purge or dead reckoning

Though the aspiring Caliphate is committing far worse atrocities than the unabashed destruction of antiquities in the museum of Mosul, this has been the only unfiltered footage (at least that not involving the execution of Western hostages up close—there’s been quite a few sweeping vistas of massacres I guess counted as less discriminate since they’re countrymen and innocents in the way) shown of their ruthless violence.
There has of course been far worse examples too of wholesale looting, pillage and revision of mankind’s common history and heritage with the Cultural Revolutions of China and France and the censorship and looting of the Third Reich, along with countless other examples. Surely, any and all of the gruesome propaganda is available out there to anyone who wants to confront this vileness directly, and it is a delicate arras that the media uses to protect the public from such images, but maybe nothing further need be witnessed. Out of respect for victims and their families, such sensationalism ought not be shown, but in general, should the public be shielded from facing the terrors—and be allowed for our imaginations to limn, complete the scene or not?

munchausen syndrome

Though dishonesty in journalism is most indefensible, especially given the climate and standard that politicians, lobbyists in the agricultural and pharmaceutical businesses and even in the art world are expected to stoop to (vis-à-vis the last accusation in this list levied), I think some are made examples of and all the muck-rakers have to muck-rake on one another. That being said, one certainly owes oneself a little reprieve by checking out this hilariously mounting litany of charges against the disgraced anchorman pressed by Bob Canada.

stioch or yarn-bombing

Collectors’ Weekly curates another fine show-and-tell segment with the editor whose fascination with hobbyists of the 1970s, gleefully without the need to fill their off moments with one of an infinite number of distractions that all fall somewhere short on that spectrum called productivity, cultivated their creative juices through determined clacking, has helped in part spark a revival. These knitted fashions are are truly spectacular and in many ways—not just nostalgic feeling for the vintage, are inescapable, representing a sense of experimentation and a mentality of craftiness that we’re happily not ready to give up. Even though a lot of the sway of style is up to the fashionista-set, unconventionality is well tolerated, and maybe in part because that flair is just kept at a simmer by that same catalog of diversions that don’t hone skills and by a manic admiration for things consciously imitative of the the past, one’s childhood memories, whose template becomes something rather deflated and demystified, that originality, durability, security twice- or thrice-removed. When there’s too much sentimentality, I think, it’s easier for the authorities to step in and reintroduce some balance until the next iteration of discovery.

table-manners or gravyboat, showboat

I too, like Nag-on-the-Lake, would have though this table-top photo studio, designed to capture one’s meal in the most flattering light and one’s dish’s best side, was a very real offer that the wait-staff of restaurants or the social-media sommeliers would be bring around, like the desert wagon.  I think that probably the Selfie-Sombrero probably escaped into our dimension, first as a lampoon—as a joke poking fun at people’s vanity but I suppose we can’t put that genie back in the bottle now.  And though this demonstration #DinnerCam is meant to advance a discussion about how the internet and constant, omnipresent access is changing public deportment, I’m a little afraid that such spots, blinds and backdrops might become a thing.

rest in peace, Mr. Nimoy