Thursday, April 9, 2009
Stand And Deliver
Who would believe, in this day and age and given our far superior technologies and fire power, that Somali thugs would continue to menace cargo ships on the high seas? It happened again yesterday when the American-crewed and captained cargo ship Maersk Alabama was carrying emergency food relief to Mombasa, Kenya.
While the crew eventually retook control of the ship, the pirates are still holding the captain, According to the International Maritime Bureau, a watchdog group based in Kuala Lumpur, since January of this year alone, pirates have made 66 attacks and are still holding 14 ships and 260 people hostage. Other than blowing their happy asses out of the sea on sight, there isn't much we can do. How do you hold sanctions against a pirate?
In other, less menacing, pirate news, it seems that there is at least one other person of rational age and thought living in this town who is as cuckoo over shoes as I am. The Pirate herself showed up at lunch yesterday wearing what has for me long been a coveted piece of footwear. The Pirate, a savvy shopper if ever there was one, scored hers at a deeply discounted price at Piperlime.
Yes, folks, the mythical BCBG Ivanka color blocked shoe, al la:
Only her pair is the pinky-nude patent leather with grey elastic straps and patent heel, much more apropos for spring. You go with your bad ass self, girl.
Moi, I'm lemming for this version, which, it seems, is not about to let itself be discounted anywhere. Not even on the 'Bay. Grrrrrrrrr . . .
Arg, matey, you will eventually be MINE!
Oh, and this is off topic, but still: yesterday marked the fifteen year anniversary of the death of Kurt Cobain, an event which upsets me to this day. Normally, I could care less about the self destructive tendencies of hollow-brained, fame-seeking super star wannabes who happily whore themselves out for a bit of glitz and glam, bite off more than they can chew, and then boohoohoo themselves to death when they find themselves incapable of swallowing.
But there was something different about Kurt Cobain. Not the least of which, his monumental musical talent and stunning ability to craft not just effective, catchy rock songs, but ones underlain with the kind of honest, raw emotionality that transcends any accusations of self indulgence and shoots straight into the upper echelon of poetic brilliance.
Because our world desperately needs musicians like Kurt Cobain, I will forever remain pissed off that he chose to remove himself from this earth instead of figuring out how to reconcile his sensitive nature to the harsh realities of the limelight. That he couldn't find, in the words of his much more grasping wife (whose talent for self preservation is as breathtaking as Cobain's failure) "ten good reasons to say alive," is one of contemporary art's deepest tragedies.
One of the last songs he wrote.