and subtle accessory. Every time I don it, I am amazed by how simple it is—a mere poof of fabric!—and still how smart and pleasant. It makes the fedora seem needlessly complicated in comparison.

I'll leave you with two images. Elsa Schiaparelli and Marlene Dietrich in berets. (Be thankful. I could have linked to Ché instead.)

P.S. Image at top is of Greta Garbo.

Holiday Shopping? Click to the Front of the Line.

Every year, Christmas seems to come sooner, or rather it is thrust upon us sooner. There's hardly time to enjoy the Thanksgiving feast with the Christmas tunes already blaring and Black Friday sales creeping in so early that there's barely time to clear the table before heading to the mall.

As much as I love the holidays, and holiday shopping, I couldn't work myself up to get excited about fighting the crowds and standing in line this year. So I didn't. This year I enjoyed the wonders of Black Friday online. I know holiday shopping online is not a new practice, but this was my first season fully embracing it. After all, it's hard to find a negative about shopping from the comfort of your own home: just you, your computer, a cup of coffee and your credit card. Of course, I'm sure shopping traditionalists will find points of disagreement, but I have a hard time seeing the negative side of a practice that allows me more time for watching my favorite holiday movies.

This year many online retailers made shopping from home even easier by running online Black Friday sales and offering free shipping deals. Amazon.com has been running its Black Friday online sales and "lightning" deals all week, and other major retailers like Target and Walmart have been running special online only sales in addition to their in-store sales. Plus, if you didn't get your fill of holiday deals this weekend, Cyber Monday is right around the corner.

Granted shopping online doesn't allow you the fun of peeking in store windows, or browsing the shelves, and you miss the wonders of the food court. It does, however, save you the frustration of fighting the crowds and racing for a parking space at the mall. And who couldn't use a little spared sanity at the holidays?

Pop with an Image on Top

She calls herself Lady GaGa. It's a crown of a name that reminds me of other Ladies—among them Our Lady of Perpetual Astonishment, Lady Fortune, Lady Philosophy, and ... Lady Fame. Her last album, released three days ago, is titled "The Fame Monster" and the one before that "The Fame." I think there was a wasted opportunity on the latter. Imagine how scrumptiously tautological her CD would have been had she christened it "Lady Fame" instead: four four-letter words on a piece of plastic with four sides. How dizzingly cool is that?

But back to GaGa. I've been thinking about her because one friend asked me the other day, "Why is she mainstream? She's so freakish."

After looking through her videos again, hearing her songs isolated from the videos, and then reading the lyrics isolated from the music, I'm convinced that she is a very tame fame monster, decidedly un-freakish.

First of all, she sings, like everybody else, about love, or some version of it—attraction, lust, etc.—and its attendant complications. Her latest hit is called "Bad Romance." Lyrics here. Part of the refrain: "I want your love and / I want your revenge / You and me could write a bad romance." (It's another take of Catullus's imperishable odi et amo, "I hate and I love.") I don't see anything weirdly alienating about these or other lyrics. There are some strange turns of phrase, like "leather-studded kiss in the sand," but that's not strange enough to be off-putting for most people. The same goes for her music, a usual offering of throbbing, glittery pop.

It is GaGa's image that sets her apart. She is, ultimately, a high fashion performance artist. But her images aren't that strange because they borrow on visual vocabularies we already know. Her videos read like bizarre Vogue fashion spreads in perpetual motion. They are filled with somewhat odd (but never ugly) things. For "Bad Romance" she collaborated with designer Alexander McQueen; his racous, otherwordly heels are everywhere in the video. GaGa even has a sequence wearing a geometric, money-colored outfit by McQueen that's as shiny as coins. The echo here might be Ginger Rogers donning a skimpy coin costume in "Gold Diggers of 1933." Decay, decadence, and desire are all wrapped into one package; it's an aside that meshes in with the video's general mood of conflict and confusion.

