Tea With Chris is a roundup of recommended links, posted every Thursday. Here are a few of our favourite things from the Internet this week:
Chris: When you read this I’ll be in Montreal, scoping out Leonard Cohen’s favourite smoked meat place, so I’m going to keep it minimalistic. This is Steve Ditko’s unyielding door.
I have way too many tote bags, but I’ll buy anything with Eileen Myles’ name on it, so … shit.
If you’re in Toronto and have even five dollars to your name tomorrow, our friend Sholem Krishtalka will do your nails.
Carl: I could spend all day browsing the galleries in this series from the great blog If Charlie Parker Was a Gunslinger, There’d Be a Lot of Dead Copycats: They Were Collaborators — which includes members of bands, the casts of plays and movies, writers and editors, producers and musicians, directors and actresses (who often make cross-referenced appearances in the blog’s other series, They Were an Item, which also contains stuff like this devastatingly sweet shot of Isherwood and Auden), art collectives and comedy teams, even ventriloquists and ventriloquial figures. (Apologies to anyone with automatonophobia.) It’s refreshing to see pictures of famous people at parties together and then reclassify them as collaborators, co-workers — a reminder that this culture stuff is not mostly just goofing off and looking pretty.
They were collaborators: Sonny Rollins and Max Roach
My friend (and co-eponymist) Carl (I just made that last word up) Zimring has one of the coolest academic specialties of anyone I know: garbage. He’s an environmental historian and studies ” how attitudes concerning waste shape society, culture, institutions, and inequalities.” He’s also an enthusiastic music head, and this week he brought those interests together in a fine short essay about (another near-sharer of our name) Karl Hendricks and his new song about a wistful hoarder: “Why do I hold on to all this trash?/ Hanging tight to the concrete/ ’Cause I lost all the abstract. The song particularly spoke to Carl Z. this week because he is in the process of rapidly packing up — and purging — his own possessions as he is heading from Chicago to New York to take up a new post at Pratt. Good luck with the move, man.
Finally, a good way to purge the hoarded trash in your own brainpan would almost certainly be to listen to Dan Deacon’s rendition of “Call Me Maybe, Acapella, 147 Times Exponentially Layered.”
Margaux: Whales are people. Finally. Or almost finally. Or in any case, the fight is on. They are bigger and older than us and maybe, as Jeff Warren quotes Hal Whitehead, they can scan through each others bodies “So there’s no hiding what one has eaten, whether one’s sexually receptive, whether one’s pregnant, whether one’s sick. Presumably, this changes social life a lot.” Maybe someday soon when people are on trial for not being such great people, we will be hearing the high pitched and empathetic cetaceatarium plea that people too are deserving of whalehood.
Some human music from The Fugs to go with whale reading. NOTHING. courtesy of sheila heti courtesy of janos mate
I went on Google + for the first time and found this from my other pal. It’s something.
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