As a kid, my grandparents, and millions of other viewers rarely missed an episode of the television program “All in the Family.” For those too young to know, Norman Lear’s aboriginal must-see TV hilariously highlighted the friction between the nineteen-sixties’ “progressive” generation and their parents via the bigoted, but strangely lovable, character of Archie Bunker. I suspect most of its viewers shared more in common with Archie’s prejudices than they wanted to admit, but laughing at him allowed one to take the first step towards changing one’s own biases, whether one knew it or not.
I like to imagine that my grandparents were always progressive, tolerant people in favor of things we now take for granted, but I know that’s probably wishful thinking. I’m not even sure about myself in this regard. Fortunately, we humans are incessant editors, never happy with the first draft of anything. This tendency towards revision can cause problems, though. For example, most memories I have of my daughter as a baby have been systematically and irrationally replaced by a mental image of how she appears now—an eight-year-old—because I simply can’t believe she was ever so small. In fact, when she was born, one of my friends, while cradling her fragile seven pounds, couldn’t believe it then, saying, “God, why don’t we just die the second we’re born? We’re so delicate and vulnerable!” My wife’s mother, who was visiting, didn’t miss a beat: “It’s mothers, honey. It’s our job to make sure that never happens.” Well, score one for Moms, I thought.
Now that the numbers are in on same-sex marriage, many Republicans are falling like dominos all over themselves to express their support for something that only a few months ago they steadfastly claimed to stand against. They’ll probably soon claim that this is how they felt all along, and they were simply too hamstrung by politics to be able to say what they really meant. Well, okay. In the spirit of openheartedness and what life is really all about, I’ll go so far as to say that the fear of others may mask some deep-seated desire to understand, and maybe even to love. Because really, what is there to be afraid of? Few people today don’t know—or have in their families—at least one loving couple who are raising children, same-sex or not. And it’s really just the loving part that matters. That same-sex marriage could go from its preliminary draft of “diagnosable” to the final edit of “so what?” must indicate some positive evolution on the part of the larger human consciousness. My wife, being a biology teacher, puts it even more succinctly: “Why are all these people so worried about who everybody else is sleeping with, anyway?” (Score two for Moms.)
So, a final draft: happy Mothers’ Day, moms. We are grateful to, and love, you all.
So, I LOVE looking @ fan art. But usually I love the REAL BAD stuff… like my Beauty & The Beast post a few days ago. I decided to look for Thor related stuff (I get Chris Hemsworth boners on occasion). I had NO CLUE that people were into brothers Thor & Loki getting it on. Incest is indeed the best! I found all of these fine images on FUCK YEAH THOR & LOKI. The bad art was just bad… not really warped enough or funny. There were so many AMAZING works though. Sweet, touching, amusing, porny… and just plain pretty. See what you think…
“In 1966, when the first season went crazy, Kane worked on these 15 or so large oil paintings. It’s thought he designed or art directed them, he signed them and may have done the outlines. The color was definitely done by a ghost artist, I’m told it was a woman. I saw about 8 of these paintings at a Beverly Hills art show when the second Michael Keaton Batman movie came out in the early 1990′s. And I am fortunate to own one of these paintings, the one with Batman rushing toward you and the moon in the background. This painting was owned by Cary Grant for many years.”
- Ricky G.
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via MOTHER JONES (written by Maddie Oatman): Vivian Maier’s massive collection of street photography remained hidden from the public eye until a Chicago realtor named John Maloof stumbled across boxes of her negatives at an auction house in 2007. After amassing more negatives and finally googling her, he learned that she had made her living as a nanny and had died a few days earlier at age 83.
She left an oeuvre of intimate glimpses of people caught in everyday moments, as seen in this 2011 Mother Jones collection of her work.
Now, Maloof has joined with Charles Siskel and Submarine Entertainment to produce Finding Vivian Maier, a documentary due out later this year. The film draws on Super-8 footage shot by Maier as well as interviews with friends, family, and neighbors that expose more details of Maier’s life and work.
Discovering the real Maier is a challenge; as one of her friends put it, “she was a closed person” and also because most people she knew “had no idea she took photographs.” About the film, one friend insists Maier “would’ve hated every minute of it. She would never have let this happen.” Yet, says Siskel, “Vivian’s story is as powerful as her art” and he hopes the documentary “will bring her the recognition she deserves.”
Read more about Maier in Alex Kotlowitz’s essay “The Best Street Photographer You’ve Never Heard Of.”
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