Two citizens of the world, (almost) ready to embark
Tony and Rebecca are beginning their great affair. After quitting their jobs in D.C., putting their house on the market, and moving back to Tennessee, they're embarking on a six-month journey around the world. They will start in India and plan to end in Italy. Godspeed, you crazy enchiladas! I'll be tuning in.
In the coming weeks you'll notice changes here at Daily Gusto. You know the neighbor who doesn't mow his lawn, who lets the weeds and grass grow until small animals begin to settle in and build habitats for striking out at any passersby? Yeah, me neither. But I'm trying to get at a metaphor for the simple fact that I've let the site go.
Over the coming weeks I'll be cleaning the place up and rebuilding DG and Jennifer's Teapot Dome blog, too. It will mean lots of installation headaches and template changing and the kinds of things that made me not update for four years.
I'm using the Movable Type blog software from January 2004. As many updates have come and gone, there are a lot of things I can't just do because my updates now require updates, etc.
Orange Flower has started a 30-day macro photography challenge over at Flickr -- not a contest, just a share, compare and don't despair kind of thing (thanks for sharing, Kim). Meant to keep you engaged and taking pics every day.
I'm back. It's been a strange summer. I've been working on creating a new blog to cover the race for president: Flattering, Kissing and Kicking. Yes, November 2008 is 26 months away, but I'm in it for the long haul. I hope to offer something other political sites don't: sanity and independence. Swing on by and tell your friends.
As far as Gusto goes, my goal is to try to post less frequently but more substantially. I'd like to put up a longer piece every Monday. Until next Monday, enjoy this video I shot at the Dance of the Giglio in East Harlem. It features sweaty Italian-Americans dancing and a hundred-foot tower dedicated to Saint Anthony.
We're taking a summer vacation. There won't be a lot of posting while the weather's hot, since we're afraid our laptops will slip into the kiddy pool at our feet (and little lappys don't like that). We'll be back in a couple months with MORE, MORE, MORE!
Slate has a fascinating little architectural slideshow of "DisneyTown," Celebration, Florida. While I still find the whole concept of DisneyTown (okay, the whole concept of Florida) terrifying, Slate (in its usual fashion) manages to be even-handed. Check it out.
In a time when nothing seemed to matter.
In a place where fantasy knew no bounds.
Specifically, yesterday.
Behind the ice rink.
Cigarettes.
Became a passport to popularity.
For yet another teenager.
I was more than a little outraged at the political pageant of two 9/11 widows and a brother who lost his family member to terrorists telling their emotional stories on a GOP stage. It's indecent, disrespectful, and totally effective.
Of course we all know the GOP is in New York to capitalize on September 11, 2001. But the wonderful thing about our nation's response to that tragedy was its bipartisan unity. It didn't matter what political party, race, color, religion, even nationality, you were. In the months after 9/11 the country seemed to forget differences and ban together in a common grieving. We were all New Yorkers -- and then one party led us to division.
What so many people have forgotten is that Bush's response wasn't immediate. I personally think Bush has gotten an overly bad rap for doing nothing in the seven minutes after hearing about the World Trade Center attacks. He was in a schoolroom, reading "My Pet Goat" to children, and did absolutely nothing for seven minutes after hearing that many thousands could be dying and that America was under assault.
That would be ok. Maybe he was thinking through the issue, or mustering courage, or something. But do you remember thinking, as I do, "Where is our President?" It seemed like Bush was AWOL. Not just on September 11, when Air Force One jetted Bush off to hide from potential danger, but also on September 12. And September 13. Not until September 14, a full three days after the tragedy, did Bush come to New York. This is courageous leadership?
It still touches me to see those firefighters and emergency personel working among the wreckage, and to see GWB scrambling amongst to rubble to try to console the nation. It all seems so ordinary now. The President, consoling families and workers, with simple words like "I can hear you." With the benefit of time and perspective, that's what Bush looks like as he stands there in the wreckage a full three days after the attacks. Not a hero, but ordinary. It's shameful for anyone to make an ordinary response to an extraordinary tragedy into a political commercial.
Today is the one-year anniversary of Daily Gusto's launch. To commemorate the occasion, we thought we'd highlight some of the stories we ran on the first day, back when we were spending every second of our free time on Gusto and before we devolved into the sometime link-peddlers we are today. Thanks to all past and current contributors for helping us (improbably) hit the year mark!