Lady GaGa's videos have traces of contemporary artists in them (e.g. Matthew Barney)—and this at least shows that she's a student of this art and wants her pieces to be seen in a somewhat similar light. But her images seem so tame and mousy next to those by the likes of Barney. (Just type in Cremaster Cycle into YouTube, or click this, and you'll understand.) And Lady GaGa has at least once directly riffed off the work of a contemporary artist. Art blogger Paddy Johnson noticed that when GaGa performed "Bad Romance" at the end of a recent Gossip Girl episode, her giant-dress-and-three-ladder stunt was eerily similar to a work of art by Dana Karwas and Karla Karwas, Party Dress, exhibited this fall at the Dumbo Art Under the Bridge Festival. This amounts to stealing an idea, and it certainly won't get contemporary artists to warm to GaGa.

Note that in GaGa videos, you never see her making music. That's too authentic or earnest or plain; she is a master of fabrication, artifice, show. She doesn't tell a story of heartache plainly. She tells it through strange, polished images. And to tell it she happens to choose a character that's quite in vogue now: the femme fatale. After all, today's hottest prince charming happens to be a vampire named Edward Cullen. And in some worlds, such as that painted by Edvard Munch, the vampire and the femme fatale are one and the same.

But note that Lady GaGa is a femme fatale who starts out as vulnerable and ends up victorious. In "Paparazzi" her lover wrongs her, she sheds some tears, and then she merrily poisons him—and in the process regains her immense fame. In "Bad Romance," for every flash of her as a sexy conquerer, we see her soft, doe-eyed, with a halo of light pink hair. She's half-naked and crying in a tub while two very mean automaton women drag her out of the tub so she might later dance in a diamond collar before a host of creepy men, bidding on her. The bridal dress Lady GaGa wears when walking toward the man who bought her (and toward the marriage bed) is a brilliant symbol of her as a vulnerable femme fatale. Her dress is a bride's, but the train is made of a polar bear's snowy hide, snarling head included at the back. Watch the video for yourself to see how she is ultimately victorious. Hint: It involves a spit-fire bra.

What's most curious about Lady GaGa is that her videos suggest that the video a musician makes is just as important as, if not more important than, the song he or she writes. The word "musician" in this context doesn't fit. It's old hat. "Performer" and "artist" are more apt and more common parlance anyway. Lady Gaga marries the terms as a performance artist—granted, a second-rate one that's pretty tame, but she's pushing music further into the realm of images, and that's a fascinating trajectory to watch, especially when she's wearing whimsical hats. As the Romans said, mirabile visu!

(P.S. For those interested in a terrific history of fame, try 'The Frenzy of Renown" by Leo Braudy.)

(P.P.S. h/t to Paul Champaloux for reminding me about Lady GaGa's hat collection!)

It Takes a Little 'Courage'

This season marks some of our favorite traditions here at TBATC, chief among them, the pumpkin spice latte of course. But coming in a close second is the pardoning of the National Turkey. After all, it's not often we get to hear such stirring words from the President as: "I hereby pardon ‘Courage’ so that he can live out the rest of his days in peace and tranquility in Disneyland." Obama was following in a tradition we have yet to fully understand but will never cease to be amused by. Every year, for at least the last several administrations, the president formally pardons one lucky turkey and a runner up. These turkeys used to go live at Frying Pan Park, a petting farm in Northern Virginia, but more recent birds have been sent off to live the dream at Disneyland. For more, here's the WSJ's coverage of the White House event. More entertaining than the actual event, of course, is a West Wing rendition.

And finally, what's a holiday without the Peanuts Gang? Today marks Peanuts creator Charles Schulz's birthday. So in honor of Schulz and the gang, we bring you a small holiday treat.

Happy Thanksgiving, from our corner to yours.

Before Bo

Before there was the Obamas' Bo, there was Jimmy Stewart's Beau.

