Nice photos of the isolated northeast section of Afghanistan that hasn’t been much troubled by the ongoing war. (via) It was recently covered in the NYT as well.
Read to Lead: How to Digest Books Above Your “Level” – RyanHoliday.net
Many good ideas on mercenary reading here. Feel free to set aside the “rules” of front-to-back reading. Gotta participate actively and take what you need.
The work is an expression of the message, not the message itself. So forget everything but that message and how to apply it to your life. Dates, names, pronunciations–-they only matter in how they provide context for the lesson at hand.
And also:
You ought to ruin the ending–-or find out the basic assertions of the book–-because it frees you up to focus on your two most important tasks: 1) What does it mean? 2) Do you agree with it? The first 50 pages of the book shouldn’t be a discovery process for you; you shouldn’t be wasting your time figuring out what the author is trying to say. Instead, your energy needs to be spent on figuring out if he’s right and how you can benefit from it.
Read to Lead: How to Digest Books Above Your “Level” – RyanHoliday.net
A Simple Man

A Single Man. It’s okay. Heavily art-directed in a Wes Anderson kind of way that’s both really sharp and a little bit dead. It sometimes feels like a product shoot. Ponderous. Never funny. Both of these things could be conscious choices tied to the main character’s public facade of neat, refined detachment that hides his inner chaos. His lover is dead. I like how Ford plays with the colors and hues in this one. Most of Colin Firth’s daily life is in a muted, greyish-brownish palette. In moments of clarity or lust or novelty, the palette becomes richer, warmer, shades of red and gold. Not at all subtle, but it’s a neat trick.

No hipster hats. No acoustic guitar in the studio.
Kanye West during the making of My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy. Photo By Nabil Elderkin. (via)

Peachtree Street on a rainy night. Atlanta, 1951. Photo by Charles Kushman. I wish Loew’s Grand Theatre were still around.
http://174.132.193.190/~eiden/mp3clips/politicalspeeches/mlkmountaintop.mp3?plead=please-dont-download-this-or-our-lawyers-wont-let-us-host-audio
http://mlarson.tumblr.com/post/1659581881/audio_player_iframe/mlarson/tumblr_lccio1eZr71qzcye0?audio_file=http%3A%2F%2F174.132.193.190%2F%7Eeiden%2Fmp3clips%2Fpoliticalspeeches%2Fmlkmountaintop.mp3
Martin Luther King, Jr. – I’ve Been to the Mountaintop, 3 April 1968, Mason Temple (Church of God in Christ Headquarters) in Memphis, Tennessee. Transcript. What an amazing speaker.
I have to look them in the eye and decide whether they love the business or they love the money. It’s fine if they love the money, but they have to love the business more. Why do I come in at 7 every morning, can’t wait to get to work? It’s because I get to paint my own painting and I like applause.

Big Boi and André 3000, 1994, with Atlanta DJ Greg Street.
James Kibbie – Bach Organ Works
Internet treasure via Alex Ross: free downloads of all of Bach’s organ pieces. I’ve listened to about 2.5 of the 18 hours’ worth. So far so good. The only reason not to get these is if you don’t like Bach or organ or music, and you’d be wrong on all three counts.
La Boulangère de Monceau (The Bakery Girl of Monceau)

La Boulangère de Monceau (The Bakery Girl of Monceau). Another Éric Rohmer film (previously), the first of his Six Moral Tales. This is a worthy short one, only 23 minutes. The focus is an everyday occurrence: a guy sees an attractive gal on the street, doesn’t say anything, regrets it, then toys with a bakery girl as a substitute as he tries to find the first. The man’s narration is an out-loud self-analysis, full of his internal churning, hedges and rationalizations about his choices. Here’s a Criterion essay.