A while back, H.J. did a little post that mentioned Jesse McCartney, teenage heartthrob. Since then, thanks to our search engine placement, the comments from tweeners have been trickling in, mostly from those who apparently just really want his email address (not because they, you know, love him or anything). Check it out.
Because of work schedules (barring miracles or errant moments of slackage), posting will most likely be light this week. May we suggest some of the general fabulousness on our blogroll over there?
Sigh. July has come to Manhattan and with it, my least favorite thing ever, humidity. When just walking outside makes me feel like a big old head of wilted lettuce, it's time to find some creative solutions. Lush Fresh Handmade Products, the U.K.-based beauty purveyor who uses so many fresh ingredients they put expiration dates and made by stickers on all of their products, recently opened a location in downtown New York on Broadway at 34th Street. I wandered in after a long wait at the DMV upstairs and discovered a brilliant summertime invention on their shelves — freezable bath gel in individual ice cube-sized portions. They took their regular bath gel which comes in a variety of scents and put it inside a plastic sheet portioned into single serving size bubbles. You stick this bad boy in the freezer, then cut of a section or two for the shower, and as it melts enjoy a shot of deliciously cold cleanliness. It's a little S&M, pain equals pleasure kind of experience but is a really a perfect way to end a hot, humid day. There is a caveat — keep the plastic up right or frozen all the time or the bath gel will leak all over the place. I found this out the hard way. I'm also storing it inside a plastic bag, so my freezer doesn't get soap residue everywhere. But when I've used up the Lush product, I think I might dedicate an ice-cube tray for storing regular bath gel to keep myself cool through August and September. That's the part of summer when I upgrade from wilted lettuce to steamed dumpling. It ain't pretty.
...and since I've been holding down the fort while H.J. is launching a new product at his day job (someday we'll all be able to see streaming trial footage on our cell phones, should we -- you know -- actually want to), you'll get little from us today.
O.J. Simpson has committed the ultimate crime. I'm not talking about the brutal murders of his wife Nicole Brown Simpson and her friend Ron Goldman ten years ago tomorrow, which are crimes for which the Juice was exonerated by a California jury. I'm talking about diet.
In newly discovered video, Simpson endorses carbohydrates. "All things considered, you can't go wrong eating foods high in complex carbohydrates." View this monster endorsing potatoes, pastas, and breads for "good health." Dr. Atkins is rolling over in his supersized grave. [Requires Windows Media Player]
If you haven't been keeping up with Brian McFadden's Big Fat Whale comic, today's strip is both timely and hilarious. While you're there, also check out Brian's newish blog ("Thar he blogs!").
The FBI's preliminary crime report is out. Mayor Bloomberg beamed like a proud father yesterday. "New York City has not only retained its title as the safest big city in the country, it has defied the odds and become even safer."
Due to increased real-work output so that we might earn our upcoming four-day weekend, posting will be light or, in the worst case, just downright non-existent this week. May we suggest the fine establishments to the right for your reading and/or work-shirking pleasure?
The Rummy-o-Meter has generated all kinds of new traffic to Gusto. Among our referrers was this German site.
We at Gusto are curious folk. To place our collective finger on the pulse of German thought about the Rummy-o-Meter, we used the handy Google Language Tools to translate:
Secretaries of Defense probably most exactly illustrate. Because the alternatives for its boss in the white house are conceivablly unsatisfactory. (from view the Bushs probably more favorable) an alternative would be it to make Rumsfelds substitute Wolfowitz the boss pentagon. Therefore the Rummy o meter stands despite all reproaches on the 2. Danger stage "blue", "kriegt me, if can do you". That holds... Rummy o meter... however again the presidency candidate John Kerry not off to furnish a Petitions form on the own campaign Site: "Donald Rumsfeld MUST withdraw"
When you die, do you want to be cremated and have your ashes scattered at sea? Yeah, neither do I. But if you do -- why not include your friends and family on a three-hour cruise? I'm not sure if this would be some kind of a booze cruise with a Jimmy Buffet impersonator, but I'm sure it could be arranged. A list of potential themes for your funeral, compiled by the National Funeral Directors and Morticians Association.
Is there an expression DIT, for Did It Themselves?
The cherry blossoms are blooming, and it's time for all the yinzers to strip down and style up. Need a bag for the beach? Don't settle for that craptastic mass market stuff. It's easy and fun to make your own, or buy one from the many DIY fashionistas who have set up shop online. We're treading into dreaded hipster territory here, but let's remember that androgynous waifs from Williamsburg weren't the first to discover the love in handcrafted goods.
Pictured at left is a bag from Bang!, which is the front for a young Argentinian designer who is fond of stripes, polka dots, and retro cuteness.
I'm quite fond of a bag at The Walrus and the Carpenter. Even the name, Kiwi-Lime-Strawberry-Chocolate Commuter Tote says delicious, yummy spring.
K Adorable is two guys who have a neat subscription service -- you cough up a yearly fee, and you'll get a new t-shirt every month.
Having a real-life dog or cat can be a pain. That's why you should buy stuffed animals from Erin McGill.
Tina Marie Lockwood at Sparkle Craft rocks out with homemade guitar straps, belts and scarves.
Even though the boys haven't caught up with online style, Star Serge throws us a bone with her Boy Racer tie.
If you're into exploring the territory between childlike delight and retardedness, check out the cutesy-poo felt patterns at Chuckles Central.
Buy a handmade cozie to snuggle your 40 oz. malt liquor at Breakdance America.
Explore the big list of handmade online shops at Happy Lucky Me.
I forgot to link to this article yesterday about tensions in the British-French relationship. It reminded me of my first French teacher, a young and suave Parisian, who said we shouldn't have any problem learning the language since English is really just a dialect of French.
After sitting through a day and a half of jury selection, four and a half days of trial, and two full days of deliberations, my jury in the New York State Supreme Court found Simeon Tlaplanco-Reyes guilty of second-degree assault for stabbing Filiberto Galindo on West 36th Street between 8th and 9th Avenues on July 17, 2003. We found Jose Luiz de los Santos not guilty on all counts.
We were given a mass of contradictory evidence and eyewitness accounts and asked to decide whether it was proven that the defendants got into a drunken fight with Galindo in the garment district that culminated in Tlapanco-Reyes stabbing Galindo twice in the back while de los Santos blocked Galindo from fleeing. There were only four eyewitnesses -- the defendants, the stabbing victim, and an occasional friend to the defendants.
And here's the conventional wisdom I have to reiterate to defense attorneys: don't let your clients testify. Sometimes a messy case is just chaos and you don't know who to believe and you get a mistrial or acquittal because the state didn't prove its case. But other times, when you have more evidence, you can see the patterns in a messy case because so much contradictory testimony agrees on certain key points.
To put it simply: if the defendants didn't testify, I would've acquitted both of them. There was only one eyewitness (the victim) and his testimony was simply unbelievable by itself. But the defendants testified, and now one of them is going to jail for it.
The judge advised us not to talk about the case during the trial, and I would think to myself, "That's ok -- I'm going to blog the hell out of it afterwards!" But now, over a week later, I find myself unable to either be flip about it, or to write the long examination required to explain where all the testimony agrees, where it diverges, and who is believable where. I guess that's why they have a trial, right?
But, since this trial occupied over a week of my life and kept me sleepless and boring to talk to, I feel compelled to offer a few observations:
1. The system works pretty damned well. When we initially broke for deliberations, we were evenly divided -- six jurors for guilty and six to acquit. I believed we were a hung jury and that there was no way we'd reach a consensus. Some people didn't think there was enough evidence; we had testimony read back and then they reconsidered. Some people thought that their doubt was reasonable, but after talking through the evidence their doubt became unreasonable. In the end we came to a consensus about a pretty confusing case with very little physical evidence.
2. Legalism doesn't reign in the courtroom. Judge Rena Uviller kept the trial moving. She frequently chastised the ADA for repeating testimony over and over again. The ADA would frequently ask questions in the most convoluted language possible and Uviller would say something like "Come on -- just use the common language!" Uviller was genuinely interested in the spirit of the law and wanted the stories told as best as they could be in order for us to make our decision as clearly as possible.
3. Why are there four bailiffs in one courtroom? One day, one of the bailiffs spent the entire day sleeping. Another day one of the bailiffs was reading a book masked behind his legal guide. There was a bailiff in the front to hand evidence and water to the witness. There was a bailiff in the back whose sole purpose seemed to be to call in a new witness. There's a bailiff to lead jurors in, and to lead jurors out. We should've at least had a bailiff for massage.
4. My favorite quotes. We'd encounter the army of photographers, video crews, and reporters awaiting news from the Tyco trial going on in the same courthouse, and one day an alternate juror said to me "Look at them, waiting to pounce like wolves." I said "I work with those people," to which he said "Nothing personal."
One juror didn't believe the victim's testimony that he didn't actually feel it when he got stabbed. To which another juror, a grizzled old black man fond of wearing neon orange vests, replied "I got stabbed three times and I didn't even know it."
Another juror, a middle-aged Upper West Side woman who wore a tasteful turtleneck every day of the trial, couldn't believe the victim's testimony because his lifestyle just didn't make sense. "I can't believe he'd have an appointment to meet a friend at 8pm and miss it," she said at one point.
One juror debated whether stabbing someone twice in the back constitutes purposely hurting someone. He said that you could stab someone in order to protect your friend, and this wouldn't necessarily mean you're trying to hurt the person. "It's like the police," he said. "They're not trying to hurt -- they're trying to protect." To which I launched into a long diatribe about the social contract and the evils of vigilante justice, and how while we give police that power we do not give that power to roving bands of drunken thugs.
And finally, my favorite quotes -- about me. One the second day of deliberations, after I'd been chosen to present the case for conviction, a juror who had been for acquittal said "That makes sense. You should've presented the case instead of the District Attorney." Another formerly-for-acquittal juror concurred.
And then, after we had a verdict and were waiting to go into the courtroom, a different juror said "Your help was instrumental." Hooray for justice!
It's said that Europeans typically ask "Why?" while Americans ask "Why not?"
Maybe that's why they wind up with classy icons like the Eiffel Tower, which was originally called "useless and monstrous," and we end up with a 305-foot fiberglass statue of Abraham Lincoln. The city fathers of Lincoln, Illinois want the statue to lord over their town like a mutant prairie dog, visible for 20 miles and costing $40 million. They're still looking for funding.
Some might say a colorful collossus of the assassinated emancipator spilling watermelon juice onto the town might be in poor taste. At least this sculpture lacks the "rock of ages" pretentions of Mount Rushmore, which is a crime against nature enshrined as a national monument. My tip for settling the argument of taste is for the statue to describe a different scene from Lincoln's life.
The 16th president was fond of relating a story from his days as a young boy. From Herndon's Life of Lincoln:
His father had at home a little yellow housedog, which invariably gave the alarm if the boys undertook to slip away unobserved after night had set in -- as they often-times did -- to go coon hunting. One evening Abe and his stepbrother, John Johnston, with the usual complement of boys required in a successful coon hunt, took the insignificant little cur with them. They located the coveted coon, killed him, and then in sportive vein sewed the hide on the diminutive yellow dog. The latter struggled vigorously during the operation of the sewing on, and being released from the hands of his captors made a bee-line for home. Other large and more important canines, on the way, scenting coon, tracked the little animal home, and possibly mistaking him for real coon, speedily demolished him.
Ok, maybe this isn't the best subject for a 305-foot statue. I just wanted to quote the story.
Lincoln, by the way, learned a lesson from his pooch's death and was renowned with other children in later years for writing a convincing essay against cruelty to animals. But he still liked to tell the story when he got older.
Gawker speculates that author Amy Bloom is responsible for an anonymous piece in Salon lamenting the state of publishing today. The unnamed literary sourpuss complains that being an even moderately successful fiction writer doesn't pay the bills or guarantee a future.
While we sympathize with the plight of the semi-successful writer forced to shill for Weight Watchers, maybe it's time to put all this in perspective. Since my illustrious and more literary co-editor is away visiting country mice, I thought I'd post a letter she brought to my attention.
In 1803, Jane Austen sold the manuscript of Northanger Abbey, then called Susan, to a publisher for £10. Six years later, Austen was still waiting for the book to come out and hadn't heard from the publisher. So she did what all angered ladies of good breeding do: she wrote a letter that whistles like a teapot at full boil.
Wednesday 5 April 1809
Gentlemen
In the Spring of the year 1803 a MS Novel in 2 vol. Entitled Susan [Northanger Abbey] was sold to you by a Gentleman of the name Seymour [Henry Austen's lawyer] & the purchase money £10 Rec/d at the same time. Six years have since passed, & this work of which I avow myself the Authoress, has never to the best of my knowledge, appeared in print, tho' an early publication was stipulated for at the time of Sale. I can only account for such an extraordinary circumstance by supposing the MS by some carelessness to have been lost; & if that was the case, am willing to supply You with another Copy if you are disposed to avail yourselves of it, & will engage for no further delay when it comes into your hands.--It will not be in my power from particular circumstances to command this Copy before the Month of August, but then, if you accept my proposal, you may depend on receiving it. Be so good as to send me a Line in answer, as soon as possible, as my stay in this place will not exeed a few days. Should no notice be taken of this Address, I shall feel myself at liberty to secure the publication of my work, by applying elsewhere. I am Gentlemen &c &c
MAD.--
Direct to M/rs Ashton Dennis
Post office, Southampton
The publisher responded by threatening to sue if she dared to publish it elsewhere, and added insult to injury by offering to sell it back to Austen for the £10 he paid. But we all know how this story ends. Austen sold the movie rights and never had to ghost-write a celebrity biography again.
And if anyone thinks writers have it bad, it's time to re-read Steve Albini's Baffler essay on how the music industry preys on young bands.
Via ScaryNY, a press release from Westminster, UK, that warns about the Three Filths that threaten our streets:
The equivalent of two million pints of urine is collected from the streets of London every year. That's just the amount that makes it to the ever increasing number of urinals installed by Westminster City Council to combat the problem of street urination.
Westminster City Council has launched its Three Filths campaign to address the problem on our streets. Everyday our street cleaners face the scourge of urine, vomit and excreta, cleaning up 300 pools of vomit every weekend and 6 deposits of excrement every night.
If you're ready to go into Cold War mode, watch footage of nuclear blasts at the Office of Science and Technical Information. Sing along to "Duck and Cover" and learn how energy is released from "A is for Atoms" at the Prelinger Collection of vintage ephemera. And of course we can't forget about Atomic Tourism, can we?
The Nineteenth Century Introvert’s Guide to Friendship
1. Letters. Write them. Receive them.
2. Attend balls with your wildly attractive older sister (and pray you don't get snubbed by a tall, taciturn out-of-towner and his friend’s obnoxious sisters).
3. Learn to pine without seeming melancholy.
4. Taking up a hobby or two (painting, sewing, writing charades, playing the pianoforte) provides plenty of fodder for conversation.
5. Visits. Stay no longer than a fortnight, as extended visits can become tiresome.
6. Ensure that close friends marry tolerable men, so as not to spoil your acquaintance.
7. A turn around the garden affords just enough time to catch up without being awkward.
The Twenty-First Century Introvert's Guide to Friendship
1. Keep in touch through your web stats! Nothing shows you care like a random link for your friend to find buried in the “Referrers” section.
2. Invite people to movies or shows as often as possible. That way, scary conversation is minimal, and afterward you have a topic! Shows with multiple sets, extra-long movies, or double features are an especially effective way to say “I both enjoy and fear your company!”
3. Blame substances for your awkwardness. Addiction is far more socially acceptable than an embarrassing deficit of social grace. (“Oh, my hands are shaking? Those pesky DTs! Hahahaha....”)
4. IM is clearly the best forum for serious personal discussions. Avoid misunderstandings with a liberal sprinkling of emoticons!
5. Reach out through song! Make your friend a mix filled with songs that you love and hope she can “read between the lines” to hear how much you really care.
Today is the one-year anniversary of Daily Gusto's launch. To commemorate the occasion, we thought we'd highlight some of the stories we ran on the first day, back when we were spending every second of our free time on Gusto and before we devolved into the sometime link-peddlers we are today. Thanks to all past and current contributors for helping us (improbably) hit the year mark! 
Sigh. July has come to Manhattan and with it, my least favorite thing ever, humidity. When just walking outside makes me feel like a big old head of wilted lettuce, it's time to find some creative solutions. 
The cherry blossoms are blooming, and it's time for all the yinzers to strip down and style up. Need a bag for the beach? Don't settle for that craptastic mass market stuff. It's easy and fun to 
Tina Marie Lockwood at 
It's said that Europeans typically ask "Why?" while Americans ask "Why not?" 
The folks over at Flak just reviewed "