Below this little paragraph you'll see a clip of Jimmy reciting his poem about Beau on the Johnny Carson Show in 1981. This poem is something oh so pleasant, and I recommend it.



I don't want to read too far into names, but there's something to be said for the different spellings of Bo/Beau. "Bo" is a lighthearted reference to the singer Bo Diddley, related by sound to Michelle's father Diddley. But to those who might not know that, "Bo" sure does resemble President Obama's initials.

Jimmy named his pup Beau, and he was Jimmy's furry dandy, his escort with a tennis ball. It comes from the Latin bellus, -a, -um, meaning handsome, beautiful. I consider this a very good and generous name for a dog, with no tinge of selfishness or pretension in it either real or perceived.

But we already knew Jimmy was good at choosing names for his animals friends, even when he was on film. Just watch him deliver this back alley monologue as Elwood P. Dowd in 'Harvey.' It's even more pleasant than the poem clip. Or so I think.

Little Infinity

There are so many articles about the Kindle—about how cute it is, or convenient, or horrible. There's even an article lamenting how it's diminished cultural snobbery. And, of course, there's the long Nicholson Baker article from the New Yorker. Having read twentysomething articles about the Little White e-Book, I decided to stop reading about it.

And then I found, late, this brilliant article with this alluring title: "The Book That Contains All Books." The article is sharper than most on the subject of Kindles, talks about codices (most don't), and at the ends says something worth repeating:

Kindle 2 isn't really about what we may or may not want as readers and writers. It's about what the book wants to be. And the book wants to be itself and everything. It wants to be a vast abridgment of the universe that you can hold in your hand. It wants to be the transbook.

Ugly word "transbook" aside and whether a book actually wills to be something, Marche's comments remind me of that shining example of the short story, "The Library of Babel" by Jorge Luis Borges. The eternal librarian shuffles through the book-filled hexagonal rooms, which altogether create the Library (another word for Universe), which may or may not be infinite, and all the while he fritters away the hours looking for a book that contains all books.

The "discovery" of this perfect compendium, writes the weary librarian-narrator, would be "the capital fact in history." In it there would be

Everything, the minutely detailed history of the future, the archangels' autobiographies, the faithful catalogue of the Library, thousands and thousands of false catalogues, the demonstration of the fallacy of those catalogues, the demonstration of the fallacy of the true catalogue, the Gnostic gospel of Basilides, the commentary on that gospel, the true story of your death, the translation of every book in all languages, the interpolations of every book in all books.

There's something strangely elegant in how the imagination coincides, just even in part, with today's technology. I maintain that the librarian, should he get word of the Kindle, would jump off the side of the great honeycomb Library in the sky—or laugh. To expect a precious "silky vade mecum" all this time!—and then find a bit of plastic jammed with sequences of 0's and 1's instead. I wonder what footnote might Borges append to his story now.

(P.S. On a related note, here's an interesting interview of Umberto Eco on lists from an issue of Der Spiegel. In his thinking, even the laundry list is a "cultural achievement." So are grocery lists and menus. I guess I'm on the slow curve in life for not being a list-maker!)

Like Totally Annoying

It's official: If you want to annoy approximately 45% of the population, just throw "whatever" around more often. According to a recent Marist college poll, this is the word which wins the prize for annoying Americans the most. With so many overused and annoying phrases to choose from, how did "whatever" win out (at least over the top five presented in this poll)? Maybe it was just the tone the pollster used or whatever.

"Whatever" is one of the closest idiomatic equivalents to rolling the eyes, telling the world (well, not like the whole world, maybe just America) that we really couldn't care less. Not just that we couldn't care less about the conversation we throw the word into, but that we do not care enough to better express ourselves: either because we lack the ability or the initiative for the necessary effort.

Granted we all have our diction pet peeves, but at the end of the day, there is not much we can do other than use these cliches a bit less ourselves, you know.

