Welcome to the Plaque page, which contains a small, precious collection of things that delight, surprise, or perplex me.
For instance, here’s the trailer for “A Bucket of Blood,” which pretty much sums up my view of everything:
Then here are the end-credits to a video game Betty is fond of:. Sweet, in a sick kind of way.
Next up, the opening credits for “Branded.” You know, the usual.
Then there’s the “Unedited” footage of the Apollo 11 landing, which should not be played at work:
The contents of the plaque page are not entirely juvenile, as this essay by my friend Tim Kreider might make clear. This appeared in the New York Times on June 2, 2009.
By Tim Kreider
Fourteen years ago I was stabbed in the throat. This is kind of a long story and it’s not the point of this essay. The point is that after my unsuccessful murder I wasn’t unhappy for an entire year.
Winston Churchill’s quote about the exhilaration of being shot at without result is verifiably true. I was reminded of an old Ray Bradbury story, “The Lost City of Mars,” in which a man finds a miraculous machine that enables him to experience his own violent death over and over again, as many times as he likes — in locomotive collisions, race car crashes, exploding rockets — until he emerges flayed of all his free-floating guilt and unconscious longing for death, forgiven and free, finally alive.
I started brewing my own dandelion wine in a big Amish crock. I listened to old pop songs too stupid to name in print.
I’m not claiming I was continuously euphoric the whole time; it’s just that, during that grace period, nothing much could bother me or get me down. The sort of horrible thing that I’d always dreaded… (the rest of the piece may be read here).
You can also view the exciting graphic story-cartoon of Tim’s stabbing by clicking here: stabbingstory_1_08081