Optimus does Evo of Dance
Think of it as a loving tribute to the original Evolution of Dance (current views of that one =76,603,908). Hats off to patrickboivin for some stop motion goodness.
via neatorama
Running the Numbers
“Barbie Dolls” depicts 32,000 Barbies (equal to the number of elective breast augmentation surgeries performed monthly in the US in 2006).
Zoomed in
Statistics ARE difficult to connect with. I was banging on again just yesterday about how presenting hard-to-approach information in an interesting way is a much more effective way of getting people to absorb things. That there are ways – narrative structures which can be written or graphic – that connect people to the facts in a tangible way.
The photographer Chris Jordan does just this in a very unique way in “Running the Numbers“, using large scale digital prints that dominate your field of view and which illustrate a statistic of some sort. In his own words:
This series looks at contemporary American culture through the austere lens of statistics. Each image portrays a specific quantity of something: fifteen million sheets of office paper (five minutes of paper use); 106,000 aluminum cans (thirty seconds of can consumption) and so on. My hope is that images representing these quantities might have a different effect than the raw numbers alone, such as we find daily in articles and books. Statistics can feel abstract and anesthetizing, making it difficult to connect with and make meaning of 3.6 million SUV sales in one year, for example, or 2.3 million Americans in prison, or 410,000 paper cups used every fifteen minutes. This project visually examines these vast and bizarre measures of our society, in large intricately detailed prints assembled from thousands of smaller photographs. The underlying desire is to emphasize the role of the individual in a society that is increasingly enormous, incomprehensible, and overwhelming.
Looking at the images on a blog is one thing – he really urges you to go see it in person to truly absorb the scale and drama of the statistic. The site is updated with a new image whenever he completes a new one, so bookmark it and check back every now and then to have your mind blown. (The Barbie above is one I hadn’t seen before, and also one depicting one million plastic cups, the number used on airline flights in the US every six hours.)
via Doobybrain
Garfield minus Garfield
It’s so strange to see that once you take the snark of that cat out of the picture, Jon is just a really depressed, downward spiral kinda guy. Scroll through the blog Garfield minus Garfield and you’ll see what I mean.
via No Man’s Blog
Javan Ivey – My Paper Mind
Super cool technique called “Stratastencil” by artist Javan Ivey.
Inspired by the Stratacut technique, Stratastencil is an additive process. Stratacut removes material to reveal another layer, while this technique adds another layer while still showing the layer before it.
There are a couple of WIP shots of it in action at the site, plus a timelapse vid of the 18 hours it took to cut out all the pieces on the 4.6 notecards. Hats off to a patient artist!
via Neatorama
Being not truthful
A collaboration between Stefan Sagmeister and Ralph Ammer, this video shows what happens when a human being walks past a virtual, interactive spiderweb displaying the words “Being not truthful works against me.” Like any real encounter with a spiderweb, the thing is pulled and ripped apart, only to be formed again a short while later (though in nature, it takes a real spider a bit longer than this virtual one). It’s only the first part of a much longer video at Ralph Ammer’s site which shows the setup of the installation and more of the inner workings. Via Quipsologies
From the site:
“Being not truthful works against me” is part of a list in Stefan’s diary titled: “Things I have learned in my life so far”. Like most aphorisms the sentence “Being not truthful works against me” requires habitual commitment. But one might also sense controversy in this statement and question not only the idea of “truth” but also the value of making truthfulness a rule. Both, the exposure and the need to constantly work on such a position are the subject of this interactive picture.
Sadly I missed Things I have learned in My Life So Far at the Deitch (it ended on Feb 23rd), but Michel Gondry’s Be Kind Rewind installation is still on until March 22nd. I want to go make my own sweded movie!
“For the exhibition, Michel Gondry will be recreating the video store in the gallery, complete with a back lot containing a variety of movie sets where visitors can make their own renditions of films. All videos created during the exhibition can be viewed in the gallery. About the project, Gondry states, “I don’t intend nor have the pretension to teach how to make films. Quite the contrary. I intend to prove that people can enjoy their time without being part of the commercial system and serving it. Ultimately, I am hoping to create a network of creativity and communication that is guaranteed to be free and independent from any commercial institution.”
UPDATE: Although I missed the Sagmeister, you can check out the website for “Things I have Learned in My Life So Far“, and even add your own.
Discovered Notebooks
I posted a set to flickr about 6 months ago called “Discovered Notebooks.” It was basically the result of me flipping through a shedload full of notebooks from years gone by and capturing some of the more interesting things (well, interesting to me.) Yesterday I flipped to the back of an old faithful notebook and found the above line. I don’t know how it got left out of the initial photo set, because I really don’t think I’ve ever written anything more t-shirt worthy than that puppy.