Fancy Pants

When K'barbic and I went for a constitutional the other day, we strode by Talbot's. Now, I don't have anything against Talbot's. I worked there the summer between by sophomore and junior years, and the people working and shopping there were exceedingly nice. But, as I noticed in the Talbot's store window, and then in the catalog shipped to my home, Talbot's has a new ad campaign ... featuring Katharine Hepburn and Grace Kelly.

Why?

Just because Katharine rocked pants, and Grace did sometimes, too. Talbot's says it has a new “pant fit initiative” featuring “re-invented, re-interpreted and re-inspired” styles. The new catalog opens with a black-and-white spread of the ladies, one angular, one curvy, and both in crisply pleated pants. Here's the one of KH:










Okay, fine. But here are the pants Talbots is selling:











I don't see the connection. Do you? If anything, they look more like Audrey Hepburn's pants, just in stonewashed khaki.

If Talbot's wants to take this strange new ad campaign to the next level, I suggest that sales representatives greet customers not with today's "Hello, how are you?" but an "Ohhh, how do you do?" Say it with that old money Hepburn drawl, too, with hand imperially extended, and you're nearly on the set of Adam's Rib, whose poster features—yes—pants:

Footnote:

K'barbic broke her little piggy toe on Saturday.

This little piggy had insurance...

After you have adopted your hypo-allergenic micro pig, take a look at the top insurers for animals. Here at TBATC, although no one can doubt our enthusiasm for our four-legged friends, we were remiss and did not duly celebrate "Pet Health Insurance Month." In a September article, The Smart Set discussed the matter of pet health insurance. Although today we are all about piglets, I'm sure there is ample health coverage for the family capybara as well.

This little piggy ...

Here's another reason to be an Anglophile: Micro Pigs.

They are Britain's latest craze in the pet world and it's easy to see why: When piglets, they fit in the hollow of a tea cup. When full grown, they're only about a foot tall. Plus, they are great for people with pet allergies. If only the Obamas had gotten a Micro Pig. If only.

The London Telegraph reports on how breeders make the pigs so petite:

The pigs are crosses of Miniature Pot Bellied pigs with Tamworths, Kune Kunes and Gloucester Old Spots to create their tiny, colourful Micro Pigs, which are sold for between £195 and £700.

The size of the piglets get smaller with every litter with Peanut the piglet believed to be one of the tiniest adult pigs in Europe.

And while we're on the subject of piglets, did you see this item?

What We Haven't Been Blogging

Keastland and I realize there has been a lapse in our recent postings. To assure our readers that our keyboards are still getting exercise, here are our two most recent pieces for TWS. We have each taken looks at our cultural heritage: Keastland's reflection on family and Texas by looking at the work of Buck Schiwetz and K'barbic's love for the California cult classic, In-N-Out Burger.

Sweet Art

Ice cream. Two words which when they come together easily bring a smile. As summer draws to a close, we'll be less likely to indulge in this frozen treat so Apartment Therapy has provided a collection of ice cream art for us to enjoy. Some New York moms, however, may want no visible reminder of this most glorious of sugary treats.

Pass the Strawberry Yogurt, Please

In the spirit of K’Barbic’s last post, I would like to share a story. One day on the Internet, I found this picture and tweeted it. What is it of, you ask? A capybara crossing sign. (For those who don’t know, the capybara is a true Rodent Of Unusual Size—in fact, the largest species of rodent in the world.) If you do not know what a ROUS is, then it's time for you to watch The Princess Bride and learn about this most joyous acronym. (But do not worry, capybaras are much cuter and tamer than the bloodthirsty ROUS in The Princess Bride.) They also look wise, like Barack Obama in front of a teleprompter.

