I initially called this “Whipping Postmodern,” but that didn’t work for me. This blog won’t be as academically oriented as that title would make it sound, but it won’t be completely juvenile either. It’s somewhere in between.

This is a politics-free zone, since I happen to think most political blogs are essentially therapy for cranks. If you think yours in wonderful, then fine, you’re an exception. But not all of you are right.

Besides … yes, I’m a journalist. And even though I don’t work in the news department and you most likely haven’t heard of me, I know that any discussion of politics inevitably ends in me being asked to defend every mistake the “MSM” makes. (Actually, that should be “make,” since “media” is a plural word, but when you’re sticking the same label on everyone … OK, that’s enough of that topic.)

In any case, I have better things to discuss than the machinations of two artificially created pseudo-intellectual extremes. I plan to talk about what’s going on in life. That’s everything from my kid to society at large, with a bit of an emphasis on music and TV. Sounds superficial, but there’s a great quote attributed to Ruskin that opens Kenneth Clark’s Civilization:

“Great nations write their autobiographis in three manuscripts, the book of their deeds the book of their words and the book of their art. Not one of these books can be understood unless we read the two others, but of the three the only trustworthy one is the last.”

So there. Enjoy the blog.

Great videos of the past

Yes, we love VH1 Classic, in part because I just saw the James video Laid, which is one of those clever low-tech masterpieces you just don’t see any more. The lead singer, inexplicably wearing a handcuff with the other one not attached to anything, emotes at a table in a laundromat while wearing a thin dress or sorts. The rest of the band takes part in mock interviews, with their “quotes” in captions.

OK, I’m really going to work on my taxes now …

Health = money, sex, power, etc.

I flipped through Men’s Health magazine while waiting to give blood today. Here’s what I saw:

  • A story by a woman who set the scene by describing herself and her friend (female) on a topless beach in an exotic location, being waited on and toasting their material success at such a young age, then lamenting the fact that their boyfriends were too poor to join them. Apparently the story was on “Why women succeed faster” or something like that.
  • Their “Girl Next Door” column … actually, I’ve read this before, and it’s unreadable. Basically, it’s preying on male insecurity by telling men that it’s really NOT OK that she didn’t have that wake-up-the-neighbors multiple orgasm in bed last night. And without being catty, the picture of the columnist, well, it’s not exactly arousing. She looks like the pseudointellectual with whom Woody Allen always had frustrating sex before hooking up with Diane Keaton or Carol Kane, either of whom would be much preferable.
  • A couple of things about neat toys men could buy.
  • Four ways to make her want you … TONIGHT!

What it did not have were many stories about health.

For years, people have been ripping women’s magazines for selling unreasonable images of women — flawless face, big chest, small waist, etc. Today’s men’s magazines are worse. We have to have rock-hard abs and perfect pecs, yes. But on top of that, we have to have a job that pays well AND allows us the free time to go jaunting off to Mexico with a woman we’re satisying sexually every time.

So I put it down and picked up Fortune instead. I figured I had to start slowly. Maybe if I read that for a while, I can accumulate the wealth I need to relate to Men’s Health.

Song review: The Donnas

I’ll keep this one quick: I’ve been listening to Fall Behind Me on my headphones every night for the past week, and the reason is that it’s the kind of rock song people aren’t supposed to do any more but should. It’s nothing classic lyrically, though I always chuckle at the “you can’t cover that with makeup” line.

No one has cranked out a guitar riff this good since the first couple of Led Zeppelin albums. (OK, maybe some early-80s Rush, but that’s in a different vein.) The drums have a perfect classic rock kick. And the vocals are a blues-scale workout reminiscent of classic Zeppelin, except that it sounds a little more effortless than Robert Plant’s wail.

If Beavis and Butthead were around today, this would be their favorite song, and not just because they’d all be in lust with the drummer. And I mean that as a compliment.

This song rocks. Rocks like songs just don’t any more.