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Archive for June 8th, 2010

Among the many treasures lost by this blogger in Typhoon Ondoy’s wrath was his collection of books. One odd gem in that long gone collection was The Power Look written by Egon von Fürstenberg, an out of print fashion guide for men that this blogger picked up in a book sale once upon a time.

This blogger is reminded fondly of that lost gem by a more recent acquisition: The Sartorialist, a collection of fashion photography by Scott Schuman. Scott posts his photos regularly at The Sartorialist Blog and what this blogger finds interesting (apart from the fashion) are the comments that soon build-up after each photo is posted. Fashion watchers, fellow photogs, shoppers, designers, and consumers throw in their two-cent critiques of everything seen through Scott’s lens. It’s an open forum without needing to be one.

This blogger will remain a fan.

Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.

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My Critical Thinker’s-inspired Bond song suddenly comes up! Fortunately, it really is one of my few favorite Bond songs!

Tina Turner exudes IT. Of course, besides the unusual elegance because everybody knows she’s The Queen of Rock n’ Roll, she exudes the wisdom of a survivor and the X-Factor. I felt a double-meaning about the song with her personal life. Now and then I felt like I was seeing a ghostly figure of… Ike?

Let us not forget her distinctive voice echoed through People Power in 1986 with “We Don’t Need Another Hero.”  She’s a part of us!

Interestingly, the video has another version, which is the opening scene of the film…

So rich in myth.  A pleasure to watch.  It reminds me of the phrase Le Mot JusteIn Myths To Live By, Joseph Campbell writes:

The right word, le mot juste, he had recognized, can wound; can even kill. Yet the duty of the writer must be to observe and to name exactly: wounding, even possibly killing. For what the writer must name in describing are inevitably imperfections. Perfection in life does not exist; and if it did, it would be — not lovable but admirable, possibly even a bore. Perfection lacks personality. (All the Buddhas, they say, are perfect, perfect and therefore alike. Having gained release from the imperfections of this world, they have left it, never to return. But the Bodhisattvas, remaining, regard the lives and deeds of this imperfect world with eyes and tears of compassion.) For let us note well (and here is the high point of Mann’s thinking on this subject): what is lovable about any human being is precisely his imperfections. The writer is to find the right words for these and to send them like arrows to their mark — but with a balm, the balm of love, on every point. For the mark, the imperfection, is exactly what is personal, human, natural, in the object, and the umbilical point of its life.

“I admire,” wrote Tonio Kröger to his intellectual friend, “those proud and cold beings who adventure on paths of great daemonic beauty and despise ‘mankind’; but I do not envy them. Because {and here he lets fly his own dart} if there is anything capable of making a poet of a literary man, it is this burgherlike love that I feel for the human, the commonplace. All warmth, goodness, and humor derives from this; and it even seems to me that it must be itself that love of which it is written that one may speak with the tongues of men and of angels and yet, having it not, be as sounding brass and tinkling cymbals…”

“Erotic” or “plastic irony,” is the name that Thomas Mann bestowed on this principle; and through the greater part of his creative career it was the guiding principle of his art. The unflinching eye detects, the intellect names, the heart goes out in compassion; and the life-force of every life-loving heart will be finally tested, challenged, and measured by its capacity to regard with such compassion whatever has been by the eye perceived and by the intellect named. “For God,” as we read in Paul to the Romans, “has consigned all men to disobedience, that he may show his mercy to all.”

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