Small man with cat

Via Neatorama.

Maru Abides

Or, God Bless You, Mr Boxcat

Everybody’s hugging

So J.G Ballard has died. I learned this through the Twitter, where I get all of my news these days, and I felt a little sad because he is responsible for Crash, one of my most favourite movies of all time. Actually, favourite is probably the wrong word. My obsession with Crash is similar to the character’s priapetic fixation on sex and cars. It’s not exactly enjoyable, but I can never look away.

I first heard of Crash when I was but a wee kid secretly watching Liquid Television late at night. One night they showed a stop animated short, a re-enactment of Crash played out by teddy bears, and I knew I had to track down the original and watch it. I finally found it three years ago in my university’s library, back when I first moved to Melbourne, and I was forced to watch it in a library carrel, listening through giant, ill-fitting headphones. Now that I think about it, Crash triggered a broader obsession with uncomfortable mid ’90s erotic thrillers, especially those written by cinema genious Joe Eszterhas. None of this has anything to do with Ballard’s literature, but I like to think he’s shaped me as a person, or at least the part that appreciates icy, schizoid ’90s blondes having disinterested, chiaroscuro-lit sex. Thank you, Mr Ballard, thank you very much.

Here’s a pair of tits

My love for Look Around You is deep and true, but I’d never seen this ‘Birds of Britain’ video. Thanks, never slap the gift donkey.

Oldie Hawn

When I got to my building this morning a grey-haired woman in a tracksuit was trying to get in.  She walked up to the automatic doors, noted they didn’t open, backed up, then walked towards them again. I was carrying a box full of essays, a large and unattractive crumpler bag, and a coffee. I was also wearing impractical shoes. I approached the door and began digging my wallet out of my bag.

‘The doors are locked,’ the old woman said. ‘You’ll have to use the other ones.’

‘They’re all locked. It’s mid-semester break.’

‘What do you mean?’ The old woman watched me crouch and claw through my bag, balancing my coffee and my essays on my knee. I did not reply. I used my swipe card to open the doors. The old woman breezed in and went straight for the lift. I followed, after rearranging my many burdens, and as I approached the lift she looked me straight in the eye and began casually pressing the ‘close door’ button repeatedly. Somehow, I made it inside.

‘When does mid-semester break go to?’ The old woman asked me.

‘Monday. I think.’

‘So there are no lectures?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Oh.’

We got off at the same floor and she toddled away, old and unaware. I am young and spry, so I came to my computer and vented my impotent rage at a menopausal woman into an uncaring internet. I win.

Monday Materialism

I have creepy blonde eyelashes, ergo I wear mascara most every day. I also have startlingly oily eyelids, something Marie Claire lead me to believe was physically impossible, necessitating the purchase of $90 eye creams, but that’s neither here nor there. For a long time I was resigned to a near-permanent smear of mascara and eye-oil caking into the incipient lines beneath my eyes, until a routine trip past the Clinique counter changed all that. It’s called High Impact Curling Mascara, and once on that shit does not move, which is impressive and all, but the best part is when you get in the shower you can pull the mascara off in little tubes. No, seriously, they look like tiny insect legs, and until that moment there is no smudging or caking or interaction with eye-oil at all. I honestly don’t know why we haven’t cured cancer yet if there are scientists out there who can make a mascara that will come off in little tubes.

As an aside, he camera I am using right now is tiny and snapshotty and not really up to the rigours of photographing kale and the various goods I like to tell the internet about, so I’m having a hard time bringing myself to do things like recharge the battery. Besides, a tube of mascara is hardly visually thrilling, so this perky lady from the LIFE archive will have to do.

Don’t art up what I love

…. sigh. The internet has been pushing the trailer for ‘Moon’ for a while, and I finally caved and watched it. Listen, indie filmmakers, I know you want to explore the potential for scifi to be socially aware and hand-wringing and full of alienation and longing and shit, but that is not why I go to see a movie about the moon. This looks disturbingly similar to The Onion’s story on Franz Kafka International Airport. Snore.

If you want to make socially aware, artful scifi, do it like this.

PSA watch: Greatest. PSA. EVER.

If you like PSAs as much as I do, or even if you’re just a forklift accident afficionado, then ‘Will You Be Here Tomorrow?’ is must-see viewing. Via Videogum and Boing Boing.

Robots: you’re doing it right

Double-Taker (Snout), Interactive Robot from Golan Levin on Vimeo.

Are you listening, science? Instead of kicking robot dogs and building robot models and oversized, terrifying robot babies, you should just make things that look nothing like people and function only to make people happy. If this curious robo-clops doesn’t fill your heart with joy you are COLD and DEAD inside. Via never slap the gift donkey.

End of an obsession

Here’s the thing: about a year and a half ago someone showed me an article in The Believer on medical mannequins, saying that it struck me as the kind of thing I would be interested in, and indeed I was. I’ve been obsessed with medical mannequins ever since. When stressed or anxious, I click through the catalogue of Limbs and Things, carefully avoiding the episiotomy trainer (I’m not linking because ARRRGH). Indeed, there is a picture of a bimanual pelvic exam trainer in one of the chapters of my thesis, and I am writing about obesity. I’m teaching at a nursing school this semester for some reason, and every time I go to my classroom I spend far too long peering into the simulated hospital rooms full of glassy-eyed, pyjama-clad mannequins.
So when I came across this video of the PROMPT Obstetrics Trainer in Buzzfeed I was almost obscenely excited by the opportunity to see one in action for the first time. Please watch. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to fashion a homemade IUD from garbage bag ties and can pulls.