A few hours after I tweeted the picture, several people—no one I knew or followed—decided to re-tweet me. One went by the name “CaplinROUS.” I visited this person’s page only to find that it was not a person’s, but a capybara’s—a pet capybara’s. Who would welcome and pamper a massive rodent? A warm family in Austin, Texas, apparently. They keep this blog and tweet for him several times a day, often in response to other rodents. Some examples:

Strawberry yogurt for breakfast then my usual soak in the tub. Big day today. Book reading/capybara encounter at Kyle Library at 3 pm!

@MuffinGuineaPig Yes, I got treats after toenail trimming but it still wasn't worth it. I get treats all the time anyway.

I wonder what Aesop would think of this talking animal. ...

A Penny for Your Tweets

Texting can be an ill wind that brings no good. If you give some effort to texting in its various forms (IM, Twitter, Gchat, etc.), however, it can become a true art, or at least poetic verse. Several months ago, I opened a Twitter account upon the suggestion of Keastland. I take great enjoyment in crafting my Gchat status messages, and she, therefore, proclaimed it to be the perfect medium for my "stream of consciousness."

I opened an account. Began following and being followed. I tweeted a grand total of six times, and haven't let out a tweet since. You may assume by this pattern that I developed some sense of literary conscience believing tweeting to be somehow beneath me. On the contrary, I liken my response to a kind of stage fright. When placed upon the Twitter stage, I immediately felt a weight upon my creativity. It seemed that every 140-character (or less) post must contain an impressive measure of wit, and I did not possess the perseverance to express my thoughts to the world 140 characters at a time.

Returning to the original question NPR poses in considering new technology as a forum for poetry, "If Shakespeare were alive today, would'st he not Tweet?" Looking for the answer, I turned to Twitter in search of "William Shakespeare". (To revisit Twitter did require the wracking of my brain to remember the password to my neglected account.) While there were two screens-worth of William Shakespeares (fewer though from Stratford-Upon-Avon), I chose to follow the crowd and look at the profiles of the most popular. As you might expect, there were ample re-creations of famous lines from well-known plays, applying Shakespearean wit and wisdom to events and news stories. Perhaps, I did not search enough, but I failed to find any newly inspired creations in the meter of the Bard. With the number of William Shakespeares on Twitter today, the better question might be, If Shakespeare were alive and tweeting, would we be able to tell him apart from his impersonators?

What Chicken and World War II Share

In the past few months I've been watching a lot of movies from the '40s, several of them pertaining to World War II, whose outbreak occurred precisely 70 years ago this Sept 1. If you haven't already, do read Auden's famous poem on the topic, "September 1, 1939." The pic to the left is of him reciting it on the air waves.

The most recent movie to make its entrance into the WWII fold is Quentin Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds. I'm yet to see it, but Terry Teachout has a fine WSJ article on it and the enduring appeal of movies set in that war. He writes, "The Second World War is to filmmakers what chicken is to chefs, a canvas on which every imaginable kind of picture can be painted."

More poignantly, he cooks up this idea:

America has become a more contentious country in recent years, and I can't think of any postwar historical event, not even 9/11, about which most of us now share a true consensus view. ... Most Americans, no matter how they feel about waterboarding, gay marriage or health-care reform, pine in their secret hearts for a lost world in which everyone can agree on at least one thing: Nazis are no damn good.

A film he doesn't lace into his article, for the obvious reasons that it really isn't about the nitty gritty of war and it really wasn't all that popular when released in 1946, is A Matter of Life and Death, or as it was known in the U.S. Stairway to Heaven. It's one of the best from The Archers, the British team of Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, who co-wrote, co-produced, and co-directed their films. Granted, AMOLAD isn't everyone's fare, but if you have a soft spot for whimsy and love in the time of war, add it to your Netflix queue. The opening of the movie to tease you is here.

Look at My Book!

Why not embellish your life by using books as accessories?

