“Jeter pointed to the N.L. dugout as he left the diamond, pausing before the baseline and then stepping over it, like Burt Lancaster in “Field of Dreams,” crossing a threshold and knowing he could not return. That was the end of his All-Star Game career.”

As you may know, I’m always interested in projects that mingle between make believe and reality — I think my entire life might be a project of the same ilk, but that’s a TUMBLR POST best left my DEATH BED.

Richard Linklater’s Boyhood, which premiered last night in New York, is just such a project. Nothing glues an audience to a character more than watching them grow old; a story arch at the core of Boyhood, since it was filmed over 12 years and documents the aging of its cast in real-time.

There are no “coming of age” plot twists featuring sex or crises like death, overdose and crime. Linklater has been quoted as saying about the project, “People would ask, ‘So what happens?’ And I’d have to say, ‘Not much.’ ”

"Nothing happens" is a typical way of describing stories that are grounded so deeply in the archetypes that define the human condition we barely notice they’re there.

(Source: youtube.com)

I am not suggesting that you watch this 2 hour video created in 1990 that goes through the design and functionality of user face widgets.

Instead, I would like you to scroll quickly through it and take a moment to ponder how most of these widgets have become some of the most ubiquitous symbols and functions of our daily experience. So much so, that revisiting them in this kind of detail takes on an air of the perverse.

Bonus: it’s also one of the first documentations of what has now become known as the “hamburger nav”

(Source: vimeo.com)

A 19 minute low-fi case study on fame and how the internet has the ability to grant it to anyone. Very well done. Anyone interested in culture politics should watch it or you’re all a bunch of assholes ;)

(Source: youtube.com)

#art   #liberty   #jeff koons  

20th century fox flute, sax mash.

(Source: youtube.com)

#movies  
A “Phreaking and Hackers Club Application” posted to Usenet in 1992 [allegedly by law enforcement] via banquethall

A “Phreaking and Hackers Club Application” posted to Usenet in 1992 [allegedly by law enforcement] via banquethall

roymadison: The Sound of a Long Run
Vin Scully has been calling Dodger baseball games for 65 straight years. That’s the world’s longest running tenure of any broadcaster calling out the action of a sport. Anything or anybody with that kind of tradition and history behind it becomes very valuable, which is why respect for Vin Scully has been getting louder with every game. This webpage, which was just published today, is a fantastic example of why Vin Scully is an important icon in sports. I was in the stands this April when Vin threw out the game starting pitch to open the Dodger’s 2014 season. Later that evening, returning home to the hotel I rent, I sat alone in the stillness of the night and looked into the glass-like water of the swimming pool and replayed the admiration of the crowd in my head as Vin circled Dodger Stadium in a vintage convertible Ford Mustang.
I’ve never really liked the game of baseball. I like what it reveals and tells us about ourselves — the things baseball enables. All facets of life have been shown to me watching, listening, writing about and calling baseball: tragedy, a man falls to his death trying to catch a ball for his son; bravery, a black player ignores death threats just so he can take the field as an equal; heroism, a player stands before a filled stadium and announces that the season will be his last because he is dying of a disease that will become his namesake; love, a young fan catches a ball and hands it to the girl he’s had his eye on the whole game; unrest, a group of protestors rush the field and burn the American flag; art, an unknown writer is stood up by his date and attends a Boston Red Sox game out of boredom and winds up penning one of the greatest pieces of sports writing in American journalism — all of it performed in the public eye.
Listening to Vin Scully isn’t like listening to a man describe a game, it’s more like someone telling a long story. As I sit writing this between bites of leftover steak, Vin just finished taking me all the way back to 1959 while a conversation was taking place on the mound between tonight’s umpires and Don Mattingly. When Nat King Cole was charged to sing the national anthem for the 59’ World Series in Chicago, Cole didn’t know the lyrics and had to write them down to help him out should he get stuck. It was cloudy and windy that day, and as Nat stepped onto the field, the lyrics blew away, forcing him to, as Vin put it, just “croon the rest of the song.” An absolute gem, delivered unrehearsed in the flash of an interstitial.
Nobody knows when Vin Scully’s epic run will come to and end, but like everything else in life (except maybe baseball) it will end. When it does, Vin’s story will be absorbed by the game. Retold as a statistic referenced time and time again, a run of a different kind, told between at-bats, a legend created by something we call a game.

roymadisonThe Sound of a Long Run

Vin Scully has been calling Dodger baseball games for 65 straight years. That’s the world’s longest running tenure of any broadcaster calling out the action of a sport. Anything or anybody with that kind of tradition and history behind it becomes very valuable, which is why respect for Vin Scully has been getting louder with every game. This webpage, which was just published today, is a fantastic example of why Vin Scully is an important icon in sports. I was in the stands this April when Vin threw out the game starting pitch to open the Dodger’s 2014 season. Later that evening, returning home to the hotel I rent, I sat alone in the stillness of the night and looked into the glass-like water of the swimming pool and replayed the admiration of the crowd in my head as Vin circled Dodger Stadium in a vintage convertible Ford Mustang.

