Ben Quilty - After Afghanistan

Last Thursday I managed to get in to see Ben Quilty's exhibition After Afghanistan. Housed in Sydney's old Darlinghurst gaol, (operational from 1841 - 1921 and at one stage home to Australian poet Henry Lawson), the exhibition is a result of Quilty's experience as the official war artist, commissioned by the Australian War Memorial and attached to the Australian Defence Force. In October 2011, Quilty spent a month with Australian soldiers in Afghanistan. His task was to record and interpret the experiences of Australians deployed as part of Operation Slipper in Kabul, Kandahar, and Tarin Kot in Afghanistan and at Al Minhad Airbase in the United Arab Emirates.
 
For his official war artist commission, Quilty has created large-scale portraits that focus on the intense physicality of these soldiers and on the emotional and psychological consequences of their service. Part of the exhibition includes a looping video of the episode of Australian Story that covered Quilty's trip to Afghanistan. The episode includes interviews with many of the subjects of Quilty's portraits. Seeing these men and women speak about their experiences in Afghanistan and about the process of visiting Quilty's art studio to pose for paintings increases the sense of both connection and familiarity that one feels with the portraits when you go through the exhibition.

As the name of the exhibition suggests, Quilty's portraits focus on the human consequences of Australia's military engagement in Afghanistan. In doing so, he does not shy away from suggesting that the major consequence is one of confusion, doubt, loss and brokenness. There is no glorification of the modern soldier, or even any concessionary nod to the necessity of war. The major theme I found myself looking at was one of 'damage'. And upon reflection, the fact that the Australian Government or Defence Force has not sought to bury these images is refreshing - and should be applauded. (In the exhibition, Quilty himself reveals his concern that, in showing these soldiers as he sees them, he might be putting the 'official war artist' position at risk). Far from being buried however, Quilty's paintings are on public display, and are free of charge. What's more, they will travel around the country as part of a national tour. One wonders whether such honest depictions of men returning from Lone Pine would have been so readily (and officially) championed.

- [If the suspense generated by that last rhetorical statement is just too much for you to handle, a quick scan of the work of the official war artists for the First World War on the Australian War Memorial's website reveals that the answer is most probably 'no'.  In contrast to Quilty's work, there is a distinct focus on 'duty' and 'sacrifice' rather than 'damage' and 'futility'.] -

One time too many

Put this on and walk somewhere. It will improve your day.

Favourite line: then it's hard to tell who's kind, they do look alike.

Footrot Flats

Not sure if anyone is familiar with Footrot Flats.... I used to love it and read the books as a kid.  My Aunty had a selection the books at her place, and I remember I could spend hours thumbing through their pages whenever I visited.  Somehow I ended up with those books, and I came across them whilst cleaning up the storage room the other day.  These two in particular stuck vividly in my memory.  I can remember exactly where and how I was when I first read these.

Ah... nostalgia.

Kurt Vile - Wakin on a Pretty Daze

This is the definition of late night lights down earphones listening.

Perfect for that late night drive home through the rain where you look through the droplets on your car windscreen at the people wandering about your city and wonder whether they are as lonely as you are. That's about the time you decide that you are going to paint more.

Some pretty sweet wah-wah-infused noodling in that guitar solo.
 

Impossible things

“I can’t believe THAT!” said Alice.

"Can’t you?” said the Queen in a pitying tone. 

“Try again: draw a long breath, and shut your eyes.”

Alice laughed. “There’s no use trying,” she said, “one can’t believe impossible things.”

"I daresay you haven’t had much practice,” said the Queen. “When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why sometimes I believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast!”

Augie March - There's No Such Place

I recently decided to set up an itunes alarm on my computer and set it to random so that every morning I wake to a different song. It's always something of a lottery. Some mornings, it's The National. Others, it's John Denver. Once, it was 'Learn to speak spanish: lesson 1'.

This morning I woke up to this gentle melancholy number. 'There's no Such Place' by Australian band Augie March. What a nostalgic little gem.

