In July 1915, a fresh-faced young man got off a train and presented himself at a working cattle-and-sheep ranch on the North Fork of the Smith River, a few miles outside of White Sulphur Springs,
Montana. He was slender—about 5'8," 150 pounds—and arrestingly handsome, with champagne-colored hair and blue-green eyes. He carried himself so lightly on the balls of his feet that his wife later wrote, "There seemed to be some heavenly support beneath his shoulder blades that lifted his feet from the ground in ecstatic suspension, as if he secretly enjoyed the ability to fly but was walking as a compromise to convention." The ranch hands must have been astonished at the sight. F.
Scott Fitzgerald had arrived in Montana.
How To Fake An Atomic Bomb Blast On Public Television. [ YouTube] This past June, the early-morning live weather report on Prague television station CT2 was being delivered on top of live panning sweeps of the beautiful Czech Republci countryside and a seemingly par-for-the-course summery day. But as NYT reported today, "Then came the nuclear blast." The immediate reaction by the viewing public? Somewhere between a semi-collective shrug and minimally raised eyebrow. Yet months later, CR art-prankster group ZTOHOVEN [Czech] are presently enjoying international attention and wide-spread accolades for this classic piece of culture-jamming. [more inside] posted by humannaire at 8:22 PM PST - 18 comments
The process and history of "brokered conventions," for both the Republican and Democratic parties:What if no candidate gets a majority (2025 delegates for the Democrats, 1191 for the much smaller Republican convention)? This is where "brokered convention" comes in. Actually, it is more like "All hell breaks loose." All delegates are now up for grabs. All the candidates try to grab as many delegates as they can ... but after the first ballot, the delegates are free agents don't have to obey their chairman or anyone. Some might not care about dams and bridges but might trade their vote for a promise to insert a plank in the platform to [ban voting machines, build a 20' electrified fence on the Mexican border, declare the chicken to be the national fowl, you name it]. posted by geoff. at 8:01 AM PST - 65 comments
It is an interesting and somewhat macabre parlor game to play at a large gathering of one’s acquaintances: to speculate who in a showdown would go Nazi.... Mr. B has risen beyond his real abilities.... His code is not his own; it is that of his class–no worse, no better, He fits easily into whatever pattern is successful. That is his sole measure of value–success. Nazism as a minority movement would not attract him. As a movement likely to attain power, it would.... Mr. G is a very intellectual young man who was an infant prodigy.... Mr. G will never be a Nazi,... [h]e will certainly be able, however, fully to explain and apologize for Nazism if it ever comes along.