Here I am posing with an amusing book (which takes itself a bit too seriously) by James Lipton—yes that Lipton, the one who hosted Inside the Actor’s Studio. It’s titled An Exhaltation of Larks: The Ultimate Edition, More Than 1,000 Terms. Lipton considers it his “letter to the world.” Read it to learn what to call groups of various things, from aardvarks to yuppies. (There are no entries under “z.”) And yes, some of the collective nouns are real while others are fashioned by Lipton.

Now that I'm in the know, I suppose I'll have to call my mug decorated with a parade of eight identical partridges my “covey of partridges.” Or not.

Super Gunn

A comic book hero TBATC can get behind. Not only is Project Runway finally back featuring one of our favorite reality show hosts, but now Tim Gunn is being immortalized as a fashion super hero. "With great power comes great responsibility"; therefore, we fully support Tim and his quest to rid the world of Crocs.

Our Lady of the Peafowl

I haven’t yet made a pilgrimage to Flannery O’Connor’s home Andalusia, but now I’m tempted more than ever to use my frequent flier miles on a plane straight to Savannah. Why? Because the peafowl have returned. Not Flannery’s flock, the last of which died in the late '80s, but three new ones. They even have a posh aviary to keep them safe from predators. Read the whole story here.

O’Connor famously raised her peafowl with swans, chickens, pheasants, quail, turkeys, geese, mallards, and Japanese and Polish bantams at Andalusia starting in 1952. In short, she liked winged things. But, as she wrote in the September 1961 issue of Holiday, she “felt a lack” until bringing peafowl into her fold. She says she has “no short or reasonable answer” for her fascination with them. “My frenzy said: I want so many of them that every time I go out the door I’ll run into one.”

Peafowl turn up in her letters and stories frequently. In one letter she notes a peacock who snatched visitors’ cigarettes and chewed them up. Apparently, it should have lived on a tobacco plantation. And in her story “The Displaced Person,” the priest, looking upon a peacock’s spread tail, utters, “Christ will come like that.” And in “King of the Birds,” she writes:

When it suits him, the peacock will face you. Then you will see in a green-bronze arch around him a galaxy of gazing haloed suns. This is the moment when most people are silent. … I have never known a strutting peacock to budge a fraction of an inch for a truck or tractor or automobile. It is up to the vehicle to get out of the way.

In fact, O’Connor had a peacock named “Limpy.” It had only one foot, the left, for the right had been lobbed off by a mowing machine.

To Helvetica with It All

The Guardian's Simon Garfield reminds us why font matters, "Used well, type design defines mood, and how we think about everything we see."

"It's the Great Pumpkin"

Soon the leaves will change color, and the air will turn a little crisper. For as long as I can remember, I have loved the fall, the back-to-school season. Yes, I was one of those children. Even now, I must resist the urge to run to Office Depot to pick up an assortment of spiral notebooks and color code them for class. Of course, I do not miss the tests and pop quizzes, and most definitely not the math homework. One of my favorite things about being a "grown-up" is the ability to thoroughly enjoy the fall homework-free and focus on more enjoyable activities like fall baking, featuring one of my favorite ingredients: the Great Pumpkin.

Already, the Starbucks fall favorite, the Pumpkin Spice Latte which is essentially Thanksgiving in a coffee cup, has made its return to the menu. Surely, all other joys of fall are not far behind. Starbucks is not the only place to enjoy pumpkin goodness, however, nor do you have to wait for dessert at the traditional Thanksgiving feast. From muffins to pancakes, pumpkin is the key to delicious fall baked goods. One of my favorite recipes, and a county fair blue-ribbon winner, is one my mother gave me for pumpkin chocolate chip muffins. I believe the recipe originally came from her Taste of Home subscription, but we've copied it on so many 3x5 cards we pretty much consider it our own now. As any good recipe, it's meant to be shared and enjoyed. So whip out your favorites and enjoy the tastes of fall, and if necessary visit your local pumpkin patch to seek out the Great Pumpkin.

