In decline   1 vote - 50 %
In decline in London and the South   1 vote - 50 %
Not in decline   0 votes - 0 %
2 Total Votes
I have yet to see the new Who by georgeha (4.00 / 1) #1 Wed Sep 05, 2012 at 07:18:52 PM EST
though we let sixteen_year_old and newspaper_girl watch it in the house alone (we were camping 60 miles away).

Koch Brother Article by jimgon (4.00 / 1) #2 Wed Sep 05, 2012 at 07:54:38 PM EST
Interesting defense of having a billionaire fund a camapaign. 

Technician - "We can't even get decent physical health care. Mental health is like witchcraft here."
Great Gatsby by MrMole (4.00 / 1) #3 Thu Sep 06, 2012 at 01:02:06 AM EST
One of few things I was forced to read in highschool that I liked.

kids show? by MillMan (4.00 / 1) #4 Thu Sep 06, 2012 at 01:22:40 AM EST
I remember the 1970s era daleks scaring the living shit out of me as a kid.

"Just as there are no atheists in foxholes, there are no libertarians in financial crises." -Krugman

Garter girls by hulver (4.00 / 1) #5 Thu Sep 06, 2012 at 04:07:56 AM EST
Interesting tyre tread pattern.
Cheese is not a hat. - clock
Hmm by TheophileEscargot (2.00 / 0) #6 Thu Sep 06, 2012 at 04:19:57 AM EST
In 1925 it was just a cool ancient Indian symbol of course. You do see it sometimes in things from that period.
It is unlikely that the good of a snail should reside in its shell: so is it likely that the good of a man should?
[ Parent ]
Gatsby, Gold Coast by johnny (4.00 / 4) #7 Sun Sep 09, 2012 at 10:19:31 PM EST
To me, Gatsby is like the Mona Lisa or Hamlet, something that is odd & mysterious but yet somehow perfect, so much so that it's a wonder to me that it became appreciated as a masterwork by so many people. What I mean is, if I can find a way to say it, is that some vast proportion of people have no taste at all. They like crap, Kim Kardashian or whatever, crap that people of discernment find repugnant. These people will never in a million years be touched by the art of, say, John Donne or Johan Bach. But then you have art made by people like Beethoven & the Beatles, which is appreciated by people of discernment, but which is so inescapable and obvious that it's also appreciated by the Kim Kardashian devotees; Beatles & Beethoven are basically irresistible to boors & esthetes alike (I know, mileages vary, etc). Then you have this third class of art objects that seduce people with refined tastes & people with no taste at all, but are somehow NOT obvious. I have no idea how The Great Gatsby (or Hamlet or the Mona Lisa) ever caught on. That they did gives me some small measure of faith in my fellow stupid humans.

I am aware that the above argument is a snob's argument. Yeah, well, whatev's.

That part of Long Island is still called the Gold Coast, although its glory days are in the past.

A long, long time ago, summer of 1973, I was on a sailboat owned by the father of a college classmate of mine, sailing in those very Gold Coast, Gatsby waters one sunset-time. The boat was lovely, about 24'. You might have thought it was a rich person's yacht, but the family was not rich. Their house was scarcely larger than their boat, though they lived in a neighborhood of mansions. There were 6 or 8 of us college pals on the boat that day, and as we "came about" and headed for the dock we came close upon a somewhat larger sailboat, populated with very fancy looking people, scarcely older than us, who were drinking wine from goblets and laughing, and as we passed them I found myself jumping to my feet & singing in my best falsetto, "How does it feel to be. One of the beautiful. People?" My friends congratulated me on my Lennonesque cheek, but I really had no idea where it came from. It just happened.

A few years later I met the person now known as Dear Wife, and she related how, not long after my "beautiful people" incident, after she had presented her paper on overlapping gene products (shifted DNA reading frames) in T4 bacteriophage at a symposium at the Cold Springs Harbor Laboratory where James Watson was director (with both Watson & Crick in the audience), legendary womanizer Watson had taken her sailing on those same waters, and, at the clam bake afterwards, as she encountered a lobster for the first time in her 27 years, offered to show her how to "crack the shell to get to the juicy part." (She declined.)

My college roommate Dave, a physician, established one of the first AIDS clinics in the USA in Glen Cove, on the edge of the Gold Coast. "All of my patients are awful people," he told me 1984 or so. "They're drug addicts and liars and they steal and they're their own worst enemies. They assault me all the time. They don't listen to a fucking thing I tell them, and so they die. One of these days one of them is going to kill me." "Why the hell do you do it then?" I asked.  He looked at me incredulously. "What do you mean? I'm a physician. These people are despised, and they are very, very ill. They need a doctor. I'm a doctor. What the fuck do you think I'm going to do. Christ. You're stupid."  It was on a bookshelf in his house that I found The Gold Coast, by Nelson DeMille, which I highly recommend as a postscript to Gatsby.

She has effectively checked out. She's an un-person of her own making. So it falls to me.--ad hoc (in the hole)