My notebooks aren’t diaries, though there are some diary-like entries in some of them. No, they’re extensions of my brain. Like an overflow. A catchment area. And while my poor brain spurts, and pfuts, and forgets stuff almost instantly, my notebook never does. Well, not unless it gets soaked in beer and the ink runs.
Without notebooks, I would lose a large chunk of hard-and-fast thoughts, but I would also have more money. For some reason, I cannot walk past a notebook in a store without picking it up, flipping it over, assessing its page thickness, its durability and – if it’s not a Moleskine – its Moleskine slaying ability. Watching me judge a notebook in any store is like watching the Westminster Dog Show, minus the obligatory testicle squeeze because I wouldn’t even know where to look for them on a notebook.
As a result of buying so many, I have multiples on the go at any time. And like every one of my Dad’s sheepdogs, each notebook has a specific function in life.
The Shed Dog (aka Back Pocket Book) – Good in tight spaces for quick, sudden movements. When it comes to back pocket books, there can be only one – the flexible, Moleskine Pocket Cahier Notebook. It’s got a soft cardboard cover and comes in a pack of 3. Work it hard enough and it’ll start to take on the curvature of your arse. Convenient and excellent for note taking in art galleries.
The Yard Dog (aka 5 minute Poem Book) – Great for wrangling groups of words into a coherent mob. My 5 minute poem notebook has sadly been neglected of late, but I find it to be the most freeing in terms of letting your mind wander. Of forcing yourself to not assess things as you write and just pluck words from the idea tree as they come to you. The rules are simple.
- Think of a theme or title.
- Give yourself 5 minutes to write the poem for it. (5 minutes, or you reach the last line of the page).
- Try to let your brain just go. Small edits can be made if you still have time left.
This one’s a smallish notebook, but too thick to fit in your pocket. It’s not a Moleskine for once, but I can’t remember where I got it and there’s no brand written on it. I think it might have been cheap, so I wish I’d bought more of them.
Tied to a Post Dog (aka shnoos Book) - This one’s used when you have the time to sit down and write notes, but not long enough to focus for a few hours. I use the Moleskine Pocket Ruled (3.5 x 5.5 inch), which over the years I’ve found to be the most versatile of all Moleskines. I tried the Reporter Style recently (the flip over cover), but didn’t dig it. This notebook is hardcover with elastic bind, and typically used in bars, planes or trains. It’s for when you have a table, but when you don’t need space. I use it to write down notes for upcoming stories for the Subterranean Homesick Noos, and a lot of personal thoughts that aren’t to do with fiction but my reaction to situations. Also a lot of observational shit. It’s typically my people watching notebook.
Paddock Dog (aka The Novel Notebook) - This one covers a lot of ground. It’s a search and herd towards a single point notebook. Currently, I’m using the Moleskine Large Ruled Journal (5.25 x 8.25 inch) to write the novel in. I’ve actually found it impossible to sit at home at my laptop and write, and it’s not totally because of the noise and isolation. There’s just something more liberating about sitting in a cafe and putting pen to paper, and letting it just flow. I think it’s because you write and re-write on a laptop and lose stuff with the delete button. Even if I cross something out in the novel book, I can still see it. Weirdly enough, it’s easier for me to focus a thought on a piece of paper in a crowded cafe then it is in my empty apartment. The act of going back through the notebook in the mornings and transcribing it to the computer is like doing a draft that’s somewhere between a first and second. I also feel like I’m getting somewhere by gradually filling a notebook up.
The Pack Dogs (aka the leftovers) – In experimenting with new notebooks, you’re left with a bunch of odd shaped, lined and unlined notebooks which are used for any number of things. I have some larger, A4-sized notebooks (more like sketchbooks actually), which I’ve used in the last few months for mindmaps, novel outlines, character bios and shopping lists. I have a notebook from the Tate Modern in London that I’ve decided I’m only going to use for ink art, and a leather-ish book from the Dia Beacon that got horribly wet and I don’t really know what to do with because the pages are no longer crisp. I also have a bunch of concepting notebooks from various jobs, which range from graph lined (great for web and banner ideas) to blank spiral bound notebooks which are great for pissing me off when the spiral’s on the wrong side (yes, yes, I know. Use it all the way through on one side, then flip the book.)
What’s your favorite notebook? And is your opinion based on how you use it, or on how it feels in your hand or when you write on it with a particular type of pen? I’m always looking to try a new notebook, so if you know of a Moleskine slayer, let me know.
Pay the Writer
In another blog life, in another blog time, on another blog planet with more desks and employees surrounding me, I posted this clip. I promptly forgot it ever existed. Yesterday, floating in my new blog universe with one desk and just lil’ ol’ me here talking to myself, I stumbled on it again. It brought a new smile to my face.
So, whammo, push the button, here is the Harlan Ellison refresher.
