Behold The Powers Of Mapping!

Marriage Ban Donors Feel Exposed by List

By Jesse McKinley

SAN FRANCISCO — In many ways it is a typical map, showing states, highways, cities and streets.

But also dotting the online display are thousands of red arrows, marking spots from Bryn Mawr, Pa., to Jamacha, Calif., identifying the addresses of donors who supported Proposition 8, which outlawed same-sex marriage in California.

It is exactly those arrows that concern supporters of the measure, who say they have been regularly harassed since the election — with threatening e-mail messages and sometimes boycotts of their businesses.

“Some gay activists have organized Web sites to actively encourage people to go after supporters of Proposition 8,” said Frank Schubert, the campaign manager for Protect Marriage, the leading group behind the proposition. “And giving these people a map to your home or office leaves supporters of Proposition 8 feeling especially vulnerable. Really, it is chilling.”

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/19/us/19prop8.html

Sounds Of Typing

I have to admit that I miss the sounds of my keyboard when I walk away from it for too long. I neglect the keys too often, reassuring myself that I will remember this or that passing thought, come back, and write it down. Today I woke up to bright sunlight shinning through the oblong-shaped angle between my floor and room door. Almost white, blinding me from across the room. I took the light as a sign that I had finally woken-up before 4pm; finally I caught a day. Gradually rising from my red couch I walked over to my French windows, turned the silver-knob, pulled the glass inwards, then leaned out to push the shudders open. The warm cool air hit me and lifted me like a strong glass of fresh mint tea. I breathed in deep and, for the first time in a while, smiled at the view from my window. Good day to take my bike out.

After some coffee and breakfast—1 tablespoon of instant powder coffee mixed with a 1/3 teaspoon sugar along with a petit pain au lait—I sat down to finish reading a book by an author who is “the Einstein of memory.” Throughout the past week I have followed this German man on his journey through Italy, southern Germany, his memories, and the memories of others. At times his words bore me to death, but there are moments when he captivates my imagination. The way he renders place and experience, especially the unknown dark corners of memory, is remarkable. He tells less a story of what is remember than what is not remember, or what is never completely known. I would say he narrates the shadows that followed him throughout his life; only through telling the story does he begin to dissolve les ombres. His writing made me think about how memory functions when we do an about face and chase down the shadows. By nature these semi-opaque entities seem tangible enough if not completely at our mercy to be sculpted as we please. But on the great craftswomen knows well how to manipulate vellum-like figures. The rest of us, try as we may, only run out of time and misshape them. We try though, and that is what I found so fascinating about Seabald’s work. He danced with the shadows--getting close, but never too close as to chase them away. Conjuring them towards him, he wove them into new memories that were a hybrid of old imaginings and new experiences, crafting an entirely innovating kind of memory.

Behind 48

Typolution

Round-Abouts: Berlin

Words From The Wiser

Almost every breath contains some fragments of an escaping melody. If I shape my lips so as to whistle, my breath will take on a musical shape like sonic vapor. Words are much trickier. I would forgo words altogether if I didn’t love singing them so much. My choice of words and my voice betray so much and that’s what’s so terrifying and attractive about it [...]Words get under my skin the same way melodies do. Something catches my attention and I file it subconsciously. It often begins with an archaic or obscure word I have not defined. I just like the sound of it and its elusive meaning gives it a mysterious shine. On the menu of a local cafe is an item called “salsify.” Before I reach for the dictionary I let my imagination run wild and decide that salsify is a burrowing bronchial root like a rickety old mine that burrows deep into something. It turns out that’s mostly correct which encourages me further. All I know is “salsify mains” sounds good to me.

-Andrew Bird, from "Words Will Tell." NyTimes, March 2008