I lay in bed, watching the last droplets of early morning rain slip and slide their way down my bedroom window, a final dance to their resting place. Through the window, clouds of fog hugged the Canberra mountains.  And below them, the absence of traffic marked the sound of a city still asleep.

There is no such place, o yes I have seen it too
Just a little different from how you do,
A river winding blue among the dunes and a marble bed
A sun that doesn't set but settles.
There is no such place.
If I lower mine to yours would you kiss me on the face?
If you're looking for an unmarked place,
There is no such place -
Blasted in appearance and a composite of fearful minutes
Frozen in the waking instant

Longing, things I long for,
Peaceful nights, strangers at the door,
O come in, come in,
You've been here before.

Impossible not to wake up feeling a little pensive.

Tropfest winner 2010 - Shock

It being Tropfest season, I found myself looking through some of the past winners and came across this one from 2010. A great concept piece. One of those short film ideas that is so simple you can practically teack the film back through the creative process to the point of conception. As in: "I reckon shock jocks must just spend every moment they are not on air crying." Yep. There's your Tropfest winning film right there.

For the Moody Christmas fans you might recognise a young Patrick Brammall.
 

What makes you itch?

Ryan Adams - Lucky Now

I'm confused about Ryan Adams. I can't tell whether he's really good, or just a really mediocre song writer with an awesome band. Sometimes his writing is incredibly lazy ('Waiting outside for you to find your keys / Like bags of trash in the blackening snow' - why the?). Other times I think, this is a man who just writes from the heart, without the need to overstate anything. ('So buy a pretty dress / Wear it out tonight / For all the boys you think could outdo me')

This is the man who wrote Sylvia Plath, Easy Plateau, Magnolia Mountain, My Winding Wheel, and Shadowlands. Worthy, beautiful music. But he's also got a sizeable catalogue of really average music, a lot of which has the stench of a man desperate to fulfill his record label contract. One could say, Mayeresque?

Sometimes he manages to fit awesome and mediocre into the same song. Take his latest single 'Lucky Now', which essentially comprises a drunken ramble during the verses, only to smash out an incredibly listenable chorus and an even better guitar solo (see earlier comments about him perhaps being saved by his band?).

I imagine turning up to band rehearsal must be quite the roller coaster. "Wow! Ryan! That was awesome. Love it! What else have you got?... Oh... Uh huh.... ok. what else? .... hmmmm.... Well... Um... yeah.... we can work with that...Yeah, that'll be ok once we whack a few guitar solos on ... What else?... Um. Ok... Lets take a break."
 

Bon Iver - I can't make you love me

And for the broodier amongst you... this moocher from Bon Iver. What's that? Your brain hurts? Yeah, he'll do that.

Metric - Nothing But Time

Smooth mindless pop from Canadian synth outfit Metric. Happy Friday.

Passau

Some more photos from my trip to Europe last year.  These ones of Passau, in southern Germany. Home to Till, Kiki and (future emperor of the EU) Paul Zimmermann.

Anais Mitchell - Young Man in America

So - I'm a little obsessed with this singer.  I'm sorry, but any song that starts with...

'My mother gave a mighty shout
opened her legs and let me out...'

...And then ends with...

'Make me want what i want
Another wayward son
Waiting on oblivion
Waiting on the kingdom come
To meet me in my sin
Waiting to be born again
Mother kiss me cheek or chin
Mmm, a little medecine
Mmm, and then I shed my skin
Mmm, and lemme climb back in the bed you made me in.'

... has my vote.

The album version of Young Man in America is here, but I've chosen a live version performed for NPR Music.  The set starts with the Shepherd Song, which I've posted previously.  For those short of time, Young Man in America starts at 7:40.

Daaaaawniel!

'WHEN you are old and gray and full of sleep
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep.'

 

Flight Facilities - Clair de Lune

Loving this at the moment.  Debussy - still kicking goals all over the place.

