Category Archives: Talk Amongst Yourselves

100 Years Of Bras

Minoan WOmen playing a board game

The Independent’s John Walsh writes up a century retrospective of the bra, and seems to have far too much fun doing so:

Exactly a hundred years ago, in 1907, the word “brassiere” was used in Vogue for the first time. But its evolution goes back three millennia. Historians have found that, while Roman women sometimes wore a band of cloth over their breasts, to restrict their growth or conceal them, the Greeks favoured a less uptight approach. Some enterprising designer realised that such a belt worn under the breasts might accentuate them, to pleasing effect. (In the hierarchy of ideas that have made the world a better place, this is up there with light bulbs and indoor plumbing.)

The brazen Minoans were streets ahead of the Greeks, however: women in Crete wore material that both supported and revealed their bare breasts, in emulation of the snake goddess – 3,000 years before the invention of glamour modelling.
Breast supporting act: a century of the bra – Independent Online Edition > This Britain

Thoughts On Theresa Duncan

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I took a break from my attempts to understand the SPP and thought it might be interesting to look at Theresa Duncan. Kind of wonder what your obsession with this woman was was all about.

First read various articles and posts by her friends and acquaintances. They do paint a portrait of woman with a keen eye and focused mind. Though most sensed or saw there was a dark, brooding, and paranoid current sweeping her through the later part of life. This intrigued me. So I next turned to Duncan’s blog. I read some of her posts and looked at some of the pictures. I was struck by an infectious and seductive quality her blog had. But have to admit there was an uneasiness conveyed by the words and pictures, at least for me.

It is hard to exactly put my finger on why I felt uneasiness. Guess it had to do with intimate sensuality displayed as a lofty idea, one always just out of reach. It has a feel of an old era existentialist struck in the middle of a sidewalk, which is crowded with beautiful modern day posers.

Anyways, kind of understand your obsession. Its gauzy, diffuse style is so honed, it is a sensuous art.

Laughing at the Gods


Over at Heading East, a superb blog by Raul Guteerrez, comes this beautiful piece of experiential prose. Do yourself a favor and follow the link, read the whole piece:

In the office of Melvin Hurwitz you will find four guys in ill fitting grey suits hunched over metal desks, all in a row. The lights are florescent and harsh, the walls are dingy, haphazardly decorated with pictures of wives and old pictures of Mr. Hurwitz who sits at the last desk. While the other men chat on the phone or sort through papers, Hurwitz sits with his hands on his desk with a look of real calm. He’s ready to do business.
Heading East: Hubris

Sears Tower Elevator Chicken

Judith Martin James Carville

A new feature here in Fortune Land, Sears Tower Elevator Chicken is a mental exercise wherein you try to imagine two (or more) people sharing an elevator ride down the Sears Tower, and guess who would bail out first. Today’s contestants: Judith Martin (aka Miss Manners) and James Carville (aka The Ragin’ Cajun)

A brief profile in the latest (July 30, 2007) New Yorker magazine brings us up to date on Ms Martin’s fascination with Venice. This little aside is precious:

As for modern-day Venice, yes, it’s sinking, expensive, and mobbed with rude tourists who are despised by the ever-shrinking local population. (Tiresome observations all, in Miss Manners’s view.) Recently, the local legislature proposed a scheme to charge visitors more than residents for the use of public toilets. “One would think,” Miss Manners writes, “that a city with liquid streets would not want to tempt people it had already branded as being uncultured and crude.”
Decorum Dept.: When in Venice: The Talk of the Town: The New Yorker

But more pertinent to today’s game is this critique:

“I brought back the word ‘etiquette,’ ” she said, explaining her resentment of the idea that “civil comportment is some sort of quaint form of behavior that we’ve grown beyond. Certainly not!” People don’t realize, Miss Manners said, that to the Greeks morals and manners were topics as worthy of inquiry as the principles of democratic society. “ ‘Just be yourself.’ Now, what does that mean?” Carving her carpaccio with X-Acto precision, she lamented the popular sentiment that knowing which fork to use is a trifling matter lorded about only by mean-hearted snobs. “If you were going to go live in Japan, would you learn how to use chopsticks?”

How would Mr. Carville respond to that, one wonders? Well, let’s look at how he responded to a bit of well reasoned criticism from his own wife, Mary Matalin:

“It stretches any credulity to believe that the White House could not stop this rabid dog. He’s not my husband when I speak of him as a frothing, rabid dog. He’s clearly a front for the president … If anyone is close to obstruction of justice, it’s the president of these United States whose pit bull is out front.”
— Radio talk show host and former Republican strategist Mary Matalin on “Fox News Sunday,” describing her spouse, Democratic consultant James Carville, who has attacked the integrity of Whitewater independent counsel Kenneth Starr (The Washington Post, December 9, 1996).
James Carville’s reaction to hearing of Mary Matalin’s comment: “I went home and bit her” (The Washington Post, December 11, 1996).
James Carville – George Loper – Rogue’s Gallery

Hmm. This one is close.
Pawn thinks it has to go to Carville, by a nose. He isn’t used to backing down, and we think he would most surely chase Miss Manners screaming from the car.

In Dreams

City Reliquary - Williamsburg

I awoke just now from a dream.  I was idling on the streets of Williamsburg and watching John Waters as he slowly strolled, hands clasped behind his back, long deliberate strides to some internal rhythm, like the Russian immigrants down the block do on their long plodding walks.  He peered into first one then the next boutique, intently, like some grave-robber window shopping a reliquary.

Rage Against Irrelevance


Irrelevancy is all the vogue of late, and getting more so. But wait, there is hope upon the hype-rizon. As reported here, previously, anchors are starting to push back against the omnipresence of celebrity “news” and its creeping into actual “newscasts.” Here is further evidence (via New York Times):

There seems to be a new wave in the contrarian crossfire of television news on the subject of celebrity misdeeds. Jack Cafferty, the vinegary commentator on CNN and alumni of a legendary “Live at Five” team, was the latest example in a protest against the Lindsay Lohan news, right.
Rage Against the Teleprompter – The Lede – Breaking News – New York Times Blog

Let’s hope this is a trend which catches fire across the land!

Couches of Consternation and Sofas of Suffering

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From the New York Times weekly feature, Paper Cuts, in which they ask prominent (or favorite) writers for a playlist. Here is one of Sarah Vowell’s entries. I like the quote:

13) Disorder in the House, Warren Zevon. Why say you’re blue when you can say you’re “sprawled across the davenport of despair”?
Living with Music: A Playlist from Sarah Vowell – Paper Cuts – Books – New York Times Blog

Late news of the late

I was totally blown off course and beached on the sands of emotion tonight when I received this message in my personal email account:

From: “A Friend”
Subject: Theresa Duncan
I’m a freelance writer with an assignment to write about her recent death–did you know her very well?

I am shocked!!

I have known Theresa on-line for about a year, and always found her blog, The Wit Of The Staircase, to be a pleasant diversion, a reliable guide, and a valuable window into areas of interest which I would not otherwise have followed. She taught me about the importance of scent and the art of parfum, the proper place of art criticism and the value of the use of the third person.

Theresa was so young, barely 40, and now her husband, Jeremy Blake, has followed her into the abyss of suicide. I know not why for either. I have abandoned the third person here, because this is just so abjectly personal that there is no way that the third person could do her and Jeremy the honor that they deserve for the contributions that they made in life, and the promise that they left us. I am so, so upset and pissed off at them both right now.

Sleep well, my young and foolish friends, my children of the staircase. I will never forget you.