"What If You Couldn't Just Say 'Cheese'?"

Oh! These photographic subjects have facial nerve problems. I thought they were completely normal people who resisted the manipulations of a professional portrait photographer.

"Visually similar images..."

To my profile picture, according to Google.

At the Black-and-White Café...

... opposites attract.

"Here you go — I left in a seed to give it that fresh-squeezed look."

Says Meade, just now.

"This photo cements stereotypes, perpetuates an imbalance in the power dynamic, is reminiscent of centuries of colonialism (and indentured servitude)..."

"... and serves as a good example of both creating a centrality of whiteness and using 'exotic' people as fashion props."

The SI swimsuit issue is troubling people again.

At the Winter Sun Café...

... it's midday.

At the Flipped Ear Café...

... there's disarray, but only so very slight.

At the Big Paw Café...

... there's a warm corner where you can stretch out.

At the Big Puppy Café...

... you can talk all night.

After beginning its new design era with an Adorable Obama cover...

... which looked like this, The New Republic comes out with its next issue, addressing the subject of "The Republicans" ("The Party of White People"), and it looks like this:



That came in the mail today. Yes, I've subscribed. The toy robot is there to cover up my address label. And yes, I understand the reference to "The Beatles" (i.e., The White Album).

The morning ice walk.

Are we really doing this?



Rest time for one, snow-eating time for the other.


And... time for another rest. For a St. Bernard, a snow bank is a comfy sofa-back.



More progress:



And... rest time!

"[T]he pantheon of hungry young men who have moved to Washington and shape-shifted, whether consciously or not..."

"... into something that’s more palatable to the city’s establishment. The blogger who, in 2008, tweeted, 'fuck tim russert. fuck him with a spiky acid-tipped dick,' now styles himself as the evenhanded, empirically driven adult in a room of squabbling, stubborn children. Even his critique of Washington, grounded in data and charts and graphs, is establishment to the core: This place, he says, is not like it used to be."

From "Ezra Klein: The Wise Boy/A tale of striving and success in modern-day Washington," by Julia Ioffe (in the redesigned New Republic). I'm not sure what to make of this long, long piece about Klein, but this is a funny picture to publish:



That's just a photoshoot misfire that ought to have been deleted instantly. To select it to illustrate the article is practically to announce: This is a hit piece.

I pointed out that, in spite of his loathing of being subjected to the journalistic gaze, he had agreed to be profiled not only by me, but also by New York magazine—simultaneously. The “people above me” he said, “seem to think it’s a good idea.” It would bring in readership, and Klein felt it would be “hypocritical” not to cooperate with the press when he, the press, was constantly asking people to cooperate with him. It was almost too meta to bear. “You’re sitting there taking notes and recording while I’m sitting here taking notes and recording,” he said. “It’s a peculiar situation!”...

Klein later told me that he found our exchange “slightly threatening.”

“Don’t take it personally,” one of Klein’s friends explained. “He didn’t get this far being casual about his image management.”

Oh, good lord, this thing has me sympathizing with Ezra Klein! Ridiculous.

By the way, a pantheon is "a temple dedicated to all the gods." (OED.) The figurative meaning is: "The group of people or things most revered by an individual, nation, profession, etc.; a group of people particularly respected, famous, or otherwise significant in some capacity; a set of things having acknowledged value or importance." It doesn't make sense to talk about "the pantheon of hungry young men." Either they hungry or they are in the pantheon. The ambitious young strivers are not the gods.

(Are there hungry gods?)

At the Tired Dog Café...

... you've earned your sleep.

At the Watchful Dog Café...

... I will be here, intent, intense, absolutely as long as there is... oh! Was it anything more profound than bacon?

After Beyonce's publicists asks Buzzfeed to remove some unflattering photographs of her (from her Super Bowl show)...

... Buzzfeed publishes the email, and the photos become a meme. Why don't publicists get the internet? What the publicist wrote:

"I am certain you will be able to find some better photos. The worst are #5, 6, 10, 11, 12, 19 and 22."

What the internet heard: I am certain you will be able to photoshop these photos. May I recommend #5, 6, 10, 11, 12, 19 and 22.

ADDED: The Daily Mail link in the post doesn't work anymore. Here's Buzzfeed's original article, including the email and unflattering photos, but not the Photoshops. Google beyonce photoshop if you want to see some of them.

At the Faithful Dog Café...

... share the love.

At the Lustreless Sun Café...

.... it's nighttime now, so what does it matter?

Purchase of the day.

Yesterday, February 7: Poulenc: Les Mamelles de Tiresias (Duval, Cluytens) / Bal Masque (Pretre) F. Poulenc (Artist) | Format: Audio CD (Earnings to the Althouse blog = $0.98) Poulenc Plaque. 

Honorable mentions: SSwix F4 Combi Brush felt/nylonby Swix (Earnings to Althouse blog = $0.98) 

Zeroll Original Ice Cream Scoop (Earnings to Althouse blog = $0.90)

13 purchases under the category "Camera" (Earnings to Althouse blog = $111.26)

And 61 other items.

Thanks for showing your appreciation for a blog called Althouse!

At the New Snow Café...

... this is a blank slate for your writings.

At the Snow Tree Café...

... it's so quiet in here.

(Photo taken today at about noon, as we took lunch break out on our favorite golf course ski trail.)