I’ve never really liked the game of baseball. I like what it reveals and tells us about ourselves — the things baseball enables. All facets of life have been shown to me watching, listening, writing about and calling baseball: tragedy, a man falls to his death trying to catch a ball for his son; bravery, a black player ignores death threats just so he can take the field as an equal; heroism, a player stands before a filled stadium and announces that the season will be his last because he is dying of a disease that will become his namesake; love, a young fan catches a ball and hands it to the girl he’s had his eye on the whole game; unrest, a group of protestors rush the field and burn the American flag; art, an unknown writer is stood up by his date and attends a Boston Red Sox game out of boredom and winds up penning one of the greatest pieces of sports writing in American journalism — all of it performed in the public eye.

Listening to Vin Scully isn’t like listening to a man describe a game, it’s more like someone telling a long story. As I sit writing this between bites of leftover steak, Vin just finished taking me all the way back to 1959 while a conversation was taking place on the mound between tonight’s umpires and Don Mattingly. When Nat King Cole was charged to sing the national anthem for the 59’ World Series in Chicago, Cole didn’t know the lyrics and had to write them down to help him out should he get stuck. It was cloudy and windy that day, and as Nat stepped onto the field, the lyrics blew away, forcing him to, as Vin put it, just “croon the rest of the song.” An absolute gem, delivered unrehearsed in the flash of an interstitial.

Nobody knows when Vin Scully’s epic run will come to and end, but like everything else in life (except maybe baseball) it will end. When it does, Vin’s story will be absorbed by the game. Retold as a statistic referenced time and time again, a run of a different kind, told between at-bats, a legend created by something we call a game.

nedhepburn: How YouTube and Internet Journalism Destroyed Tom Cruise, Our Last Real Movie Star.
davidlook: Great article one of our generations greatest movie stars and don’t forget that you can buy one of my Tom Cruise shirts, part of a series of fashion designs I’m doing on Spreadshirt.

nedhepburn: How YouTube and Internet Journalism Destroyed Tom Cruise, Our Last Real Movie Star.

davidlook: Great article one of our generations greatest movie stars and don’t forget that you can buy one of my Tom Cruise shirts, part of a series of fashion designs I’m doing on Spreadshirt.

Since last Thursday, cups, bags, napkins and other surfaces at Chipotle have been covered with writing by 10 American writers. You’ll see work from Toni Morrison and George Saunders; the best-selling nonfiction authors Malcolm Gladwell, Michael Lewis and Sheri Fink, who is also a reporter at The New York Times; the comedians Sarah Silverman and Bill Hader; the psychologist and philosopher Steven Pinker and the filmmaker Judd Apatow, and you can read their commissioned works in about the same time that it takes to eat a burrito. Or you can forget the burrito and read all the pieces here:
http://cultivatingthought.com/
This is more accessible than my project Art for Franchises, but it’s pretty much the same idea: featuring higher forms of culture production in the low spaces more common to the every day experience — because who reads a book or goes to an art gallery anymore? I mean other than the already converted. 
One last point. If you saw the episode of Mad Men that aired on Sunday, May 18th, titled Does This Family Even Exist Anymore? You’ll remember that Peggy comes to the realization that the reality (or sadness, depending on how you view it) of the urban existence relies on franchised spaces over the fantasy of a traditional dinner table. The episode ends with a well-lit, jovial scene of random people lost in the world, connecting over something as simple as a burger wrapped in foil and paired with soda.
Why shouldn’t these spaces be treated with the approach to architecture, art, and literature we give to more “serious” places that humans congregate?

Since last Thursday, cups, bags, napkins and other surfaces at Chipotle have been covered with writing by 10 American writers. You’ll see work from Toni Morrison and George Saunders; the best-selling nonfiction authors Malcolm Gladwell, Michael Lewis and Sheri Fink, who is also a reporter at The New York Times; the comedians Sarah Silverman and Bill Hader; the psychologist and philosopher Steven Pinker and the filmmaker Judd Apatow, and you can read their commissioned works in about the same time that it takes to eat a burrito. Or you can forget the burrito and read all the pieces here:

http://cultivatingthought.com/

This is more accessible than my project Art for Franchises, but it’s pretty much the same idea: featuring higher forms of culture production in the low spaces more common to the every day experience — because who reads a book or goes to an art gallery anymore? I mean other than the already converted. 

One last point. If you saw the episode of Mad Men that aired on Sunday, May 18th, titled Does This Family Even Exist Anymore? You’ll remember that Peggy comes to the realization that the reality (or sadness, depending on how you view it) of the urban existence relies on franchised spaces over the fantasy of a traditional dinner table. The episode ends with a well-lit, jovial scene of random people lost in the world, connecting over something as simple as a burger wrapped in foil and paired with soda.

Why shouldn’t these spaces be treated with the approach to architecture, art, and literature we give to more “serious” places that humans congregate?