Schwarz
View current page
...more recent posts
I might be movin' to Montana soon
Just to raise me up a crop of
Dental Floss
Raisin' it up
Waxen it down
In a little white box
That I can sell uptown
By myself I wouldn't
Have no boss,
But I'd be raisin' my lonely
Dental Floss
Raisin' my lonely
Dental Floss
Well I just might grow me some bees
But I'd leave the sweet stuff
To somebody else . . . but then, on the other hand I would
Keep the wax
'N melt it down
Pluck some Floss
'N swish it aroun'
I'd have me a crop
An' it'd be on top (that's why I'm movin' to Montana)
Movin' to Montana soon
Gonna be a Dental Floss tycoon (yes I am)
Movin' to Montana soon
Gonna be a mennil-toss flykune
I'm pluckin' the ol'
Dennil Floss
That's growin' on the prairie
Pluckin' the floss!
I plucked all day an' all nite an' all
Afternoon . . .
I'm ridin' a small tiny hoss
(His name is MIGHTY LITTLE)
He's a good hoss
Even though
He's a bit dinky to strap a big saddle or
Blanket on anyway
He's a bit dinky to strap a big saddle or
Blanket on anyway
Any way
I'm pluckin' the ol'
Dennil Floss
Even if you think it is a little silly, folks
I don't care if you think it's silly, folks
I don't care if you think it's silly, folks
I'm gonna find me a horse
Just about this big,
An' ride him all along the border line
With a
Pair of heavy-duty
Zircon-encrusted tweezers in my hand
Every other wrangler would say
I was mighty grand
By myself I wouldn't
Have no boss,
But I'd be raisin' my lonely
Dental Floss
Raisin' my lonely
Dental Floss
Raisin' my lonely
Dental Floss
Well I might
Ride along the border
With my tweezers gleamin'
In the moon-lighty night
And then I'd
Get a cuppa cawfee
'N give my foot a push . . .
Just me 'n the pygmy pony
Over by the Dennil Floss Bush
'N then I might just
Jump back on
An' ride
Like a cowboy
Into the dawn to Montana
Movin' to Montana soon
(Yippy-Ty-O-Ty-Ay)
Movin' to Montana soon
(Yippy-Ty-O-Ty-Ay)
Movin' to Montana soon
(Yippy-Ty-O-Ty-Ay)
Movin' to Montana soon
(Yippy-Ty-O-Ty-Ay)
Movin' to Montana soon
(Yippy-Ty-O-Ty-Ay)
Movin' to Montana soon
(Yippy-Ty-O-Ty-Ay)
Movin' to Montana soon
(Yippy-Ty-O-Ty-Ay)
Movin' to Montana soon
(Yippy-Ty-O-Ty-Ay)
Movin' to Montana soon
(Yippy-Ty-O-Ty-Ay)
Movin' to Montana soon
(Yippy-Ty-O-Ty-Ay)
Movin' to Montana soon
(Yippy-Ty-O-Ty-Ay)
Movin' to Montana soon
(Yippy-Ty-O-Ty-Ay)
zappa and the mothers w/ backing vocals Tina Turner & The Ikettes
Q. Can you help me find an unfinished Parsons table before I lose the will to live?
A. Now considered the Gap pocket T of American interior design, the Parsons table used to be a deluxe decorating item, available only to decorators and architects who had it custom-made by cabinetmakers. Even so it seems to have somewhat egalitarian roots.
In the most likely version of the story the French decorator Jean-Michel Frank, the undisputed master of luxurious minimalism, was lecturing at the Paris branch of the Parsons School of Design in the 1930's. According to an oral history in the Parsons archives, Frank challenged students to design a table so basic that it would retain its integrity whether sheathed in gold leaf, mica, parchment, split straw or painted burlap, or even left robustly unvarnished.
What grew out of Frank's sketches and the students' participation was initially called the T-square table, rigorously plain but with stylistic distinction: whatever its length or width, its square legs were always the same thickness as its top.