Little Dragon - Twice

Little Dragon are a Swedish electronic music/downtempo band from Gothenburg, formed in 1996. Yep, 1996, and still going. Sticking at it much? Beautiful, haunting, worthy music.



And here she is, Yukimi Nagano, born and raised in Gothenburg, Sweden to a Japanese father and a Swedish-American mother.  Probably couldn't be much cooler.

Boxing day under the bridge

In something of a Pender/Carew tradition, Boxing Day afternoon usually involves a trundle down to Kirribilli, a football, a walk around the water, and fish and chips under the bridge. It was one of those summer afternoons when the sun just seems to lean back in the sky and go on forever. Good times.
 

Flaws - Bombay Bicycle Club

Leunig : a time to hate

Bandages - Hey Rosetta!

A brilliant film clip!

You're just a tall child holding a beer

"That’s why adults are confused a lot of the time. Adults are terribly confused, messed up people. That’s because they forget, really, that they don’t have to pretend all the time. Really, the fact is that you’re not an adult at all - you’re just a tall child holding a beer, having conversations you don’t understand… 'The Middle East? Yeah, I know it was really bad. I wouldn’t have done that. A hysterectomy? Yeah, very painful, the shoulder is a very painful area.'"

                                                                                                Dylan Moran - Like, Totally 2006

Melody's Echo Chamber - I will follow

Loving this at the moment.

Sorry Darren.

the winter list - stranger

Safe places

In Canberra there is a room that is safe.  It's a small room, with walls hospital white, and only three chairs, always empty. But despite its emptiness, or maybe because of it, it's a room that is filled with music, and film, and big ideas. It's safe. Separate from everything. And at lunchtime I sometimes go there, alone, so that I can be separate too.

The room I'm talking about is at the National Portrait Gallery. The film, which runs for about fifteen minutes, is called 'Portrait of Cate Blanchett' and is by video portrait artist, David Rosetzky.  On one level, the film explores what it is to be an actress, but it's also about what it is to be layered, to have pointy edges to our personalities, and the idea of adaptation and manipulation of identity.

The opening of the film is mesmerising. The camera opens, locked tight on a pair of hands. One hand is inanimate, lifeless. As the camera slowly draws back, the person's other hand applies bursts of  pressure to the inanimate hand in a gentle, steady rhythm. The bursts of pressure cause the inanimate hand to move, now this way, now that. Folding fingers, and then unfolding them again. Twisting a wrist, and turning the hand round on itself. One gesture after the other.



As the camera continues to pull back gradually, it reveals that the hands, the inanimate and the leader, both belong to Cate Blanchett. At first she doesn't acknowledge the camera. Her eyes are focussed downwards on the movement of her hands.  Then, as the camera shot locks to a stop, Blanchett takes her inanimate hand, breaking the illusion that it cannot move on its own, slides it into her pocket, as if putting away some toy, and then raises her eyes to look straight down the camera, defiant.

It is a moment.



This short excerpt won't do the whole film justice. But that's ok. Maybe you're just going to have to find that room one day, all for yourself.

Eli Jenkins' Sunset Poem (from under milk wood)

Every morning, when I wake,
Dear Lord, a little prayer I make,
O please to keep Thy lovely eye
On all poor creatures born to die.

And every evening at sun-down
I ask the blessing on the town, 
For whether we last the night or no
I'm sure is always touch-and-go.

We are not wholly bad or good
Who live our lives under Milk Wood,
And Thou, I know, wilt be the first
To see our best side, not our worst.

O let us see another day!
Bless us this holy night, I pray,
And to the sun we all will bow
And say goodbye - but just for now!

In a room with Glen Hansard

Sometimes, something happens, something so fortuitous, that you can't help but think about the existence of fate, or God, or angels - you can't help but think there's something out there looking after you.

I visited Paris recently, mainly to see old friends.  That was the purpose.  Days were spent wandering the city, visiting old haunts, and generally waiting for my friends to finish their work (real life - so inconvenient!).  One particular night over a glass of red, an old friend dropped a bombshell.