[If I could have lunch with one person I’ve never met] I would have to say Isaac Newton or Benjamin Franklin. I’ve met a lot of interesting people and some uninteresting ones, too. The two men had a bigger grasp of the world they lived in. But I don’t think I would pass up an opportunity with Sophia Loren.
Sophia Loren. Rome, June 1961. Photo by Alfred Eisenstaedt.
Paris Review – The Art of Nonfiction No. 3, John McPhee
Great interview. McPhee says gathering facts and writing nonfiction (as opposed to more self-generated fiction stuff) is like going from the grocery store to the kitchen:
I always say to my classes that it’s analogous to cooking a dinner. You go to the store and you buy a lot of things. You bring them home and you put them on the kitchen counter, and that’s what you’re going to make your dinner out of. If you’ve got a red pepper over here—it’s not a tomato. You’ve got to deal with what you’ve got. You don’t have an ideal collection of material every time out. […]
Once I’ve written the lead, I read the notes and then I read them again. I read them until they’re coming out my ears. Ideas occur, but what I’m doing, basically, is looking for logical ways in which to subdivide the material. I’m looking for things that fit together, things that relate. For each of these components, I create a code—it’s like an airport code. If a topic is upstate New York, I’ll write UNY or something in the margin. When I get done, the mass of notes has some tiny code beside each note. And I write each code on an index card.
That’s laying it all out where he can look at it. It’s a technique he got from his high school writing teacher. One cool thing he found is that when you get the structure set, you can let the juxtapositions do some storytelling for you. In Encounters with the Archdruid, for example:
The whole book had thirty-six components. What I ended up with was thirty-six three-by-five cards, each with a code word. Some of these things are absolutely dictated by the story of the journey down the Colorado River. But the choices are interesting where it’s not dictated, like the facts of David Brower’s life.
I knew where I was going to start, but I didn’t know the body of the thing. I went into a seminar room here at the university, and I laid the thirty-six cards out on the table. I just looked and looked at them. After a while I was looking at two cards: Upset Rapid, which is a big-time rapid in the Colorado River, and Alpinist. In Upset Rapid, Brower doesn’t ride the rapid. Why doesn’t he ride the rapid? His answer to Floyd Dominy is, “Because I’m chicken.” That’s a pretty strong scene. What next? Well, there are more than seventy peaks in the Sierra Nevada that were first ascended by David Brower, hanging by his fingernails on some cliff. “Because I’m chicken”? This juxtaposition is just loaded with irony, and by putting the Alpinist right after Upset Rapid, in the white space between those two sections there’s a hell of a lot of stuff that I don’t have to say. It’s told by the structure. It’s all crackling along between those two things. So I put those two cards side by side. Now there are thirty-four other parts there on the table.
Paris Review – The Art of Poetry No. 30, Philip Larkin
I think a young poet, or an old poet, for that matter, should try to produce something that pleases himself personally, not only when he’s written it but a couple of weeks later. Then he should see if it pleases anyone else, by sending it to the kind of magazine he likes reading. But if it doesn’t, he shouldn’t be discouraged. I mean, in the seventeenth century every educated man could turn a verse and play the lute. Supposing no one played tennis because they wouldn’t make Wimbledon? First and foremost, writing poems should be a pleasure. So should reading them, by God.
You’re probably better off if you can tolerate, or even enjoy, your own mediocrity as long as it takes to get something made. What’s obvious to you could be amazing to others. And fortunately, whether it’s good or bad, joy’s soul lies in the doing.
Nowadays, while literary men seem to have neglected their epic duties, the epic has been saved for us, strangely enough, by the Westerns.
I bet we all in this room live about the same. We eat about the same and sleep about the same. We pretty much drive a car for 10 years. All this stuff doesn’t make it any different. I will watch the Super Bowl on a big screen television just like you. We are living the same life. I have two luxuries: I get to do what I want to do every day and I get to travel a lot faster than you.
Notorious

Notorious. Highly recommended. We’re back in quality Hitchcock territory after that last fiasco. Grant recruits the scandalous socialite Bergman as a fellow spy. They go down to Rio and struggle with how far to take their work and their love. The highlight for me was the party/wine cellar scene (which starts with a famous shot). The ingenious tension in this comes from the simple issue of whether there is enough champagne, and thus, is there time/cover to sneak into the wine cellar? And there’s the clever screenwriting where Bergman excuses herself to request that the band play Brazilian music instead of waltzes, which also refreshes the soundtrack for the subsequent cellar snooping.
And I tell you what: Bergman is an incredible actress–maybe my favorite female film star? I like Grant in this one, too. I’ve long been ambivalent about him on screen, but I like that this role seems to have a touch of menace underneath, and a little less confidence. Great movie. Ebert says.
Purloined Letters: Are we too quick to denounce plagiarism?
A brief essay James R. Kincaid in The New Yorker, January 20, 1997. I like this bit, quoting Helen Keller:
It is certain that I cannot always distinguish my own thoughts from those I read, because what I read becomes the very substance and text of my mind.
That’s found in her autobiography, where she goes on to say:
Consequently, in nearly all that I write, I produce something which very much resembles the crazy patchwork I used to make when I first learned to sew. This patchwork was made of all sorts of odds and ends–pretty bits of silk and velvet; but the coarse pieces that were not pleasant to touch always predominated. Likewise my compositions are made up of crude notions of my own, inlaid with the brighter thoughts and riper opinions of the authors I have read. It seems to me that the great difficulty of writing is to make the language of the educated mind express our confused ideas, half feelings, half thoughts, when we are little more than bundles of instinctive tendencies. Trying to write is very much like trying to put a Chinese puzzle together. We have a pattern in mind which we wish to work out in words; but the words will not fit the spaces, or, if they do, they will not match the design. But we keep on trying because we know that others have succeeded, and we are not willing to acknowledge defeat.
Jodie Foster goes to college :: rogerebert.com
I don’t see myself getting married much before I’m 26. I won’t have the time, and, besides, I’m not mature enough to be nice to anyone else. I like being alone, without anyone to bother me. What if I got married to someone who wouldn’t let me lock myself in my room for six days and read?
There’s always been a market for people who pretend to know the future. Listening to today’s forecasters is just as crazy as when the king hired the guy to look at the sheep guts. It happens over and over and over.
The market knows nothing about my feelings. That is one of the first things you have to learn about a stock. You buy 100 shares of General Motors (GM). Now all of a sudden you have this feeling about GM. It goes down, you may be mad at it. You may say, “Well, if it just goes up for what I paid for it, my life will be wonderful again.” Or if it goes up, you may say how smart you were and how you and GM have this love affair. You have got all these feelings. The stock doesn’t know you own it.
The stock just sits there; it doesn’t care what you paid or the fact that you own it. Any feeling I have about the market is not reciprocated. I mean it is the ultimate cold shoulder we are talking about here.