Quantcast

A Poem for You

UPTICK

We were sitting there, and
I made a joke about how
it doesn’t dovetail: time,
one minute running out
faster than the one in front
it catches up to.
That way, I said,
there can be no waste.
Waste is virtually eliminated.

To come back for a few hours to
the present subject, a painting,
looking like it was seen,
half turning around, slightly apprehensive,
but it has to pay attention
to what’s up ahead: a vision.
Therefore poetry dissolves in
brilliant moisture and reads us
to us.
A faint notion. Too many words,
but precious.

- John Ashbery

This Recording

is dedicated to the enjoyment of audio and visual stimuli. Please visit our archives where we have uncovered the true importance of nearly everything. Should you want to reach us, e-mail alex dot carnevale at gmail dot com, but don't tell the spam robots. Consider contacting us if you wish to use This Recording in your classroom or club setting. We have given several talks at local Rotarys that we feel went really well.

The New York Series

Martin Scorsese Week

Masthead

Alex Carnevale (e-mail)
Editor-in-Chief            
                                
Molly Lambert (e-mail)         
Managing Editor          
                                  
Will Hubbard            
Executive Editor

Comments? Requests?
This form does not yet contain any fields.
    Search TR


    Classic Recordings
    Robert Altman Week

    Woody Allen Week


    Molly Lambert's Science Corner


    What would Steve Martin eat?


    G.I. Joe & Zorn's Lemma


    Will explains John Ashbery


    Conspiracy of Amber's Bra


    Magic Meets The Middle East


    This Is How The World Ends


    New Tao Lin!


    Boy Met World


    Why Is Kristen Stewart So Sad?


    The Perils of Dating in L.A.


    Young Anjelica Huston Oozes For You


    Belle & Sebastian's 10 Favorite Albums


    Lindsay Loves Samantha


    Drag Us To Hell


    Molly Lambert On Jack Nicholson


    Recovering From The Hangover


    Down with The Elderly

    Morrissey's Wit and Wisdom

    Advice for the Bride and Groom

    YouTube Tour of Disneyland

    10 Best Political Speeches

    The Best Albums of 2008

    Spores Own You Now

    Your Body's Not a Myspace

    Tyler on Romance

    You're Wonderful Cher

    We Were Them, Once 

    Mamet's Genius

    A New Kind of Porn Star

    NYC on the Cheap

    If It Makes Molly Laugh

    Women & Porn

    The Day The Earth Stood Still Sucked

    Skylines Are Suffering

    What To Do About This One

    Music As You Never Heard It Before


    Wolverine Again


    Summer Romance

     Greatest Jokes Ever


    Molly & I Love You, Man


    Paltrow in Two Lovers

    Dick Cheney Is Lost

    Devendra Talks Natalie

    TR Underlings Fight For Status

    Molly Punks Amy Winehouse

    Julie Klausner and Her Sisters


    Molly's Star Trek


    Glory of Artists' Self-Portraits


    Kill Lists Are Common Courtesy

    Shia: Every Mother's Son


    Legend of Georgia's Parents

    Undercover At A Country Club

    Lauren Among the Wackness


    Babes and Fast Cars


    She's Every Woman


    The Best 50 Singles of 2009 So Far


    Wes Anderson & Pauline Kael


    Ruben's Elevator


    Tyler and Cats


    Go boycrazy maybe


    Almie and the shroud of coupledom


    Murder at the MOMA

    The Sci-Fi Future

    « In Which Social Landmarks Are Bigger To Us Than Fines | Main | In Which The Need To Be Right Is The Sign Of A Vulgar Mind »
    Monday
    27Oct2008

    In Which We Guess We Lost All Our Picnic Spirit

    Sports Corner: Return of the Hunters

    by George Ducker

    It grieves me to no end that the above photo, featuring the New Orleans Saints trudging through the pastoral density of Northwest London, couldn't be found in a larger size or higher resolution. Maybe my mastery of the internet isn't as far-reaching as I thought. Believe me, I tried, and believe me, you can't find the thing higher than 250 or so. I'll be calling Julian Finney first thing tomorrow morning for a poster-sized image that I can frame and put on my wall.

    SirĀ  Linton, "Mary Queen of Scots About to Be Executed..."

    Yes, the second annual foray of the NFL into England happened today, and the Saints took the Chargers for a ride 37-32.

    Although this game, played at Wembley Stadium to a sellout crowd of 83,226, was notable for higher scoring and more on-field dramatics than last year's soggy, fumbling match-up between the Dolphins and the New York Giants, there was less of the patented ridiculousness that peppered last year's debut on the pitch. There was no streaker in a referee's cap and there was most assuredly no 26-foot Jason Taylor robot scaring the hell out of unsuspecting pedestrians in Trafalgar Square.