"Did you know Glen Hansard is playing a secret gig in Paris tomorrow?", she said.

"Sorry what!", my 'when-in-france' cigarette dropping from my mouth.

"Yeah.  It's on at a bookshop at lunchtime.  You should go."

For those of you who know me, you'll know of my mild obsession with Glen Hansard and his music.  It's raw, there's no veneer, no show biz filter.  There's a desperation in his performance.  A sense of fierce urgency.  As if he's aware he only has a short amount of time to convince you of the importance of his secrets.  As if he's spent a long time struggling to sing in a room without doors or windows, and that in that hour he has with you on stage, someone has punched a hole in one of the walls and allowed him to let his soul spill out.

I last saw him perform at the Sydney Opera House.  The Swell Season were brought to Australia to perform as part of the Sydney Festival.  The three thousand odd seats of the main concert hall sold out months in advance.  About $150 a ticket.  I saw Gough Whitlam there.  Glen and Marketa - supported by The Frames - performed for about two hours, including a soaring desperate performance of "Say it to me now" as well as a rendition of "The Parting Glass" that I'm sure approached something resembling the religious for those that were there ("no regrets - no jealousy - no anger").

"Yeah. You should go", she said.

In the shadows of Notre Dame, the English book shop Shakespeare & Co, an expat institution in Paris, can best be described as... a fire hazard.  A maze of prison-cell-sized rooms,  walls thick with books, wooden beams protruding menacingly from the ceiling.  The doors - which still stand at a dwarfish 18th century height - and the narrow pathways leading from one pile of books to another, double parked with relieved English speaking tourists and wannabe writers on sabbatical from this country or that ("Just staying in a little apartment in the marais... on a scholarship you know... Are you going to Rudolf's party?") give the shop an impression of impenetrability.  It almost seems purposefully dysfunctional - maybe to guard the many secrets within from being uncovered too easily.  Maybe to ensure that only the most worthy make it to their rightful destination.

The secret I sought was at the top of a stooped stair case, sitting in a room in front of a small window that backed onto the Seine.  As he set up, a line of people anxiously jostled for pole position at the door.  The room fit about twenty people.  About fifty were lined up.  As we filed in silently, anxiously, elbows high, finding what space we could on the floor, knees drawn up, pealed against the walls, shoulders awkwardly concertina'd, Glen sat, casually jotting down notes on what looked like an impromptu set list.  I was third last into the room, and squeezed myself down between a couple of Americans who risked knee dislocation to enable a bit of space for me.



"I've got an afternoon voice on me" he apologised.  "Lots of travelling takes a toll on the flesh, but not the soul.  The voice may be broken but it's singing its heart out."

And it did, in a rendition of 'Bird of Sorrow'.  It did, in 'Low Rising' (which I managed to record - apologies for some attempted singing.  He made it sound deceptively easy).

For about forty-five minutes, Glen played and talked, like he was playing in his bedroom to a couple of mates, mucking around with a few odd chords on the guitar, trying out a few new harmonies, even singing one song a cappella.  Just him and his old Takamine guitar - the one with the hole punched through it to let the sound spill out.

Rugby a touche, Paris

During my time working in Paris, I used to look forward to Thursday lunchtimes - the day when a group of french and expatriate rugbyphiles would gather in the shadows of the eiffel tower to play a bit of touch rugby.

At the time it seemed so normal. Just a bunch of guys passing a ball around to work out some of the stress of the working week. It didn't matter that it was in the middle of paris, or that the touch lines were practically marked out by the seine on one side, the australian embassy on the other, the eiffel tower, and an 18th century Haussmannian building.

On my recent trip to Paris I trundled down to the park on a Thursday at lunchtime, half expecting it to be empty, half expecting to have to trundle back home to Max's house, now dealing with the shame of having hoped so ludicrously to be able to relive a past now three years gone.

