“The world was flat. Now it is round. It’s Galileo. Science can now be used to authenticate the art . . . We are [tracing] the painting back to where it was executed. It’s very CSI.”

by Alan Hanson

The Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree

Every time I am silent or seemingly thinking or chewing or barely breathing and unoccupied what I’m really doing is praying fervently that our country devotes itself to dendrolatry and muck our polished patellae in a worshipper’s kneel unto Trees. And where does the Holiday Axe factor into this religion? I’ve always felt like Woolf’s Septimus, felt that they “beckoned; leaves were alive; trees were alive. And the leaves being connected by millions of fibres with [my] own body….” So this morning as the vile Vargoshe family hauled the cut carcass of a 12-ton Norway spruce like a bloodied buck on the roof of a station wagon into Rockefeller Center, I couldn’t help but mourn. 75 years old! Rising high and commanding the farmland of Shelton, Connecticut! However, the Death Ritual of any religion is equally important as any other rite, and yes, something about the Naturalness of It All, and once it beams bright again with electric candle and shaved metals strung about, we of its congregation huddled with cider-hands and stone-cheeks, maybe a ruddy face nuzzled into our shoulder nooks, will nurse a new warmth in our chests from this celebration of Death. And that is Good and Worthwhile, too, even if the husk of Al Roker is scuttle-butting around its arrival.

Rob Ford

Speaking of death celebrations why don’t we stuff an ever-expanding burlap sack full of the three trillion tweets, posts, wisecracks, auto-tuned anythings, rushed-out whatever-the-opposite-of-a-think-pieces, and flashy tabloid newsbite videos that have come out in the past month and then burn it in effigy to high hell. Then, require each participant to carry an identification card that states “I Am A Human Leno Monologue” and devote all their Comedy Time and Hard Hitting News Time back to talking about something substantial, something one iota more important than this man and this fire sale on sensationalism. Or you know what? Screw it. Uproxx, praise be to you, you are so g-d right, this is the Rob Ford remix of Jay-Z’s “Tom Ford” I’ve been waiting for! *fucks off into eternity*

Electronic Devices on Airplanes

Oh, you beautiful, out of my league, ex-Blackberry-owning, entitled, mostly white people with your Business Faces and your Me First, Me Most-ness, what on Earth will you solve next? I beg of you, eliminate all of the minor inconveniences in all of our lives. I am serious, my salad suckers! Only then will this be worthwhile. Only then, when they have all been crushed and pulverized, when all of the wayward fractions of minutes can be collected fully, will we have Some Time on our hands. And we will join those hands, with that time, and enjoy each other’s mirth and tell friendly tales of the Olden Days when we lived to be 200 years old, because that’s how long life used to take, and we can knit sweaters and sip ciders and finger each other under blankets like we did in middle school.

Jennifer Lawrence Has a New Haircut

She’s such an older-sister’s-friend babe such a let’s split a spliff and watch Whoopi narrate the universe babe such a honey I’m over it baby let’s skip town babe such a Real Guy’s Girl such a Eats A Burger sweetie such a Chugs A Domestic Beer on Gameday baby, and yes, I’m all for it, sell her to me, Hollywood, make her real, make her normal, make her sexy, make her everything, but I won’t pull Cool Guy Shades over my eyes and pretend like half of that bullshit isn’t oddly misogynistic projection and that any worship of her is better than the worship of any Fake celebrity because Jennifer Lawrence Fandom is Fandom regardless and Katy Perry Lady Gaga Royal Family Kardashian Kingdom don’t become low-brow garbage trucks in the shade of your Refined Celebrity Taste. That’s entertainment.

Alan Hanson is a Californian writer living in Harlem.

You know who doesn’t get enough credit for being the best? Thomas Wright Waller, that’s who. Just something like this, for instance, is sometimes enough to convince you that it’s not all a giant waste of time. I mean, not always, but sometimes, which is more times than almost anything.

Yes, getting to Peak Troll — the state in which everything on the Internet is the worst it possibly could be — is a concern. But let’s look at the facts — the facts of climate change! When the future of the Internet is graphed against sea level projections, it all works out okay. Most of us will likely die before Peak Troll completely ruins everything forever. Knock wood — and stay at sea level. Better to go out with the coasts than survive and live through what the Internet will be like in 100 years.

“The most common tree variety in street names is oak, followed by pine and maple.”

“There is a world in which what happened to Manley and Reid would serve as a cautionary tale to the staffers, operatives, and elected officials that feed Halperin and Heilemann their scoops. Indeed, one Congressional reporter tells me the incident caused Hill sources to freeze up as skittishness set in following Reid’s quote. You might think, too, that the focus and nature of Halperin and Heilemann’s projects would be its own disincentive to cooperate: Game Change, after all, made it clear that the authors consider everything — every private marital conversation, every petty squabble, every venal freak-out, every off-color remark, every otherwise forgotten scandal — in-bounds…. But that is not Halperin and Heilemann’s world. Their world is what they, in their trademark prosody, might call Campaignland. It’s a different, weird place. And Double Down is evidence that even after the first go-round, they continue to be able to exploit its alternate rules with aplomb.”
 — I always thought I would enjoy a story where you didn’t have to feel sorry for anyone because both the victims and the perpetrators are equally terrible, but it turns out that is not the case, you always need someone to root against and when it’s one set of self-important blowhards against another all you can do is realize that everyone is terrible and the only redeeming feature is that someday we will all be dead. Anyway, here’s a good look at how the game-changing reporters doubled down on their ugh just kill me now. [Related, and not related but more life-affirming]

Here you will find a picture of a tree that resembles a dog.

“The Web Has Peaked and No One Wants to Read Your Tweets” [Via]

When you consider the fact that it is a warm, comforting space where you can spend a few moments by yourself relaxing until you suddenly realize that there will not be another part of your day that is any better — and, in fact, the rest of your day will be a carousel of stress, annoyance, exhaustion, irritation, hopelessness, head-shaking, having to pee, boredom and avoidance, and then probably passing out on the couch as the TV blares its stupid song of consumption — it is kind of remarkable that more people don’t just end it all in the shower in the morning. Anyway, here’s what will be the UK’s number one song this weekend, it’s not bad.

“Spiced pumpkin donut with TURKEY and GRAVY filling ($5)”