Why dont the Warriors draft this BadBoy?

Encounter #138: Unheard of.

I'm pretty tired of white people talking about Wayne (as I know Cuy is as well) but allow me this: Wayne knows some hoops. He drops some names you probably don't even want to pay attention to, like Spencer Hawes, noted seven-foot Pacific Northwest redneck Republican. Also, it's unclear who his "we"s refer to, even though "we" all know he's from Nola, not Sacto, and I'm sure he drinks clear alcohol with CP3. He's a genuine weirdo. Related: Maybe my horned rim glasses (yup) should be bigger? --RWK [via]

No Capes #10: Dean

What Community? #72: Allen K crouches. Design Poach #5

What: Konisberg gettin small in paints. Hey: Thanks, art.
Stolen from: Supervillain, who stole from bebe le strange, who stole from ClydeHouse.

Encounter #125: Sit down, son.

Dear Dwyane,
You are real. You make me laff and cry. You make OJ sit down, like your son, son. You make me think, Wow, I will never do that. You remind me, Yep, I am a top 4 talent. You play hard.
All the best!
--RWK

Encounter #124: Une Catastrophe, de Jean-Luc Godard

Nathan is hella correct, my friends. This thing is just too fucking good. So good I need to jump out my window into the rain--no pants!--and run around the block all freezing, laughing as the drops pelt my face and chest and my (rully long, for me) hair gets pushed flat on my forehead into my eyes so by the time I'm circled 'round again not only am I colder than cold but I'm straight shivering everywhere and, well, I'm blind, too. Dude can't quit tennis, can he? --RWK

(Not) Genius Marketing #41: Everlasting Moments

Martha's been goin gaga for this film on the email front (exposure, What!) as she works together some words after seeing the thing in Santa Fe. Kinda crappy trailer sometimes, kinda crappy title, too, sometimes, but I really want to see this sadness. I mean, I can sense how it would/could (will?) hang together as one of The Great Things. I'll grant her that. She's crazy smart, and funnier than most people--in the written word no less. Have you read her blog yet? Get on it, dummy, like, yesterday and the month before. --RWK

What Community? #69: Thousands of feet.

Finally caught up with this BLDGBLOG post, and, well, it's everything to me right now. (Or, almost. That shower felt pretty good, too.) The gist: there's this dude, right, I mean there's always a dude, and he's living at the top of this big motherfucker cuz it takes too long to go home on the ground every day. Since I'm dumb, I bought that story right away. But Geoff Manaugh is smart. So I'm'a quote him here:

Whether or not this is even true – after all, I never think truth is the point in stories like this – 1) the idea of appropriating a construction crane as a new form of domestic space – a kind of parasitic sub-structure attached to the very thing it's helped to construct (perhaps raising the question: what is the ontology of construction cranes?) – is totally awesome; 2) further, the idea that crane operators are subject to these sorts of urban rumors and speculations brings me back to the idea that there might be a burgeoning comparative literature of mega-construction sites taking shape today, with this particular case representing a strong subgenre: mythic construction worker stories, John Henry-esque figures who single-handedly assemble whole floors of Dubai skyscrapers at midnight, with a cigarette in one hand and a hammer in the other (or so the myths go), as a kind of oral history of the global construction trade; and, finally, 3) there should be some kind of TV show – or a book, or a magazine interview series – similar to Dirty Jobs in which you go around visiting people who live in absurd places – like construction cranes atop the Burj Dubai, or extremely distant lighthouses, or remote drawbridge operation rooms on the south Chinese coast, or the janitorial supply chambers of inner London high-rises – in order to capture what could be called the new infrastructural domesticity: people who go to sleep at night, and brush their teeth, and shave, and change clothes, and shower, inside jungle radar towers for the French foreign legion, or up above the train tracks of Grand Central Station because their shift starts at 3am and they have to stay close to the job.
How do they decorate these spaces, or personalize them, or make them into recognizable homes? It's like a willful misreading of Heidegger as applied to the question of building, dwelling inside, and thinking about modern infrastructure.
I'm reminded of a line from Paul Beaty's new novel, Slumberland. Early in the book he writes, and my jaw dropped: "Sometimes just making yourself at home is revolutionary."

--RWK

No Capes #2: WSB

No Capes #1: Straub-Huillet

Considerable linear extent in space #2: The realness. No words necessary. Some words soon, I promise.