But no, as I rounded the corner of the oval, it fast became apparent that absolutely nothing had changed - the same faces and short-shorts graced the field, the same people passing the ball forward, the same people arguing about whether the pass was forward, the same people laughing at those arguing, the same people throwing 30 metre hero passes to no one, the same blokes treating it as an international championship match between the wallabies and the all blacks. And there was the french bloke who had once tried to fly kick someone for threatening to disallow his try, and the new zealander was also there, the one who, three years ago, I was sure I was friends with, only to realise that we'd never really said anything to each other, other than 'see you at touch on thursday'.

Three years on, I have to admit, it still felt normal. Unexceptional even. And I couldn't help but love it.
 

La tour eiffel, vue de la place du Trocadero

Standing on the place du trocadero, with the light bouncing off the puddles that formed on the mosaic tiled floor, you could be forgiven for thinking that the place was built as a giant platform for photographers wishing to take the perfect snap of la tour eiffel.

Gard du nord, Paris

Hey Rosetta!

What do you do when you wake up jet lagged at 3am in Kuala Lumpor and can't get back to sleep? 

Well, you start searching music blogs for new music, of course. And once you have listened to every rendition of a Bon Iver song recorded by a non-proscription-rayban-wearing hipster film-editor who has a penchant for HD and soft focus, you stumble across something that causes you to spend the early hours of a muggy Malaysian Monday searching the background of the band and going through their music catalogue. 

Yep - that's what happened. 

Here's the culprit: Young Glass by Canadian band Hey Rosetta! Check out the live performance recorded in Melbourne when the band was out in Australia touring with The Jezebels.

Love this first stanza:

from under your sheets out into the hall
you sleepwalk through the rooms where you grew up
out through the porch and the old front doors
carried by words that you learned when you were small

Your words - Battleships

Lovely song from Sydney-based band Battleships. Have a listen to the words. Some cracking lines in there. This is probably my favourite.

Can't you feel there's more than this? 
More than just what you now see, 
Ignorance is not quite bliss 
After this eternity 

Blank Joy - Rainer Maria Rilke

She who did not come, wasn't she determined
nonetheless to organize and decorate my heart?
If we had to exist to become the one we love,
what would the heart have to create?

Lovely joy left blank, perhaps you are
the center of all my labors and my loves.
If I've wept for you so much, it's because
I preferred you among so many outlined joys.

Armando Iannucci

Two great speeches by Scottish comedian and satirist Armando Iannucci - author of The Thick of It and HBO series VEEP. One on modern politics and spin doctoring at an Institute of Public Administration conference in Australia:



And one from the 2012 BAFTA Television Lecture on the current state of television in Britain, what makes TV execs tick, and the need for writers to keep pushing boundaries:



I would love to write like this one day.

Training

Paris, I'm a-comin'

the winter list - Calgary (Bon Iver)

The naked critic: memories of Robert Hughes

Nice piece by Tim Flannery in The Monthly on the late critic Robert Hughes.  I particularly like the final few paragraphs on the transience of even great lives: 'A man as smart and sensitive as Hughes knew that we're all leaves in the wind.'

Read it here.

the winter list - #4 - video games (lana del ray)

Bon Iver... just for a change

I know this has been doing the rounds, and I'm not the first to post about it, but what the hell. Great musicianship should be celebrated. And for the record, I love that Bon Iver seem to approach their melodies and harmonies as being permanently malleable.

But first - a prayer to vimeo.

Oh vimeo, ooooh you are so beautiful,
So absolutely clear.
Gosh we're all really impressed down here, I can tell you,
Because you're so beautiful and, well, just so super.
In the name of google,
Amen

the winter list - #3

Feel inside (and stuff like that)

This is worth it - for nothing else than Murray's filing system.

"I'm actually, at this point, at an 'eh?'... cause I'm confused.  I'm kind of halfway between an 'in' and mmm'.  So 'eh?' I've got a lot of stuff in there already... but we can transfer it to 'in'."

Genius.

the winter list - #2

Tim Rogers in Fort Wayne, Indiana

Wish I was at this concert.

Read the Review here. See the photos here.