“Pay the writer” holds a special kind of resonance with me, now that I’m hittin’ the freelance bricks and those bricks are occasionally hitting me back. (Haven’t lost a tooth yet, so finger’s crossed.) Getting paid a fair rate – it’s all I think about. So far, I’m kinda being a bit of a stickler about my rate, and I’m not giving any real wriggle room.
“But other copywriters are asking $40 an hour less than you.”
Undercut by the amateurs. I hear ya, Harlan! You know what? I charge my rate because I rock. You get what you pay for, and I know what I’m worth (she says, with fast dwindling bank balance, but hope in her heart, fire in her belly, and a couple of peeps who are actually paying the rate as the wind at her back.)
But I also will vary that rate on a case by case basis – you make your case, I’ll work out the basis. 
We’ll see how my sticktoitiveness goes in the coming weeks. Paying my rent, my bills, and eating – that’s the money bucket to be filled. My goal this year is the book. My previous life can go stand in the corner facing the wall until I’m ready for it to speak again.
Off to my Sunday EWG (Extreme Writers Group) meeting with Nik and Carla. I’ll do a novel update tonight and explain the EWG.
via The Copywriter Underground
Love in a backwards world
via zefrank.com
Where the Wild things Are
Man, I loved this book when I was little. I then re-discovered the joy of Sendak at University when I did a semester of children’s writing. First off, the art just blew my mind. These monsters where scary, but also had a sweet cow-like faces, which I dug. It’s just a beautiful, timeless book. (The only other book that has remained such a firm favorite to me is Fungus the Bogeyman, and that’s because it holds two fascinations – fantastic art and and grossness.)
“Where the Wild Things Are” said it all for me, back then. There’s so much injustice when you’re a kid. I can remember the ‘you’ll pay for this’ stew I used to splash around in every time I got in trouble for being a brat. The dreams of running away – quickly squashed because I lived on a farm in the middle of nowhere – and imagining the suffering of my parents. Very much like Max being sent to bed without his supper.
I can’t wait to see those creatures come to life in the upcoming movie, (little taster below), but then I read this news about the studio perhaps not being happy and wanting to make it less scary and more kiddie. Oh, give me a break. I, for one, want to see the full Spike Jonze vision.
yes.we.can.fiddle.around.with.interactivity
Found this over at Agency Tart and it made me go, ohhhhh, that’s prudy. I want to lick it. It goes with this. Once again, I’m not going to comment on the politics or the slow melting of Hillary in the primaries sun, because I CAN’T VOTE. But do go touch Hope.Act.Change with your pointy thing and see if it makes you tingly in that special place.
For some reason, it made me want to buy a Mini Cooper. I’m just sayin’.
Goodbye Art
Check out philinthecirle’s YouTube channel for more art that appears, then disappears, using such items as Oreo’s, matches, and fries. His Goodbye Art blog follows each project through its creation to eventual destruction. Each piece is destined only to last a short time – an hour, a week, a month – and then it goes kaput! Definitely one to follow.
via neatorama
Reflections from the Bob Pond
When people ask me who my favorite author is, the first thing I do is panic. It’s as if the very phrasing of that question presses a button in my brain that wipes out all names instantly. It makes me look daft. Like I’ve never even read a book, let alone committed a favorite author’s name to memory. Even just typing this paragraph has made my brain go into a “pop-pop-fizz-tizz, oh what a wonderful dolt you is.”
Still, when they ask me and I panic and try reach for a name, I often see a knowing little look approach their face from the port side of their judgment boats.
It’s a look that says, “Oh, you must be so well un-read.”
You know what? Screw it. No more.
Next time, I’m not even going to bother ransacking the memory cupboard – there’s always Bob. And when I say Bob, I’m not talking about my ever-disappearing accent. I’m talkin’ the Zimmerman, with a capital D.
I love Bob Dylan. But not in that creepy girl way that I saw at the first and last Dylan concert I ever went to, let’s just get that straight. My love is warm and cockley. Red cheeked, blushy and smooth.
So I thought I’d share with you my three favorite Bob Dylan songs. It’s hard to narrow them down to three, so if there are four just blame my non-math brain. Don’t believe I have a non-math brain? Let’s go to lunch sometime and you can watch me try and work out the tip.
But I digress. My favorite Bob Dylan songs.
He can’t help it if he’s lucky. He really can’t!
Like most newbies I approached Bob using the patented “best of” compilation technique. It’s an easy intro, like a future alcoholic starting out on Baileys, you want something pleasant tasting ‘til you’re mature enough to handle the harder stuff.
I bought the album at a music store in Canberra in the 90s. In that time between leaving university and actually getting off your arse and getting a job. In Australia, this time is called “Being on the Dole.”
