porch night

oh, alabama, when will you learn? (with rambling digression about postermaking)

Good old Alabama. They are so silly. They banned the wine, called Cycles Gladiator, with my favorite label on it, because it's so very awesome offensive.

Interestingly enough, the label is taken from an Art Nouveau advertisement poster (printed in 1895) for a bicycle company. So here we are, in the alleged 21st century, getting all hot and bothered by a late 19th century poster. Le sigh. Not to mention that postermaking as an art was, in my opinion, at its apex during this period. You had Mucha, Toulouse-Lautrec, Guillame, and Chéret, among others. I'm not saying that there aren't amazing modern posters. I also like Polish posters, they are wonderful. Really, I just love art, real art, thinking about it, looking at it, talking about it, everything about it. It makes my soul feel alive.

So maybe I shouldn't say that the ultimate apex of posters was the Art Nouveau era. I see amazing, amazing modern stuff all the time. Art Nouveau artists were influenced by Japanese woodblocks, and modern artists are influenced by Art Nouveau and Japanese art and a bunch of other stuff, and industrial design and art are practically inseperable these days, so maybe everything is really interconnected and we are just lucky to have access to it all.

Anyway, here's the NPR article about the wine. I'm just glad I don't live in Alabama.

this year

I don't know about you, but I feel like that sentence, which is available in a 11x14 print for $50 (here), is more than apt.

And then there's the Mountain Goats song:



This Year
by The Mountain Goats

I broke free on a Saturday morning
I put the pedal to the floor
Headed north on Mills Avenue
And listened to the engine roar.

My broken house behind me and good things ahead
A girl named Cathy wants a little of my time
Six cylinders underneath the hood, crashing and kicking
Ah-haa, listen to the engine whine!

I am going to make it through this year if it kills me
I am going to make it through this year if it kills me

I played video games in a drunken haze
I was seventeen years young
Hurt my knuckles punching the machines
The taste of scotch rich on my tongue

And then Cathy showed up, and we hung out
Trading swigs from the bottle, all bitter and clean
Locking eyes, holding hands
Twin high maintenance machines

I am going to make it through this year if it kills me
I am going to make it through this year if it kills me

I drove home in the California dusk
I could feel the alcohol inside of me hum
Pictured the look on my stepfather's face
Ready for the bad things to come

I down shifted as I pulled into the driveway
The motor screaming out, stuck in second gear
The scene ends badly as you might imagine
In a cavalcade of anger and fear

There will be feasting and dancing in Jerusalem next year!

I am going to make it through this year if it kills me
I am going to make it through this year if it kills me

family time

scary giant pickling cucumber

puppy island

hehehe

naptimes

kismet loves flowers

the skull is not sweet