"The idea that trying too hard is deeply uncool is... nothing new. In the ’90s, it was the central dogma..."

"... of the grunge era.... Similarly, the current just-rolled-out-of-bed look might be seen as a pendulum swing away from looksmaxxing, big blowouts and heavily filtered social media photos. Guido Palau, who styled the windswept ponytails at the Prada show, describes the look as 'weirdly bourgeois' and designed to keep people guessing. 'If you’re wearing the most beautiful cashmere jumper and it costs a fortune, you want people to know but not to know,' he says, and messy hair works the same way. 'There’s a kind of inverted snobbery.'"

From "Want to Stay on Trend? Stop Brushing Your Hair. With messy mops showing up on both runways and red carpets, the key to fashion’s new favorite hairstyle is doing less" (NYT).

I've long been a fan of this kind of hairdo. When I was a teen, in the 1960s, I imagined myself becoming famous as the hairdresser who invented the style called The Mess-Up. How could you get people to rave about your brilliant work when what you were doing is messing up their hair? I don't know, but it's genius if you can make that happen. I had the vision to mess up the hair just the right way, the way that looks so nonchalant and witty. 

Life took me elsewhere, but the inspiration of The Mess-Up must have formed an underlying anti-structure.

You know, I didn't stumble across that link myself. Meade texted it to me, and I'm pretty sure that had to do with my criticism of the hair of the women on the various news commentary TV shows he watches. I loathe the shows, but I sit there, often with noise-cancellation AirPods in while I read my iPad, but I do take in the visuals enough to become annoyed by the messy cocker-spaniel ears that festoon the female heads. Make is sleek! Pin it up! Look professional!

Paxton wins and gives us a dose of his comedy stylings.

Ken Paxton just put on a 30-second comedy routine for his audience, as he debuted his favorite nicknames for his radical Democrat opponent, James Talarico.

The crowd was loving every second of this!

PAXTON: “My opponent is the most extreme radical the Democrats have ever… pic.twitter.com/kvEtsoyKmY

— Overton (@overton_news) May 27, 2026

I know some people seem to think that's hilarious. I don't see the value of kicking someone around for being a vegan. You'll say but Althouse is not a Texan. I sort of am though.

AND: Paxton's satirizing of Talarico doesn't work on me, but Talarico just being Talarico strikes me as hilarious:

James Talarico: "I am proud to say that our campaign has officially become a non-meat campaign. We are only buying vegan products from our local vegan businesses." #TXsenpic.twitter.com/SkZZ05IXMj

— Lone Star Liberty PAC (@LoneStar_PAC) May 27, 2026

"I just can't stand it when I see kids that are making $70,000 a year spending $28 for lunch. I mean, that's just stupid."

"Think about that in the context of that being put into an index fund making 8% to 10% a year for the next 50 years."

Said Kevin O'Leary, on "The Diary of a CEO" somewhat recently.

I'm only interested in that statement because Tim Dillon got so mad about it on his show the other day:

To Tim, O'Leary is saying, essentially, "They just want to push you into a form that is not human.... You are stupid and you are an idiot because you didn't go and make yourself a tuna sandwich or a turkey sandwich and bring it into work.... There used to be the days of the 3-martini lunch, people would spend two hours at Smith & Wollensky's getting bombed and having fun and enjoying their life. Now people eat a bowl of slop and they're not even allowed to do that. They don't even want them doing that...."

Half a century ago, I made one tenth of $70,000 working in a ridiculous job in NYC, so I guess, by O'Leary's standard, I'd have been a fool to pay $2.80 for a sandwich, which I think I did, not every day, but it probably felt like a splurge. Actually, turkey for making a sandwich at home was considered expensive.

Cher is 80.

Today.

I'm the original Cher fan, so I don't need to link to anything. I remember the first time I heard Cher — "I Got You Babe" on a radio station that only came in late at night, before the song had made the playlist on the New York City stations that dominated the airways during the day. I wrote the song title down. 

"They say we're young...."