For Peter Norman

Just wanted to say thank you to Peter Norman.  History is littered with bad things happening to good people who's only crime was that they believed in a world beyond their time.  Glad Australia has finally decided to recognise his bravery.

Anais Mitchell - The Sheperd's Song

So gentle. So many layers. Thank you Anais.
 

the winter list

Almost a year ago, Silver Cinder played its last gig at The Sando in Newtown. Last Saturday, Tam and I decided to get together and play and record a few songs. I guess you could say it was 'for old time's sake'. But we ended up enjoying it so much that we've decided to try and do it more regularly. And so The Winter List is born. It's pretty exciting. We'll be putting up a new song each week for the next little while. Here's the first one.  A big thanks to Peter Pigott who did such a great job with the camera. Thanks mate!

Hope you like it.

Coming Down - Anais Mitchell

Clarke and Dawe: penetrating the Australian psyche

Clarke and Dawe once again penetrate the fragile Australian soul, peel off our layers of insecurity, and leave us all naked, staring in the mirror, slightly embarrassed: check it here.

I remember when...

On today my 30th birthday (at time of writing), it's time to play a game called I remember when.  The rules are, for each decade that you've been alive, name three moments that you can clearly remember as if you were there. They don't have to be moments that changed your life.  They just have to be moments that you remember vividly ; Memories that, when you put your mind to it, you can actually feel, see and smell.

Here are mine:

0 - 10

1.  I remember running to line up to buy 5 cent 'zooper doopers' from the canteen in kindergarten.  Mum or Dad would give us 20 cents for the week, or maybe it was 10 cents, and it was the most precious thing in the world.  We'd race each other out of class to be at the front of the canteen line at play lunch.  I can still feel the anticipation.

2.  I remember playing 'statues' in my Nana's garden.  When Mum and Dad arrived to pick us up, Fiona and I used to pretend we were a permanent part of Nana's front garden so that we didn't have to go home.  Nana would play along, feigning that she hadn't noticed us, and telling our parents that she didn't know where we were and that they should probably head on home without us.

3.  I remember Mrs Bain turning Chris Ewan upside down after he'd swallowed a 10 cent coin and performing the heimlich manoeuvre to save his life.  It was the most impressive thing I'd ever seen.

10 - 20

4.  I remember waking up in hospital from my first epileptic fit to see my Uncle sitting opposite me.  The look on my Uncle's face was one I'd not seen before and one I'll never forget.

5.  I remember singing in Mrs Swain's last chapel service.  At the end of Like as the Hart there are three lingering chords on the organ.  Although I didn't know it then, those chords marked the end of my period below time.

6.  I remember wagging school with Yi-Lee to watch the sun rise over the opera house.  I wasn't exactly sneaking off to take heroin, but it felt dangerous and worthwhile.

20 - 30

7.  I remember sitting in on judicial deliberations at the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia.  It confirmed that this fragile life of ours is governed by laws that are made by human beings; that the type of society we live in is shaped by ideas; and that you have to participate in those ideas if you want to create change.

8.  I remember sitting in a field of long grass in front of the Mont St Michel with someone I knew that I loved.  The sun turned the grass a golden yellow as the wind threatened to turned the pages of our sketch books.  I learned that day that love is the most powerful gift someone can ever give you.

9.  I remember singing Wolves by Bon Iver at The Vanguard.  The room was silent for the final song.  The guitar was slightly out of tune.  But when the audience joined in on the chorus, that was a moment, and everything else ceased to exist.

So many more I could mention... but yeah, that's how you play I remember when.  Feel free to send through your answers!

There's really nothing to this sound...

Exciting news - we're playing again. Stay tuned.
 

La Blogotheque

If you haven't already discovered La Blogotheque you should probably just go ahead and clear your afternoon and check it out.  Beautifully shot videos of your favourite or soon to be favourite bands playing your favourite songs live, acoustically and in public.

Check out the effort by Phoenix, filmed under a bridge in Paris beside the Seine.

Just in case there is any doubt, this is hipster porn.

Why is it hard to make friends over 30?

