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September 27, 2010

World's scariest job?

That's how joehead Jerry Young described that depicted in the video above.

He asked, "Can you watch it without your palms sweating?"

Well, can you?

[via The Big Picture]

September 27, 2010 at 04:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBack

Hello Kitty x Sigg Water Bottle




September 27, 2010 at 03:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack

Poet Marie Ponsot: After a stroke, in search of language lost


Jim Dwyer's June 25, 2010 New York Times story defines poignant; it follows.


Unable to sleep, the poet Marie Ponsot [above, left, with Catherine Woodard, a student of hers] lay in a hospital bed one night last month trying to figure out what it was that she no longer knew. A few days earlier, she’d had a stroke. Her brain had been ransacked. Poems that she had been reciting from memory for the better part of a century had disappeared. She cross-examined herself: What, she asked, have I lost?

Of course she could not answer. “You can’t say what you don’t know,” Ms. Ponsot, 89, said last week. “So I thought, let me go back to the earliest thing I ever knew by heart.”

It was not a poem, but the Lord’s Prayer, which she had learned as a child in Queens. “I thought, Oh yeah, I’ll do it, Our Father,” she said. She did not get past the first phrase.

“ ‘Our Father’ — and that was it, period,” Ms. Ponsot said. “Then I thought, I was living in France in 1947, I learned the French ‘Our Father.’ Sure. I launched into that very confidently. ‘Notre père qui.’ Couldn’t get any further.”

She remembered that the Spanish mystic Teresa of Avila had written a meditation on the prayer. An image came to her of a page from the Roman missal; she could, she said, see the page’s border, but not the words. Then it arrived whole, in Latin: Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. She tried to translate the Latin to English, to reverse-engineer her memory, like a computer hacking itself. “It was getting sticky, until all of a sudden it popped into my head,” she said. “In English.”

Last week, back in her apartment on the Upper East Side, Ms. Ponsot had help in her hunt for syntax, a tool more fundamental to human existence than the wheel: a rotating group of poets who come to read and talk with her. “I really think if you’re in this kind of mental trouble,” she said, “all the medications are going to keep the body alive, but to have it work” — she put her hands on her head — “you’re going to have to do it yourself.”

She knows a bit about that. Ms. Ponsot raised seven children mostly on her own. She has translated dozens of books, published six volumes of poetry, won the National Book Critics Circle Award, taught at Queens College, and earlier this year was elected to the American Academy of Poets.

Not long after her late-night search for the Our Father, a doctor swept into her room, trailed by medical students. “She asked what day of the week it was,” Ms. Ponsot said. “I haven’t known the day of the week my entire life.”

The doctor stepped away, moving on to the next bed. “I called to her,” Ms. Ponsot said. “I said, loudly, ‘I need your help.’ She came back, she looked me right in the eye, and asked, ‘How do you want me to help you?’

“I told her, I can’t write down what I’m trying to say,” she said. “The doctor said, ‘Talk out loud and get people to talk to you, and then you talk to them and see if they can understand you.’ ”

That was not hard to do. Among poets in New York, Ms. Ponsot is deeply and widely admired. One of them, Catherine Woodard, organized the poets’ posse that is making regular visits.

Whatever the cure, Ms. Ponsot’s conversation last week seemed to keep pace with her fleet mind. Some big memories, she thinks, are gone — “stones at the bottom of the river,” she called them — and certain categories of words throw her. She consistently swaps pronouns for men and women — which, she noted with delight, some people mistake as ironic commentary on gender identity.

“You’re talking about a guy and ‘she’ comes out,” Ms. Ponsot said. “People think, ‘That’s a fancy thought’ — and no, no I’m not thinking at all, I’m just talking.”

She also slips on units of time. “I’ll say, I haven’t eaten in three weeks,” Ms. Ponsot said. “I really mean three years.”

She paused. “I’m messing that up,” she said.

Even so, she was able to accurately repeat a piece of advice that she had passed on for decades: anyone who wants to write should find 10 minutes a day.

“I used to have babies all over the place, and the people I was teaching, and I could find 10 minutes every day,” Ms. Ponsot said. “You’ve always got 10 minutes.”

The loss of syntax has been a matter of “explosive astonishment — realizing that language is everything in the egg,” she said, tapping her head. “You take it for granted.”

Was remembering the Pater Noster that night in the hospital a moment of awakening? Ms. Ponsot grinned, perhaps at another unduly fancy thought.

“It allowed me,” she said, “to go to sleep.”

September 27, 2010 at 02:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack

Crayola Dry-Erase Crayons


What took so long?



September 27, 2010 at 01:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBack

Ferrari World Abu Dhabi


It's on Yas Island in the United Arab Emirates, where it opens on October 28.

Here's Tim McKeough's August 30, 2010 New York Times T Magazine story.


Rather than making the pilgrimage to the Ferrari museum in Maranello, Italy, fans of Italian sports cars might want to head to Yas Island in the United Arab Emirates, where Ferrari World Abu Dhabi opens Oct. 28. The autocentric theme park, next to the Yas Marina Circuit racetrack, will offer more than 20 action-packed attractions under its manta-ray-shaped, two-million-square-foot roof. Sure to be a big draw is the Formula Rossa roller coaster, which the park claims will be the fastest in the world, with carts inspired by F1 race cars reaching grand prix-worthy speeds of 149 miles per hour. A flume-type water ride, meanwhile, passes through a supersize Ferrari 599 V12 engine. ‘‘You go in through the grille and then get taken high up above the manifold,’’ says Troy Lindquist, the park’s sales and marketing director. ‘‘At the end, you’re shot out of the tailpipe.’’

September 27, 2010 at 12:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack

Moon Watch


Designed by The Emotion Lab.


From the designers: "The moon has been a guide and object of admiration and mysticism during thousands of years. Agriculture, fertility, tidal patterns, human behaviour and many other activities have been linked to the different moon phases."


"Moonwatch has been designed to establish a relationship between the moon cycle and a person’s emotional states. It’s a new concept of time based on nature which invites people to reflect upon and gain a closer understanding of their mood and daily life on earth."

[via Interior design room and Blog Deco Design]

September 27, 2010 at 11:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack

Sometimes Red, Sometimes Blue — by Damon Zucconi



September 27, 2010 at 10:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBack

Knit screen


Designed by Mexico City-based Emiliano Godoy, "the pieces are joined in such a way that they can freely rotate to create different profiles. Its name comes from an Illini legend telling the story of the Piasa bird, which 'was as large as a calf with horns like a deer, red eyes, the body covered with green, red and black scales and a tail so long it passed around the body, over the head and between the legs.' This scaled room divider can be manufactured in any length, honoring the beast's incredibly long tail."

Beechwood and cotton rope.


Apply within.

September 27, 2010 at 09:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack

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