    Fred McAfee in the Eye

    And the NFL isn't pussyfooting around with their aims at foreign pigskin colonization.

    The impressed Independent snorted, "If you wanted to organize a small war, there's a chance that America's National Football League could do a better job than the Pentagon."

    John Seymour Lucas, "Armada in Sight"

    Rather than ravaging sleep patterns and jetting in midweek, the teams spent the whole week, jetting straight over after dreadful losses in the Eastern time zone...Some even had the guts to review those games in flight, as with Brees, who said, "I popped an Ambien and sat there and thought about it for 30 minutes and fell asleep."

    Brees

    Both teams had time for their share of London sightseeing, but San Diego's Antonio Cromartie offered the best, most succinct itinerary: "Man, we've been to T.G.I. Friday's, Angus Steakhouse, McDonald's. That's where we've been."

    Oxford McDonald's

    But what of the weekend's results on this side of the pond?

    J.T. O'Sullivan

    San Francisco lost 13-34 to Seattle in new coach Mike Singletary's mid-season debut.

    Chad Johnson

    The Bengals lost 35-6 at the ruthless hands of the Houston Texans. Now the Bengals and the Detroit Lions should arm-wrestle to see who gets last place, as both teams have yet to win a game all season.

    Shaun Rogers

    Cleveland took down David Garrard and the Jaguars 23 - 17. More depressing for Jaguars fans was the last second, non-catch that Matt Jones made, securing them the non-win.

    Joey Porter

    Miami moved to 3-4 with their 25-16 win over the hot, happenin' Redskins.

    Cowboy cheerleader Abigail Klein

    The Elder Bush

    And speaking of Presidential figures, you can read all about Barack Obama's stint as ESPN writer Rick Reilly's fantasy football partner here.

    This photo of Michelle is deeply mysterious to me

    And you can read here about the stink surrounding another ESPN writer, Bill Simmons, and the failed Obama podcast.

    There's a new book out on sportswriter and man-about-town George Plimpton. It's title is the heartwarming (at least to me) George, Being George, and it culls together a ton of interviews (Plimpton-on-Truman-Capote-style) with folks who knew him.

    In 1963, Plimpton, then the 36 year-old editor of the Paris Review, wrote to six football teams in the NFL, with the hopes that one of them would take him on as a "last-string" quarterback during their summer/fall training season. The Detroit Lions "an older and experienced team, imbued with a lot of the devil-may-care attitude of Bobby Layne, the roustabout quarterback who'd been there a few years before" took the bait.

    The resulting book, Paper Lion, which you should most certainly read if you haven't, presents early-'60s pro football through the writerly lens of a fan with all the admitted athletic inadequacy of an Ivy League graduate.

    Although most of the book is spent on the gridiron and in late-afternoon locker room sessions with the players, it culminates with Plimpton's one and only appearance as the Lions' QB during a scrimmage, in which he famously managed three plays and lost yardage on each and every one.

    He acknowledges that this, while humiliating, was also the best possible outcome: "If by some chance I had uncorked a touchdown pass, there would have been wild acknowledgement--because I heard the groans go up at each successive disaster--but afterward the spectators would have felt uncomfortable. Their concept of things would have been upset. The outsider did not belong and there was comfort in that being proved."

    George Ducker is the senior Sports Consultant for This Recording although he defers to A.C. in all matters NBA-related, so don't even ask.

    BECAUSE MONDAY IS THE SCARIEST DAY

    "Talking Bear Mountain Picnic Massacre Blues" - Bob Dylan (mp3)

    "Somebody's Watching Me - Rockwell (mp3)

    "Hand of Doom" - Black Sabbath (mp3)

    "Ut Oh! It's Mourningtime Again" - Mount Eerie (mp3)

    "Needle of Death" - Bert Jansch (mp3)

    PREVIOUSLY ON THIS RECORDING

    Robots can do it all the time, anywhere.

    Jellyfish nearly always rub you the wrong way.

    A day of the Triffids is closer than you think.

    Reader Comments (3)

    great blog you got here

    October 27, 2008 | Unregistered Commenterindra sartika

    What do you think happened to that Jason Taylor robot? I like to imagine it wandering around the financial district feeling lost and growing angry, perhaps taking measurement of a skyscraper and thinking, 'Maybe...'

    They also could have just, you know, taken it apart.

    October 27, 2008 | Unregistered CommenterAdam Peterson

    [...] In Which We Guess We Lost All Our Picnic Spirit [...]

    PostPost a New Comment

    Enter your information below to add a new comment.

    My response is on my own website »
    Author Email (optional):
    Author URL (optional):
    Post:
     
    Some HTML allowed: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <code> <em> <i> <strike> <strong>