--RWK [via Fanhouse]

Reclamation #1: Yes we will. We did. Reclamation #2, Songs #29: I'm so grateful!

by Ryland Walker Knight

Although the haters of my home state, that odd paradise on the gold coast, seem nearly victorious pushing Prop 8 into legislation, we do, indeed, have our first black president in President-Elect Barack Obama. Yes: this is our first black first family. Yes: there are still hurdles--there's a ton. But: fuck that. This is awesome. This is big, like HUGE. And his speech was so well written it was hard not to smile and tear and laugh and raise my flute more than a few times. I went on a run at midnight last night, then I stayed up late reading all kinds of reactions and watching the Prop 8 results slowly reveal their terrible (as well as the sad loss of Al Franken, who I was pulling for for a variety of reasons). I didn't sleep much. I read the transcript of our man's speech and I brimmed again. I re-read some Cavell that stirs my soul, that I sent around the internet the past week in emails, and then I put on Happy-Go-Lucky and then I fell asleep smiling. This morning brings those realizations of defeat home a little harder, yes, but it equally reminds us of that trope everybody is loving right now: a new dawn. Yes: the idealist in me only wants to weep, to celebrate, to dance in the streets of Chicago and show the world love, to remind my friends that, well, it's just a law and while we must subscribe to that law if we live in this society we may also see some brave body say, "No," and appeal his and his and her and her rights to build a more perfect union along with the rest of America, this America that, for at least a speech's length, was, Yes, my head.

If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible; who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time; who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer.

It’s the answer told by lines that stretched around schools and churches in numbers this nation has never seen; by people who waited three hours and four hours, many for the very first time in their lives, because they believed that this time must be different; that their voice could be that difference.

It’s the answer spoken by young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Latino, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled – Americans who sent a message to the world that we have never been a collection of Red States and Blue States: we are, and always will be, the United States of America.

It’s the answer that led those who have been told for so long by so many to be cynical, and fearful, and doubtful of what we can achieve to put their hands on the arc of history and bend it once more toward the hope of a better day.

It’s been a long time coming, but tonight, because of what we did on this day, in this election, at this defining moment, change has come to America.

I just received a very gracious call from Senator McCain. He fought long and hard in this campaign, and he’s fought even longer and harder for the country he loves. He has endured sacrifices for America that most of us cannot begin to imagine, and we are better off for the service rendered by this brave and selfless leader. I congratulate him and Governor Palin for all they have achieved, and I look forward to working with them to renew this nation’s promise in the months ahead.

I want to thank my partner in this journey, a man who campaigned from his heart and spoke for the men and women he grew up with on the streets of Scranton and rode with on that train home to Delaware, the Vice President-elect of the United States, Joe Biden.

I would not be standing here tonight without the unyielding support of my best friend for the last sixteen years, the rock of our family and the love of my life, our nation’s next First Lady, Michelle Obama. Sasha and Malia, I love you both so much, and you have earned the new puppy that’s coming with us to the White House. And while she’s no longer with us, I know my grandmother is watching, along with the family that made me who I am. I miss them tonight, and know that my debt to them is beyond measure.

To my campaign manager David Plouffe, my chief strategist David Axelrod, and the best campaign team ever assembled in the history of politics – you made this happen, and I am forever grateful for what you’ve sacrificed to get it done.

But above all, I will never forget who this victory truly belongs to – it belongs to you.

I was never the likeliest candidate for this office. We didn’t start with much money or many endorsements. Our campaign was not hatched in the halls of Washington – it began in the backyards of Des Moines and the living rooms of Concord and the front porches of Charleston.

It was built by working men and women who dug into what little savings they had to give five dollars and ten dollars and twenty dollars to this cause. It grew strength from the young people who rejected the myth of their generation’s apathy; who left their homes and their families for jobs that offered little pay and less sleep; from the not-so-young people who braved the bitter cold and scorching heat to knock on the doors of perfect strangers; from the millions of Americans who volunteered, and organized, and proved that more than two centuries later, a government of the people, by the people and for the people has not perished from this Earth. This is your victory.

I know you didn’t do this just to win an election and I know you didn’t do it for me. You did it because you understand the enormity of the task that lies ahead. For even as we celebrate tonight, we know the challenges that tomorrow will bring are the greatest of our lifetime – two wars, a planet in peril, the worst financial crisis in a century. Even as we stand here tonight, we know there are brave Americans waking up in the deserts of Iraq and the mountains of Afghanistan to risk their lives for us. There are mothers and fathers who will lie awake after their children fall asleep and wonder how they’ll make the mortgage, or pay their doctor’s bills, or save enough for college. There is new energy to harness and new jobs to be created; new schools to build and threats to meet and alliances to repair.

The road ahead will be long. Our climb will be steep. We may not get there in one year or even one term, but America – I have never been more hopeful than I am tonight that we will get there. I promise you – we as a people will get there.

