Worship The Glitch

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See, that’s what the app is perfect for.

Sounds perfect Wahhhh, I don’t wanna

Israel’s choices seem to be as follows: continue in a slaughter that will permanently damage or destroy its international reputation and perhaps trigger a wider international crisis or give up on its stated goal to defeat Hamas and thereby face humiliation, domestic turmoil, and the appearance of vulnerability. Perhaps there are other options, but the leadership of Israel is completely bereft of imagination. Their society is reeling and on the verge of breakdown. They are lead by settler thugs and their enablers. Even the centrists and moderates are all too IDF-brained to think up anything except, “Tank. Bomb. F-16.” Everything Israeli politicians say and do appears hamfisted and stupid. They are supposed to be the sophisticated, modern, “Western” power but they are completely losing the propaganda war and have walked directly into the trap that Hamas set for them. Israel’s once-formidable public relations operation now just looks like whining while bombing. Again, is any of this “fair?” This is war — It’s not fair. It’s about lies and murder: You tell the right lies and kill the right people. And right now, Israel, supposedly a devious master in the arts of war and politics, looks totally lost.

John Ganz

israel palestine hamas war politics
thirtytwoelvismovies
thirtytwoelvismovies

Skin-Flicks | Gerard Damiano | 1978

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“Do you ever think about doing something else?”

Skin-Flicks, Gerard Damiano’s bleak melodrama about a porn director struggling to finish a film, is in turn one of the legendary filmmaker’s best works.

The film’s opening titles are shown with set dressers making up a bed on a film shoot, surrounding it with bizarre ceramic dolls. There’s so much behind the scenes stuff at work, and it’s not afraid to show the banality of the business. Light metres. Roll sound. Makeup touch-ups. It’s all very intimate.

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“We’re the closest we’ve ever been to being a true global village. The internet and, by extension, pop culture, is bigger and more global than ever before. But it’s arriving at a moment where most institutions don’t understand what’s going on anymore. They’ve lost the ability to quantify the size and scale of the internet and don’t know how to communicate properly. And the young people who have figured out systems for navigating this new landscape are all basically in feudal fiefdoms that have pledged unwavering allegiance to various billionaires and spend all of their free time attacking their perceived enemies.”

Garbage day

taylor swift politics tribalism global villiage
newyorkthegoldenage
newyorkthegoldenage

Rent Parties in Harlem

In a recent post, I showed a photo of a rent party in Greenwich Village in the 1950s. The bohemians of that era got the idea from the parties held in Harlem from the 1920s through the 1950s.

Guests paid a fee to enter the host's apartment and dance to the music provided (live bands before the war, records after). Food was extra. The host(s) used the proceeds to pay the rent.

The tickets issued for rent parties, which the hosts handed out to friends and even strangers, interested Langston Hughes. “When I first came to Harlem," he wrote in 1957, "as a poet I was intrigued by the little rhymes at the top of most House Rent Party cards, so I saved them. Now I have quite a collection.”

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The collection now lives in the Beinecke Rare Book & Manuscript Library of Yale University, along with Hughes's other papers.

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In the 1920s, competition for guests was fierce, because as many as a dozen parties might be held on the same block, and as many as five per building. One ticket from 1927 said:

Save your tears for a rainy day,
We are giving a party where you can play
With red-hot mammas and too bad She-bas
Who wear their dresses above their knees
And mess around with whom they please.

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During Prohibition, of course, bootleg liquor flowed freely. Some parties had back rooms for gambling and drug use, and couples could sometimes rent one for themselves—for a price.

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The term "rent party" never appeared on these tickets, which used euphemisms such as "social party" or "social whist party."

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Hughes enjoyed going to these parties more than those thrown by artists and intellectuals. He wrote:

The Saturday night rent parties that I attended were often more amusing than any night club, in small apartments where God knows who lived—because the guests seldom did—but where the piano would often be augmented by a guitar, or an odd cornet, or somebody with a pair of drums walking in off the street. And where awful bootleg whiskey and good fried fish or steaming chitterling were sold at very low prices. And the dancing and singing and impromptu entertaining went on until dawn came in at the windows.

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Photos: Slate magazine and Open Culture