"I'd rate him top 10, could you imagine Ole' Blue Eyes singing 'It's alright Ma, I'm only bleedin''?"

A comment on the facebook post "Bob Dylan is the 56th greatest vocalist in music history," which links to "The 100 Best Vocalists of All Time/Vocalist Week begins with an artist-assisted list of the best to ever pick up a microphone" (Consequence).

That reminds me, when I was a teenager, my father liked to engage me in what he called "Socratic" debate, and I vividly remember the time he took the position that if a microphone was used, it was simply not music.

I think of him this morning as I encounter the greatest vocalists in music history restated as the best to ever pick up a microphone.

History is a long time, far longer than the era of the microphone. I assume nearly all of the top thousand greatest vocalists performed without a microphone.

"The problem is less a 'boys will be boys' tolerance than a sense of resignation among politicians, staff and other members of official Washington that powerful, ambitious men are built differently."

Writes Michelle Cottle, in "How Many People Heard About Swalwell and Did Nothing?" (NYT).

Cottle does not delve into this "built differently" hypothesis or the reasons why people believe it and choose to condone bad behavior. She seems to hope to light a fire under these weaker people and motivate them to oppose the "powerful, ambitious men" who — supposedly — are fueled by sexual desire. 

Maybe she doesn't delve into the hypothesis because she thinks it's true and self-evident. Maybe she's too puritanical to open up the subject. "Built differently." Say it clearly and explicitly. When I was a child, circa 1960, I asked my mother how babies were born. That was long ago, but I remember her answer verbatim: "Well, you know how men and women are built differently."

Can we please grow up and say it bluntly? There's no reason to be polite here. Powerful, ambitious men are built differently... the idea is if we want truly great men in our positions of power, we need to accept the component of their psyche that is a drive for sex — a lot of sex, with young, beautiful women. We're diminishing ourselves if we filter out the men who have it. Look at JFK. Look at Trump. And by the way, it's also the reason why none of the women are truly great political leaders.

That's not my personal belief. That's the hypothesis Cottle gestures at, and I'm just putting it bluntly. Maybe you can put it more bluntly, so I'll turn the conversation over to you.

"Writing is an invasion of your own privacy and the privacy of others, but the writer is always deciding where and how far to invade."

I wrote in a July 2021 post called "Rewatching 5 movies I saw in the theater when they first came out and I was in my early 20s."

I'm reading that this morning because in last night's Sunrise Café, people got to talking about Kurosawa movies and I was motivated to search my own archive for Kurosawa. Kurosawa is only mentioned in passing in that 2021 post, on a list of movies I was excited to consume all at once when I was in college — "All the Bergman films, the silents, the noir, the Fellini, the Marx Brothers, the Kurosawa, the Cary Grant movies, Katharine Hepburn, the entire French New Wave — half a century of great stuff to catch up on."

But the last line of that old post — the line that is this post's title — resonated with a post from 3 days ago, where I quoted an author who wrote "I decide which parts of me you see; I curate the way you understand my pain with sharp precision." And: "This is my book, and you’re reading it. Presumably, you like me. At the very least, you’re stuck in my head, and I control the aperture."

Bob Weir's "Bobby shorts" were NOT hot pants.

All respect to Bob Weir. My blog tribute to him is here. But now I need to talk about a NYT article that talks about his pants, his shorts. Here: "Bob Weir, a Virtuoso of Hot Pants/The Grateful Dead guitarist wore short shorts like no other" (NYT).

Okay, I am an expert on this subject... and not because I've been talking about the issue of men in shorts for 20 years. I was there, at ground zero, in the summer of 1971, when the "hot pants" fashion trend peaked. It was the summer after my sophomore year of college, I was 20 years old, and I worked — for what was probably less than $2 an hour — in the juniors department of Lit Brothers department store in Camden county, New Jersey. New hot pants outfits came in every week and we positioned them on the racks near the store entryway so they'd, presumably, mesmerize the passersby. I saw and handled this merchandise in real time. It was not made of denim. It was polyester. It was certainly not cut off and frayed. It had neatly finished edges. And most important, it had a 2-INCH INSEAM.