There will be setbacks and false starts. There are many who won’t agree with every decision or policy I make as President, and we know that government can’t solve every problem. But I will always be honest with you about the challenges we face. I will listen to you, especially when we disagree. And above all, I will ask you join in the work of remaking this nation the only way it’s been done in America for two-hundred and twenty-one years – block by block, brick by brick, calloused hand by calloused hand.

What began twenty-one months ago in the depths of winter must not end on this autumn night. This victory alone is not the change we seek – it is only the chance for us to make that change. And that cannot happen if we go back to the way things were. It cannot happen without you.

So let us summon a new spirit of patriotism; of service and responsibility where each of us resolves to pitch in and work harder and look after not only ourselves, but each other. Let us remember that if this financial crisis taught us anything, it’s that we cannot have a thriving Wall Street while Main Street suffers – in this country, we rise or fall as one nation; as one people.

Let us resist the temptation to fall back on the same partisanship and pettiness and immaturity that has poisoned our politics for so long. Let us remember that it was a man from this state who first carried the banner of the Republican Party to the White House – a party founded on the values of self-reliance, individual liberty, and national unity. Those are values we all share, and while the Democratic Party has won a great victory tonight, we do so with a measure of humility and determination to heal the divides that have held back our progress. As Lincoln said to a nation far more divided than ours, "We are not enemies, but friends...though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection." And to those Americans whose support I have yet to earn – I may not have won your vote, but I hear your voices, I need your help, and I will be your President too.

And to all those watching tonight from beyond our shores, from parliaments and palaces to those who are huddled around radios in the forgotten corners of our world – our stories are singular, but our destiny is shared, and a new dawn of American leadership is at hand. To those who would tear this world down – we will defeat you. To those who seek peace and security – we support you. And to all those who have wondered if America’s beacon still burns as bright – tonight we proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes not from our the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity, and unyielding hope.

For that is the true genius of America – that America can change. Our union can be perfected. And what we have already achieved gives us hope for what we can and must achieve tomorrow.

This election had many firsts and many stories that will be told for generations. But one that’s on my mind tonight is about a woman who cast her ballot in Atlanta. She’s a lot like the millions of others who stood in line to make their voice heard in this election except for one thing – Ann Nixon Cooper is 106 years old.

She was born just a generation past slavery; a time when there were no cars on the road or planes in the sky; when someone like her couldn’t vote for two reasons – because she was a woman and because of the color of her skin.

And tonight, I think about all that she’s seen throughout her century in America – the heartache and the hope; the struggle and the progress; the times we were told that we can’t, and the people who pressed on with that American creed: Yes we can.

At a time when women’s voices were silenced and their hopes dismissed, she lived to see them stand up and speak out and reach for the ballot. Yes we can.

When there was despair in the dust bowl and depression across the land, she saw a nation conquer fear itself with a New Deal, new jobs and a new sense of common purpose. Yes we can.

When the bombs fell on our harbor and tyranny threatened the world, she was there to witness a generation rise to greatness and a democracy was saved. Yes we can.

She was there for the buses in Montgomery, the hoses in Birmingham, a bridge in Selma, and a preacher from Atlanta who told a people that "We Shall Overcome." Yes we can.

A man touched down on the moon, a wall came down in Berlin, a world was connected by our own science and imagination. And this year, in this election, she touched her finger to a screen, and cast her vote, because after 106 years in America, through the best of times and the darkest of hours, she knows how America can change. Yes we can.

America, we have come so far. We have seen so much. But there is so much more to do. So tonight, let us ask ourselves – if our children should live to see the next century; if my daughters should be so lucky to live as long as Ann Nixon Cooper, what change will they see? What progress will we have made?

This is our chance to answer that call. This is our moment. This is our time – to put our people back to work and open doors of opportunity for our kids; to restore prosperity and promote the cause of peace; to reclaim the American Dream and reaffirm that fundamental truth – that out of many, we are one; that while we breathe, we hope, and where we are met with cynicism, and doubt, and those who tell us that we can’t, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people:

Yes We Can. Thank you, God bless you, and may God Bless the United States of America.

[There will be something embeddable in the near future, I'm sure (as evidenced above), but for now look here to see these words performed, passsionately.]


As Mark and Kate and I cleaned up a bit last night, before our free can of PBR downstairs and my joyful departure home, I put on this Dennis Ferrer song that Cam sent my way because, really, what else were we to listen to? Fuck. Yes. FUCK YES! Maybe, fuggit, I'll eat some bacon. Or, hell, I'll go get coffee and donuts. Whatever it is, I'm feelin it already.

Dennis Ferrer ft Kenny Bobien - Grateful (Df's Raise Yo Hands Vox Mix) (zshare)

[x-posted on VINYL IS HEAVY]

Encounter #116: Bite me. New York City keeps calling.