The album was called Masterpieces. 3 discs. Bang-age to buck-age proportion = high. If I knew anything about mathematics, I could tell you what an important dole equation that is.
I can’t remember ever really listening to it back then. I mean really LISTENING beyond having it play in the background as I perfected my “sitting around on my arse doing nothing much of anything” abilities.
But then Idiot Wind left my orbit of self-absorption and burned a trail hotter than Sputnik right through my crust. (Sounds hot, don’t it?)
I’d heard it before, of course. But on this one particular day, that song sported a new gait as it entered the saloon. It walked right up to my idiot brain and slapped it, right in the idiocy of my ignorance. I couldn’t stop listening to it.
What did it all mean? All these words dripping and sliding and making my brain go pfstz! How can he tell such a long, emotional and complex story in one, simple song. It’s got snarl. It’s got fire.
He can be mean
You hurt the ones that I love best and cover up the truth with lies
One day you’ll be in the ditch, flies buzzin’ around your eyes
Blood on your saddle.
and snide,
You’re an idiot babe, it’s a wonder that you still know how to breathe.
Take that, bitch! And you listen and think it’s all about one thing, one destroyed relationship, and all the blame and bitterness that comes with it.
And then he turns it back on itself.
We’re idiots, babe
It’s a wonder we can even feed ourselves.
I got really interested in structure with this song. Just look at how he weaves the whole narrative with a theme he keeps driving home, but then gives you such a great resolution. They’re BOTH idiots. They both hold a share of the blame. It hit home very hard for me at that time in my life, and to be honest, I’m not 100% why. When I get messed up enough to need a therapist, I’m going to bring this subject up.
Anyway, this was the first song to put water into my Bob pond. And when you fall in the water, kids, you better swim like Johnny Weissmuller or an aligator’ll eat you.
How to woo a Noodle
Let’s say I meet you somewhere. We start to chat. You tell me Tombstone Blues is the best Dylan song you’ve ever heard. My pants hit the floor.*
Tombstone Blues. Favorite. Song. Ever. Full stop. Game over. Time. The End.
This is Bob Dylan layin’ on the sofa with his best writing undies on. Hard Rain gallops along the same track, but for me, nothing tops the Tombestone.
This section KILLS me (and of course, this blog owes its name to it).
Well, John the Baptist after torturing a thief
Looks up at his hero the Commander-in-Chief
Saying, “Tell me great hero, but please make it brief
Is there a hole for me to get sick in?”The Commander-in-Chief answers him while chasing a fly
Saying, “Death to all those who would whimper and cry”
And dropping a bar bell he points to the sky
Saving, “The sun’s not yellow it’s chicken”
It’s an amazing song that’s as intricately woven as grandma’s heirloom quilt. The way he drools out “swagger”, the alliteration of the “pied pipers in prison”, the name-dropping. I tell you, this song eases me and cools me and ceases the pain. It’s a masterpiece, and I don’t care if you agree with me or not.
I’m not crying. I’m just cutting onions.
Ok, so now I have one song left, and I don’t know what to pick. My Back Pages? A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall? Restless Farewell? Highway 61 Revisited? Sheesh, why did I say I was only gonna pick three?
Ok, I choose The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll.
I choose it because Zanzinger is my gamertag, and it’s a great example of powerful, jaw-clenching, story telling that makes you feel the injustice of the time and marvel at the poetry of it.
William Zanzinger killed poor Hattie Carroll. He was a 24-year-old, tobacco farming arsehole who thought – rightfully as it turned it – that he could get away almost scott-free for killing a “maid of the kitchen”.
What a shitty story to listen to. She’s fifty one, has lead a hard life, and now finds herself “slain by a cane”. Geez. Each verse is pretty raw, but while you’re listening, you have to wait for your damn crying cue. Don’t cry yet, kids. Not yet. Because, hold on to your tear ducts, there’s injustice is wearing a tiara and she ain’t even made her entrance yet.
And that last verse builds and builds. “The ladder of law has no top and no bottom.” You think he’s gonna get his just chocolate sundae, but no. Six months!
Now cry, dirtbags!
I don’t offer these songs as the supreme Dylan songs, by the way. These are just the ones that mean something to me – and I restricted myself to his earlier works because it helped me settle on three. By reading (and listening to) Dylan I have become a conscious and alive writer. I think about the structure of story, the way words sit down at the table together, and more recently, about how you need to devote your life to things you’re passionate about and pursue them with vigor.
Your Bob pond feels one song short
Ok, quick one to overflow. Name this song.
If I were to choose a fourth song, this song this line is from would be it. There’s a bucket-load of Dylan word play in it, and each listen reveals something new. If you’re looking for a walking soundtrack as you’re heading down Lexington today New Yorkers, take Bob for a walk with you. He’s very good company.
* Not a guarantee, but you’re off to a good start.
My flickr
