Tomorrow is the finale – Fargo is leaving us.
I’m leaving too, so while I’m gone, just listen to this music over and over.
The use of music is so integral to the plot that each character has a separate theme, and as the two male protagonists become more and more like each other their themes converge.
The music. The photography. The writing. The acting. The plot.
It doesn’t get much better than this. But, like True Detective, if it’s renewed, it will most likely be with a new cast. Hard to imagine it being as good, but I’ll be there.
Meanwhile, while you listen to the music you can try another random post by clicking here.
“It is only as an aesthetic phenomenon that existence and the world are eternally justified. We have art in order not to die from the truth.”
- Friedrich Nietzsche
It was a lovely installation, mirroring the creek’s meander through the Swarthmore College woods. It was created by sculptor Stacy Levy, and installed, with a lot of help from volunteers, over the winter.
It sparkled in the sun, moved gently in the wind. You could look through it, walk through it, dance in it.
You could listen to it.
Last week some of the same volunteers painstakingly cleaned it, in preparation for graduation last Sunday and Alumni Weekend this weekend.
Last Friday it was vandalized, over half of it spray painted.
It had to be taken down. Now, it seems, we’re less protected from the truth.
[Ed. note: It's still up, but all the paint was not able to be removed.]
Watch the whole thing so you can see what happens at the end. Plus, you get to hear those delightful South African accents.
About two weeks ago I listened to a This American Life podcast called “Bad Baby,” that was broadcast back in March. The lead story was about a woman whose six year old tried to drown his younger brother, holding him under the water till the parents had to rescue him. He threw his baby sister across the room. He broke his mother’s nose.
He’s eight now. They have alarms on their doors and cameras in every room. They can never leave him alone with his siblings. He’s been to countless therapists, been hospitalized, is on medication.
I’ve added her blog to my blogroll. Reading it is like reading about Elliot Rodger when he too was eight.
And this brings me to the punditry about Rodger’s rampage. He was a rich spoiled kid, he had a male-privilege sense of entitlement, he was a misogynist, he shouldn’t have been allowed to buy a gun, his parents should have gotten him help a long time ago – ad nauseam.
Read this woman’s blog, and then decide what you would do in her place. But don’t read the comments. They’re all from people who prefer to pundit.
I have no idea what she should do; what society should do about these children. But I hope somebody is thinking about it instead of pontificating.
The blizzard sequence is reason alone to start watching if you’re not already.
And just a note: I’ve been putting off writing about what happened in Santa Barbara because the meta analyses are so confusing and I’m having a hard time figuring out what I think about it. Maybe my Santa Barbara readers will help me out by commenting.
They follow you around the internet, watching what you click on, what you’re thinking of buying, what you write. They watch you on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter. They know where you shop and what you buy. Their smart math majors put it all together in complicated algorithms that predict your behavior; they sell these predictions to marketers.
The F.T.C. is investigating, says the Times.
A homely, scary example: I have a friend whose son is the C.E.O of one of these companies. I sent her a link to the article, and also happened to mention I was going to see the movie Belle that day.
She wrote back:
How’s this for irony. As I was reading the article for which you sent me the link, there was a tiny box that said Belle now playing click here to buy tickets.
One of these companies, Acxiom, decided to pretend to be transparent. You could go to a site , see what they knew about you, and then “opt out.” I thought I’d try it – this was about a year ago – since I have such an outsize horror of being spied on. I didn’t get too far – the first step is to give them your email address!
I think I’m going to move to a cabin in the woods and eat berries.
Italian homework. Last week we had to write an interview with someone. I wrote about a woman who had to give away her cat interviewing a kid (un ragazzo) who’d only had a cat when he was five or six who, when asked, said sure, he knew how to take care of a cat: you just feed it, give it water, and let it out (it was funnier in Italian).
She didn’t give him the cat.
This week we have to write about a strange job. I wasn’t coming up with anything till my friend Beth reminded me of my standardized patient days. How could I forget?
In case you’ve forgotten you can read about it here; maybe I’ll try the Google translate trick (not English to Italian, that would be cheating – I mean I’ll reverse translate it back into English tomorrow). We’ll see.
Meanwhile, gotta go.