Abel Ferrara proves "cool" still happens. It's about strength. Vitality is rare these daze. I know I'm fighting to find it in me every ordinary day down the line. I guess anybody reading this in NYC already knows: go see Mary, like, yesterday over here. --RWK [via Ray Pride, x-posted on ViH]

Encounter #115: Tofu rides boards

"The water-loving rats are even on a special diet to stay in shape." Loving it. More evidence: if a rat can learn to surf, I can learn to skate--even at relatively doughy 26. --RWK [via Carlton via Daily Mail]

What Community? #59: A Cross The Universe

Just what you thought it'd be, boobs and coke and vomit and everything else. Gah. What a way to live. At least the images look good. It's weird, however effective, to brand a lifestyle. Especially a lifestyle like this. But, hey, it's "cool", right? --RWK

Goats #2

Genius Marketing #35: "The purpose of art"

This is too fucking funny. And, yet, yes, smart -- at least he is. --RWK

Encounter #108: Reach back a little bit.

He looks great here, sounds like a real person, and smart. Listen to his new album. As Carlton said, there's not a great sad song (even "Sometimes" feels good), but the flip side of that is the album just vibes hard until the end. It loves life. I love it. So I'm'a shill it a bit. --RWK

What Community? #51: Paradise?

Bill sent along this link with this sentiment: "I want to change people's lives." It's a pretty awesome documentary about the roots of Larry Levan and Paradise Garage and the whole beginnings of dance culture. Yes, it began as a haven for (primarily black and Latino) gay dudes. But it was more about feeling free than anything. What's weird about the dance scene now, or at least the SF dance scene, is the emphasis away from that communal spirit towards supreme partying and fucking and money. Not that that didn't happen then. And maybe it's just a sign of the world's changes. But I get a way different vibe at joints like Blow Up or Lights Down Low. Everything's become packaged, a sign of cool, instead of just something cool. The cool kids are probably the biggest posers/actors, too. Bill and I were talking about that a bit, too, the other day: we don't dress hip, nor do we only dress like bums, nor do we take a simplicity stance towards hipness; we definitely exist in the middle ground, which works against you in a place like SF, and fits the East Bay a lot better. Something about a holdover punk ethos. And, you know, neither of us has a job. Although that will be changing quite significantly soon enough. Both of us need jobs now more than ever (in the past two years). The point of all this is that Larry Levan changed people. Dance music can change people. And with a little luck Bill and Carlton and Stevie Fresh will change the East Bay and its (mostly stupid) perception of dance music. Berkeley house parties were the first step. Look for the Husky Boys brand to expand to Oakland (and beyond, like Thailand) through the fall. We may not be able to start the next Garage but we can definitely start something. And we can always dance. I hope I can take some pictures. More later, soon. --RWK [To watch the full doc, just follow the links; I know you can do it.]

Encounter #105: Kobe's just like you, nerd. (Not!)

I'm waiting for the day when we hear about how Zen Master got Kobe to read something goofy like Alan Watts or how when he retires he plans to sit down (maybe treadmill it?) and really read Truth and Method. (He loves the Continent, right?) Until then, here's a story about Kobe buying comics after hours for his plane ride to China. (Yup: this is timely shit.) In any event, since my basketball blogging is strictly parasitic for the time being (and probably will remain so), I should again announce that I'm of the camp that, asshole or no, Kobe is fucking fascinating; singular in a way no other superstar has been. It's kind of similar to what makes Chris Bosh so cool (on the surface: they have personalities!) but Bosh's youthful enthusiasms are charming whereas Kobe's odd trajectory to now makes him more enigma than a known entity, a mamba with all kinds of crazy fighting inside that only shows up in how ferocious he plays. Here's where the Gadamer comes in: what is play for this dude? I've seen him laugh, I've seen him jump over things on youtube with a smile, I've seen him arm in arm with teammates and trophies; I've rarely seen him smile on the court, in a game, and when I have it was during some broadcast-muted trash talk with the other team's luminary. I guess plenty of athletes are intense and fierce competitors. But, and here comes that cliché, there's something else in how Kobe attacks, and how Kobe walks away from, the basket -- even a fade away is cut-throat for him -- that makes him so good and so ruthless and so compelling. I mean, he said, "I like that dark shit," when asked what comics he likes, and I think there's other stuff going on there, too. The idea of Preacher appealed to him. And apparently he's a big fan of 100 Bullets, too. That's some down right abject mess. Maybe Kobe will read Georges Bataille instead of Gadamer. Hyuck, hyuck. --RWK

[Pic 1, stolen from the original post, of Kobe with Lee's Comics' intrepid reporter slash employee Taio Iwado; Pic 2 stolen from Tirico Suave]