K'barbic Favorite: Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Muffin Recipe

Ingredients:
4 eggs
2 c sugar
1 can (16 oz) pumpkin
1 1/2 c vegetable oil
3 c flour
2 tsp baking soda
2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp salt
2 c semisweet chocolate chips

Beat eggs, sugar, pumpkin and oil until smooth. Add flour, baking soda, baking powder, cinnamon and salt and mix well. Fold in chocolate chips. Fill paper lined muffin cups 3/4 full. Bake at 400 degrees F for 16-20 minutes or until the muffins test done (toothpick comes out clean). Cool in pan 10 minutes. Remove to wire rack. Yields about 24 standard size muffins.

Sleeves on Steroids

There’s a lot of talk about Michelle Obama and her general distaste for sleeves. (Hey, if I had her ripping triceps and biceps, I’d want to show them off, too, and would probably hold a small funeral for arm fabric near the White House vegetable patch.) But, alas, I don’t have her guns, so I wear—and fondly think about—sleeves.

The other day I was looking at the red carpet looks of the guests attending the Met’s annual Museum Costume Institute Gala. I came across one look featuring giant, glorified sleeves on a fitted Dolce and Gabbana tuxedo. The look is Rihanna’s, and—perhaps importantly—this was her first public appearance since her ex-boyfriend/scumbag Chris Brown had allegedly beat her in February. You might call it a power tux, a declaration of her self-sufficiency, individuality, etc. It’s like she ditched Chris, raided his closet for his best formal attire, and then made it her own for everyone to see.

We all know that puffy sleeves and shoulder pads (and the power suit) were all the rage in the '80s, and that decade likely inspired Rihanna’s tux; but there’s another time period that Rihanna’s bold look brings to mind: the Elizabethan. Just take a look at these gigot (aka mutton) sleeves on Elizabeth. Or these. Like Rihanna’s, they’re pretty much cloth on steroids. Now, imagine Elizabeth sporting sleeves that fit her arms closely—or, if you can, without sleeves at all. She would loose her imposing look. She’d just seem top- and bottom-heavy, her arms powerless to do anything more than sign a wobbly "ER," her aspect no longer an elegant mountain of rich, structured cloth. Along with the long milky strands of pearls, the starched ruff, the wrinkleless and shadowless face, halo of vibrant red hair, and blooming skirt, these sleeves were a part of how she crafted a public image of herself in paint as a powerful, self-controlled, self-sufficient queen.

But back to Michelle for a moment. When the New Yorker ran a cover in March with three visions of her on a runway, in each vision she was wearing … sleeves. Yet on the inside there was short article by Washington Post fashion writer Robin Givhan that praised Michelle for her sleevenessless. Givhan writes:

Those arms represent personal time. They are evidence of a forty-five-year-old woman’s refusal to give up every free moment in service to husband, kids, and all the nagging distractions that could have filled her days and left her tuning in to “Oprah,” trying to figure out how she’d lost herself along the way. The arms imply vanity and power: two things that make many women uncomfortable and yet are fundamental to self-confidence.

First of all, encouraging women to be vain because the first lady is vain smacks of bad taste on several levels. But anyway, for those of us who are sweet on sleeves—batwing sleeves, bell sleeves, juliette sleeves, pagoda sleeves, raglan sleeves—just remember Elizabeth I and Rihanna. But please, please forget the tatoos on the latter.

A Refridgerator Tale

The office fridge: the insulated tomb where unwanted leftovers go to die. It's the testament to many a well-meaning office worker whose best laid plans to save money and brown bag their lunch have sadly gone awry. After reading the sad tale of this San Jose office, I have realized that my greatest fears for my own office fridge could become reality. Have we been wasting our time fretting over threats like swine flu, when an even greater danger looms down the hall in our office kitchen? Perhaps today is the day to be "enterprising" and eliminate the threat. More likely, my coworkers and I will open the fridge door, shake our heads in disgust, and then self-righteously declare: "Why don't people just throw their junk away?"