Now let's look at what that NYT is calling hot pants:

The article leans heavily into the idea that these shorts are really really shorty short. Key language: "chopped-to-the-heavens jean shorts," "Mr. Weir’s shorts were short," "snipped high enough that fans quite a distance from the stage could make out Mr. Weir’s upper thighs," "not Daisy Dukes, they were 'Bobby Shorts,'" "The Bob Weir Inseam... five inches max."

5 inches! 5 inches, you say?! Hot pants had a 2-INCH INSEAM! A woman in shorts with a 5-inch inseam would — in the era of hot pants — have been seen as frumpy and ultra-modest. 

Don't fight with me. I am a 1970s hot-pants purist. I was there. I didn't measure the inseam at the time, but I handled the merchandise, and I've researched the measurement, and the number is 2 inches. You may marvel — I'm marveling now — at how these pants could adequately enclose a woman's crotch, let alone a man's.

I am not taking one more step 'til I know where I'm going.

Yesterday, for the first time in my life, I contemplated whether I was named after Ann Arbor.

My mother grew up in Ann Arbor, I heard about Ann Arbor throughout my childhood, and I went to college in Ann Arbor, but it had never occurred to me that I might have been named after Ann Arbor. The story my mother told me about my name is that they wanted a name that began with the letter A — so I ended up with the initials AAA, straight As — and they wanted something as simple as possible. The second-choice name was Amy, which is also only 3 letters, but it's 2 syllables, so Amy it wasn't. 

I'm also only just now looking into the question whether Ann Arbor was named after someone named Ann. Wikipedia says: 

Am I the only one who remembers Willie the Worm?

That is a puppet show — on WCAU Philadelphia — that got started in 1950. I myself got started in 1950, in Texas, of all places, but I emerged in January 1951, in the Philadelphia television market, so I had the great good fortune to encounter this simple worm character when I was young enough to get the sense that he was important and well-loved.

It must have been more than a half century since Willie the Worm crossed my mind, but my memory was jogged yesterday as I was walking through the neighborhood with Meade, and we stopped to look at an elaborate yard display that had a sign with the lyric "Whisper words of wisdom" from the Beatles' song "Let It Be." The painted letters were a bit blobby and misshapen, and Meade read it as "Whisper worms of wisdom." My memory whispered the name of that worm of wisdom: "Willie."

I'm so touched to find video of my long-lost childhood friend, the puppet Willie the Worm. But let me acknowledge 2 other Willies the Worm:

In preparation for Alberta's joining us as the 51st state, I'm listening to Millennial Moron explain the Canadian love for Kraft Dinner Language (AKA K.D. Lang).

And it's great that Bob Dylan went on to become a popular musician in his own right. Some commenter over there says "This is the single most Canadian bit of humor I think I might have ever seen." I don't know, but I want to find out. Join us, Alberta! 

We'll give you more gold/Than your apron can hold.

Now, maybe you think I'm getting ahead of myself, and I am. I lived through the arrival of the 49th state and the 50th state, and — I was a kid — I just thought new states would be joining us every year or so. Alaska and Hawaii clamored to join the coolest place on earth, and I thought everyone else would just be piling in. Why wouldn't they?! Why didn't they? Here it is, 66 years later and not one new entrant. So it would really warm my heart — I literally had tears in my eyes — if Alberta would come on in.

I was reading "Should Alberta Become the 51st State? The Case for Secession, Statehood, and a Freer Western Canada" by Rod D. Martin. Excerpt:

"Both Napoli and Hinman fell in love with the band after seeing them perform on the TV variety show 'Shindig!' in 1965."

"'It was the sound that drew me to them,' Napoli said. 'No one sounded like them, and I wanted to know as much as I could about them.'"

From "They spent years following the Kinks. Was this their final stop? What happens when you build your life — and your friendships — around a band that can’t keep it together forever" (WaPo)(full-access link). 