Great article in the NY Times looking at the three conditions considered crucial to making close friends (proximity; repeated, unplanned interactions; and a setting that encourages people to let their guard down and confide in each other,) and why it is so hard to make good friends after the age of... ahem... 30.

Check it out here: Friends of a Certain Age

Thanks to Hughmus for the heads up.

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Grizzly Bear - Yet Again

With new album Shields due out on 17 September, it's time to check out the new one from Brooklyn-based hipster-magnets Grizzly Bear.  For those of you familiar with Grizzly Bear's music, you'll probably notice that the first half of this song is considerably less complex (and therefore 'poppier') than the concophony of sounds that they usually pump into their songs.  If that disappoints you, (for me, it doesn't!) wait for the last minute to kick in and you'll see they haven't lost the art of throwing a microphone up against a room full of instruments.

For me, this song is probably more accessible than the songs served up on their last album Veckatimest.  It'll be interesting to see if that's indicative of the album more generally.  That drum beat (a clever mix of accoustic and electric drums) is pretty darn catchy.  And the growling threat of distortion on the heavily reverbed guitar riff is honeycomb for the ears.  Love it.

But hey, that's just... like... my opinion, man.  What do you think?

...ahem.

...HEY! Participate damn you!

Richard Cuthbert - Love Letter

Love this little song from old uni mate Richard Cuthbert.  Great effects on the piano.

Clarke and Dawe : The Olympics

Clarke and Dawe are back with their take on the Olympics, and Australia's lack of success.

Lennon (12) and Maisy (8)

Ummmm. 8 year olds shouldn't be able to harmonise like this.

Woah.

Hyperlinks: The Future of Journalism?

A mate and I were recently discussing the enormous increase in the use of hyperlinks in online media (I know - we're awesome, right?!).  It seems that hyperlinks are no longer reserved for single words.  These days, they are used across whole sentences. Is it just me, or is the overuse of hyperlinks getting a little ridiculous? 

With cuts being made to editorial jobs in newspapers all over the world, it seems that the trend in online media is for news articles to contain a single topic sentence describing the general situation, followed by a bunch of links to the opinions of other people on that topic.  Check out this effort from The Economist:

"Our health-care correspondent sums up the questions before the court and the arguments being made, and says the case could transform the power of the federal government. M.S. explains why the slippery-slope arguments against Obamacare don't make much sense. W.W. says forced business between taxpayers and private companies is forced business whether or not government touches the money. Donald Berwick, the former administrator of Centers of Medicare and Medicaid Services, explains what might happen if some or all of Obamacare is repealed. Our correspondent adds to those thoughts. And Lexington says that even if the Supreme Court strikes down Obamacare, there could be a silver lining for the president."

Perhaps in the future the news will just end up being a single sentence hyperlinked to google - ie 'There is a war in Syria' - followed by a final disclaimer saying: ‘We can no longer afford to pay our journalists.  The news is out there somewhere.  Please figure it out yourself’.

Bref - J'ai tout casse

Wow. Bref went dark.

Bref. J'ai fait une soirée déguisée. (partie 4) - Episode du 02/07

Sir Ken Robinson : Do schools kill creativity?

Is this the most watched TED talk because of the message, or because of the way it's delivered? Or is it both?

TED Talks

The New Yorker lists five key TED talks.

Good lunchtime viewing.

The 'busy' trap

Fantastic article on NY Times Opinionator blog website by Tim Krieder : The 'busy' trap.

My favourite lines:

 'What she had mistakenly assumed was her personality — driven, cranky, anxious and sad — turned out to be a deformative effect of her environment.'

'The space and quiet that idleness provides is a necessary condition for standing back from life and seeing it whole, for making unexpected connections and waiting for the wild summer lightning strikes of inspiration.'

'My own resolute idleness has mostly been a luxury rather than a virtue, but I did make a conscious decision, a long time ago, to choose time over money, since I’ve always understood that the best investment of my limited time on earth was to spend it with people I love.'

Love it.

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