h/t Patrick Beaker-Skahill
h/t Patrick Beaker-Skahill
h/t Patrick Beaker-Skahill
With no money for staff and upkeep of our once-proud state park system, why not knock things down and market the faux ruins?
A second concept, called an “ecological park,” would involve restoration of a historic building as a visitor center, while other buildings may be demolished or restored to a ruined state to preserve the spirit of the history of the property.
The great thing about this is idea is that when the park falls into neglect, nobody will be able to tell!
An “attractive ruin” is a building left intentionally in a ruined state intended to be evocative of the structure’s historical uses.
I like the name Pam Award.
Last year I wrote about the unsightly danger of Dan Malloy turning into a hockey goon for the national Democratic party.
Twelve months passed and — guess what? – here he is in full goon mode, lining up the same spindly opposition player.
“He must have been beaten up really bad on the playground. Really bad, I think,” Malloy told BuzzFeed News when describing Jindal’s demeanor and what he said was a similar sharp-elbowed persona on and off camera.
I cannot tell you how distasteful I find this. First, the smirking suggestion that kids who get bullied on the playground grow up to be men who merit our disdain is repellent coming from anybody but especially from a man who has whined ad nauseam about the treatment he received as a misunderstood, disability-laden boy. Make up your mind, Governor. Do wretched little creatures deserve our scorn or our understanding?
I also fail to see how this serves the people who elected Malloy. We elected him to do a job, and in no way does that job involve kicking Bobby Jindal around or carrying water for politicos in the other 49 states. In particular, I expect him to make at least some effort to work cooperatively with Republicans and forge compromises that serve everybody’s best interests.
Renting himself out as a Chris Christie-style jerk-provocateur, he is unlikely to do this. He already has pushed the drama button — which is a mile wide and set on a hair trigger — of Minority Leader Themis Klarides. How does this help us, here in Connecticut.
In a way, we are all Bad Haircut Man.
We are the children.
On days like the one we’re having here, it’s not uncommon to see one of us northerners post something on social media and see, in response, a comment from a transplant: “I wouldn’t know. It’s 76 today here in South Carogeorgialorida. So glad I’ll be out on my boat today instead of shiviering with the rest of you!”
And I reflexively think: I’d rather be freezing my cheeks off up here than wedged up against a d****ebag frothing with self-congratulation because he figured out it gets warmer as you approach the equator. I’d like to be warmer too, but not if it means being surrounded by people with no sense of irony, people who are more likely to be depicted in than entertained by Coen Brothers movies. To re-phrase “Repo Man,” sometimes it seems like the more you drive South, the stupider you get.
But that’s too easy, and it’s probably wrong to exalt one’s choices at the expense of a whole region of people many of whom are perfectly nice. Why the hell ARE we here? And then somebody sent me this essay, which feels more like the beginning of a conversation — and therefore a radio show idea! — than a solid answer.
Could northmanship be a thing? I mean, is there a connection that we make to truth and beauty here in the north? Of course, the north itself is retreating from us. One of McEnroe’s Immutable Theories of Culture is that the more we celebrate a thing, the more likely it is that it’s dying. And right now, we celebrate the north. I mean Joakim Zander is the new Henning Mankell who is the new Stieg Larsson. Iceland is hip. Cultural conservatives are shook about Lady Thor. Nordic pop and Canadian comedy. Holla!
I stray from my point. I wonder if there’s something mystical and meaningful about the cold and the darkness and the starkness. In which case, we should embrace it, rather than curse it. We should be content with the notion that Rilke is cooler than Jimmy Buffet. And not — as one voice in the Gould piece says — not throw away our North for a mess of pottage.
Often when I imagine you your wholeness cascades into many shapes. You run like a herd of luminous deer and I am dark, I am forest.
Dan Malloy has adopted a peculiar strategy for the roll-out of his new fiscal plan. He shows up for his interviews armed with booze to press into the hands of the press.
But wait, there’s more. Malloy then showed up for his “Face the State” appearance with a sixpack, and he and Dennis House proceeded to spend the entire telecast
pounding brews and checking out babes discussing his budget plan.
Would any other CT governor whose name did not rhyme with Don Schmoland contemplate such a strategery? I covered Bill O’Neill, who owned a dive bar, and he would not have done this.
I fear it’s part of the changing of the guard. Malloy is no longer advised by Roy Occhiogrosso, his shrewd, transactional and sometimes excessively Sicilian vizier of yore. In place of Mr. O — at the Capitol and state central — is bunch of pop-collared frat-molded bros. It’s as if Malloy swapped out Vizzini for Otter and Bluto. So you get: “Dude, bring some beer.”
…watch him and A.O. Scott. They’re hilarious and true together. Scott has a menschy-ness that makes him a perfect complement to Carr and his mischief.
The collateral damage from the whole Brian Williams mess is the revival of “the Richard Blumenthal case,” mentioned in about 75 percent of the Williams stories. There’s a kind of “stepped on” quality to the way the New York Times repeats the mistakes it originally made in its largely disgraceful reporting of the Blumenthal story.
So here’s Alessandra Stanley in today’s Times:
Senator Richard Blumenthal of Connecticut stumbled during his 2010 campaign when The New York Times found a videotape of him telling a veterans group in 2008 that he had served in Vietnam. He hadn’t. Mr. Blumenthal sought multiple deferments, and when he ran out of them in 1970, he won a coveted niche in the Marine Reserve in Washington.
That videotape was the biggest hammer Blumenthal got hit with when the Times broke the story on page one. In fact, it was ultimately discredited. Raymond Hernandez, whose reporting on this story was just horrible and hand-fed to him by operatives for Linda McMahon, had never seen the whole speech, just the part that was selectively leaked to him.
As the AP later reported, the full version of the speech “shows Blumenthal at the beginning of his speech correctly characterizing his service by saying that he ‘served in the military, during the Vietnam era.’ “
Now go back and read what Stanley wrote today. She’s repeating the original mistake because the Times institutionally “remembers” something that’s not really true.
I’m not offering an exoneration of Blumenthal. There were pretty clearly other more blameworthy occasions. But it intrigues me that the Times, in the course of ripping up Williams, commits a similar offense of misremembering its own bad reporting as gospel.
I love Connecticut and I love New York City. I don’t have to hate one to love the other, which distinguishes me from Gawker and many of its miserable, snarling commenteers. Doesn’t every state have something its Rotary Club can boast of? Some product that the state produces the most of? (Warning: Connecticut is omitted from song.)
But I’ll answer the question. I don’t know much about muffins. It’s not how I live my life, worrying about whether I have access to good enough muffins.
If we started with stuff invented in Connecticut, we’d be here all day. There’s the stuff definitely invented here: the vacuum cleaner, the sewing machine, the can opener, the helicopter, the submarine, etc.. And stuff we can make an interesting case for: like anesthesia and airplanes.
Here’s one close to your hearts, Brookyln hipsters. You can thank us for birth control.
But that’s all ancient history, right? New York, the last Tory stronghold, has never been crazy about American history.
You want now, right? Well, we got Darko. He won the, you know, Tony. You probably hate “Annie,” but it started here. So did the “Hunger Games.” We’ve got Wally Lamb and Phillip Roth and Amy Bloom and Luanne Rice. Streep lives here. Gilmore Girls is set here. ESPN is here. We gave you Gretchen Mol and Anika Noni Rose. Here’s an odd little thing. I’ve been told there was a New Haven High School production of a Gilbert and Sullivan show in which Lauren Ambrose and Ross Douthat appeared. Paul Newman. Arthur Miller, Katharine Hepburn. You’ve heard of these people, right? When you pack St. John the Divine, thank us for Paul Winter, who lives here. Last week the Times gushed over this.
The best stuff about Connecticut is the stuff you’ll never know about. Because you’ll never come here, which is fine. You know how you wait in line for 90 minutes at some cool brunch place? We never do that. We hardly ever have long lines for anything, because you’re not here in line ahead of us. Thank you. And we don’t have to worry about being cool, because we know we’re not. We rarely stress about whether we’re having the most awesome muffin or bagel available on the Eastern Seaboard. It’s very relaxing.
UPDATE: I have been instructed to add Pez and Wallace Stevens.
Call the roller of big cigars, The muscular one, and bid him whip In kitchen cups concupiscent Pez.