Here. I found it:

Of course, I watched that at the time. I loved the Kinks. Just turning around from my computer and not rearranging anything, I see this on my windowsill:

And I love the line "It was the sound...." I get the 60s vibration. I remember struggling to convey the meaning of "the sound" to my father when he Socratically questioned me about why the music I was listening to all the time could genuinely be considered good.

"Blue-eyed and porcelain-faced, and with an acting style that initially veered from earnest to wooden..."

"... Mr. Chamberlain was rarely a critical favorite as a younger man. People magazine once summed up his reputation as an actor: 'pretty — and passionless.' Over the years, and especially toward the end of his career, he more than amply corrected that impression by tackling Hamlet and other Shakespearean parts on the English stage and embraced characters with a dark, even cruel edge. As a sign of his range, he grew a beard and wielded a samurai sword for 'Shogun' (1980), and playing a hunky but tormented Catholic priest wrestling with illicit love in 'The Thorn Birds' (1983), one of the most-watched miniseries of all time."

From "Richard Chamberlain, TV heartthrob and ‘king of the miniseries,’ dies at 90/He starred on the popular 1960s medical drama 'Dr. Kildare' and later in the miniseries 'Shogun' and 'The Thorn Birds'" (WaPo)(free-access link).

I remember arguing with my sister about who was better, Dr. Kildare or Ben Casey. She was for Dr. Kildare. Ben Casey (Vince Edwards) died 30 years ago, and now Dr. Kildare has joined him in that great hospital in the sky.

"An A.I. tool may learn how to superficially mimic the end result of writing, but it will never mimic a writer’s soul or how he or she actually produces meaningful writing..."

"... that process by which an individual idiosyncratic mind works out a problem, granting readers access to the inner life of another actual person, that constitutes the lifeblood of writing and storytelling.our institutions embrace a totally unproven technology. University administrators routinely announce new partnerships with A.I. startups, and well-meaning instructors — perhaps imagining an ideal student in an ideal world, or just wanting to feel like they’re on the cutting edge — incorporate these tools in their classrooms.... I will continue to teach students that, whether they go on to write a best-selling memoir or simply scribble in their journals occasionally, we can try to do the work as honestly and earnestly as possible, bringing our full obsessive selves to the page. The act of writing itself can be an act of self-preservation, even one of defiance...."

Writes Tom McAllister, in "I Teach Memoir Writing. Don’t Outsource Your Life Story to A.I." (NYT).

Good luck enforcing student authenticity. They're writing for you, but what you want is for them to do what's for their own good. So you must structure things so that when they do what's for their own good you will reward them. I'm tempted to... I mean, here I am, going straight to A.I. with: "A creative writing teacher wants students not to use A.I. How can that rule be enforced?" Grok gave me 7 ways to detect the use of A.I., then suggested "flipping the script: allow AI as a brainstorming tool but require students to document how they transformed its suggestions."

I've never taken a creative writing class, but I have thought of writing a memoir. If I did, at this point, I would definitely use Grok, not because I want help composing sentences and paragraphs, but to get encouragement to see the value of the material. 

"Was there an episode of 'Sea Hunt' where someone was growing marijuana underwater?"

I asked Grok to check my memory, which surfaced as I was talking with Meade about the gold in Fort Knox and the movie "Goldfinger," which both of us saw when it first came out. We also saw the next new James Bond film, "Thunderball," and thought it was boring and spelled the end of the James Bond craze. All I could remember of "Thunderball" was that there were scenes underwater, and, I said, "Underwater scenes are always boring. Only Lloyd Bridges could make underwater scenes interesting. But the only episode of 'Sea Hunt' I remember is the one where somebody was growing marijuana underwater."

Hence, my question to Grok, and I was delighted by the answer:

Yes, there was an episode of "Sea Hunt" where someone was growing marijuana underwater. In Season 3, Episode 34, titled "Underwater Narcotics," which aired on August 27, 1960, Mike Nelson (played by Lloyd Bridges) encounters divers who are cultivating a hybrid form of marijuana underwater. The episode involves Mike tangling with these divers as he uncovers their unusual operation.