Stanley Barrows, a Parsons student who became one of the school's most celebrated professors, recalled that the student creation was brought to 3-D life in New York by a handyman janitor at Parsons. Exhibited at a student show, the table, whose designer remains unknown, quickly became a favorite of tastemakers on both sides of the Atlantic.
In America the first Parsons tables were mass-produced in 1963 by two leading furniture companies, Mount Airy and Directional. And since then the design has been knocked off at every conceivable price in every possible material, including plastic. Ikea makes the tables, as does West Elm, whose 36-inch-square coffee table, above, is veneered fiberboard; $199 at westelm.com or (888) 922-4119.
Unfinished versions, however, are more difficult to find. Gothic Cabinet Craft, a New Jersey company with locations in New York City and elsewhere, recently added an authentic Parsons-style coffee table to its range of unfinished furniture. Measuring 48 inches long, 24 wide and 18 high, it has a 3-inch-thick top and square legs that fulfill the classic Parsons formula. It costs $169 in unfinished birch veneer. Add $63 if you want it finished in one of nine optional stains, including Ipswich pine and walnut; gothiccabinetcraft.com or (888) 801-3100
Sixties architects wanted us to live like aliens. Our correspondent spies a parallel universe
Vision, vision, vision, it’s everywhere. Can’t move for it. Architects are living in one of those all-too-brief moments in which the world seems to be swimming with fat wallets — cities, Middle Eastern oil states, capitalist dictatorships — with the means and the egos to indulge in fantastical visions.Not in Britain, naturally. We prefer to get our visionary fantasies in the sale aisle at Matalan. No, it’s in China, of course, and Dubai, but also in culturally adventurous continental Europe, and even in the once architecturally cautious America, that experimentation is flourishing.
Next week a major exhibition, Future City: Experiment and Utopia in Architecture 1956-2006, opens at the Barbican. This vast survey of the avant-garde since the Second World War has been thrillingly designed by the modern-day experimentalists Foreign Office Architects as a labyrinthine city within what is the last old-school utopian complex built in Britain. Almost all the (living) architects in the show are building, and on a scale: FOA are co-designing the 2012 Olympic Park, if the shindig’s accountants allow them; Coop Himmelblau are realising their Sixties fantasy Cloud as a show complex for BMW in Munich; America’s king of crazy shapes Thom Mayne last year won architecture’s highest honour, the Pritzker Prize.
We can chuckle at the models’ fashions in the Smithsons’ House of the Future, the Austin Powers-style inflatable cells Haus-Rucker-Co thought of to expand Manhattan. But these dreams are coming true. There’s a market for Utopias these days. And yet they all began with one man.
Constant Niewenhuys died in August, at the age of 85. There were few obituaries beyond his home country, the Netherlands. True, the man hadn’t exactly been front-page news for a decade or three. But still, this was the intellectual leader of the Provos, those pot-smoking anarchists whose artsy pranks in the 1960s ushered in the stereotype of liberal, libertarian Netherlands.
Constant co-founded the Situationiste Internationale, too, Jean-Luc Godard’s “children of Marx and Coca-Cola”, inspiration for every sulky counter-cultural movement from Beatniks through May 1968 and punk to the anti-globalisation protestors. The man was also a leading light of CoBrA, whose paintings — great childlike scrawls designed to put a bat up the nightdress of bourgeois society — are today the kind more admired by art theoreticians than by anyone with eyes in their head. And he also happened to be the most influential architect since the war.
Of course you’ve never heard of him. The man didn’t lay a brick in his entire life. But his one great conceptual work, New Babylon, was so powerful a vision of the future, the true heir to great architectural fantasists on paper from Piranesi to Sant’Elia, that there are few architects since who don’t owe him an intellectual debt. New Babylon begat the swirling forms of Frank Gehry and Zaha Hadid, the technopop of Archigram and Cedric Price, the playful naivety of Will Alsop, even the pragmatic high-tech of Richard Rogers and Norman Foster, and certainly the provocations of Rem Koolhaas.
joan jet
Muayad Muhsin was both inspired and enraged by a photo of U.S. Defense Secretary Donald H. Rumsfeld slumped on a seat with his army boots up in front of him.