I don't know what your next question/"question" would be, but mine was:

"Crooked Joe’s MANDATE, 'NO PLASTIC STRAWS, ONLY PAPER,' IS DEAD! Enjoy your next drink without a straw that disgustingly dissolves in your mouth!!!"

As you can tell from the all-caps and the triple exclamation points, that's Trump, hating on the straws everyone hates.

I avoid straws myself, and so the now-defunct plastic straw ban had no effect on me, but I do remember paper straws from the 1950s, when I was growing up, and kids just chewed on the straws, and if they dissolved in our mouth, we just ate them, and we liked it.

These days, if a kid eats paper, it's "a concerning behavior that should not be ignored" ("Whether it’s due to sensory issues, stress, or anxiety, nutritional deficiencies, developmental disorders, or curiosity, it’s essential to seek professional help and guidance to ensure your child’s safety and well-being").

By the way, don't miss the song parodies in the comments to yesterday's "Big Balls and Plastic Straws" challenge.

"He saw his reputation tarnished when he pleaded guilty to a morals charge involving a minor."

A sad subheadline to the headline that, otherwise would have elicited a fond goodbye: "Peter Yarrow, troubadour of Peter, Paul and Mary folk trio, dies at 86" (WaPo).

Let's go back to simpler times, 1965:

ADDED: From Wikipedia:

People don't want to shout out their own name, but Kamala Harris seems to have thought it would be a cool way to demonstrate that "It's about all of us."

They were loudly chanting her name, and she instructed them to shout out their own name, the idea being, I think, to unleash a hilarious, heartwarming cacophony:

This might be the most awkward moment ever, the second-hand embarassment is real pic.twitter.com/ObaMKPR9c3

— TaraBull (@TaraBull808) October 29, 2024

But she got silence. She still pretended she'd received the desired response, and declared the conclusion to be derived from the demonstration that hadn't happened: "It's about all of us."

Apparently, individualism is not in vogue... or not something her people feel good about expressing loud and proud.

If I followed the method of the elite media and the Democratic Party, I would call it fascistic. The crowd showed that it only wanted to be unified behind the identity of the adored leader.

ADDED: I feel the strong need to republish a post I wrote in September 2018:

"Trump... took the stage to ominous instrumental music. He stood on stage for several minutes as it played out."

Writes Jake Traylor (of NBC News) on X, inviting the world to look upon Trump and wonder at his weirdness...

Trump (who was 3 hours late to his rally this evening) took the stage to ominous instrumental music.

He stood on stage for several minutes as it played out. pic.twitter.com/Ruwlyg1idG

— Jake Traylor (@jake__traylor) October 26, 2024

... which is going to feel different to different people, perhaps depending on whether the music has any context for you. Me, I know the music is called the "Undertaker" theme, and though I know what an undertaker is — and I don't think you want the leader of your country analogized to a professional who disposes of the dead — I don't know who "The Undertaker" is — some movie/TV/video game character? Just off-hand, I'm reading Trump's message there as a threat to his antagonists, the so-called "enemy within," to whom he's going to say "You're fired" when he wins, which he wants them to believe he will. It's some scary music for them, but it's delightful to his admirers.

"Keanu Reeves plans to begin his Broadway career in the fall of 2025, opposite his longtime 'Bill & Ted' slacker-buddy Alex Winter in 'Waiting for Godot,' the ur-two-guys-being-unimpressive tragicomedy."

I'm reading "How Hollywood Glamour Is Reviving the Endangered Broadway Play/George Clooney, Robert Downey Jr., Denzel Washington and Mia Farrow are coming to Broadway, where some producers see plays with stars as safer bets than musicals" (NYT).

Just yesterday, I was scanning the New York theater listings, hoping to find things worth seeing next time I make it to New York, and "Waiting for Godot" caught my eye, because I've been a big fan of the play ever since I happened to see it on TV — the Zero Mostel/Burgess Meredith production — when I was a teenager. Then I saw this new production had Keanu Reeves, and my real-time reaction was "I’m a little afraid of Keanu Reeves fans ruining the audience."

From the NYT article: