This guy, David Calvo, is juggling Rubik’s Cubes and solving one at the same time. What did you do today?
(via Laughing Squid)
Wow. Just finished reading the book Super Sad True Love Story by Absurdistan author Gary Shteyngart and I can’t stop thinking about it. If there is a more prophetic or prescient author out there, please stand up. Media and retail dominate a dystopian futuristic New York where people undergo rejuvenation treatments that make them look youthful but smell terrible. So, there are all these stinky beautiful people. The young looking elderly talk in the anagrams and slang used today by millennials and there is a massive camp of homeless people and protesters LIVING IN A PARK IN DOWNTOWN MANHATTAN (yes, and, of course this book was written long before OWS happened. It was published over a year ago). Shteyngart is so spot-on its eerie. I hope the ending isn’t prophetic.
Whenever I tell people about this, NOBODY believes me, but there is a lot of animation being made in North Korea by Europeans and North Americans who live in Pyongyang. Nobody believes me because everyone thinks nobody is allowed to go there. But Quebecois animator Guy Delisle went and wrote a comic book about it, which was published in 2003. I have a copy somewhere in my house. In it, Delisle describes arriving in the city carrying a copy of George Orwell’s “1984” and being taken straight to lay flowers at the feet of the Great Leader. He is not allowed to walk around the city unaccompanied by a guide but when he does sneak out, the streets are virtually deserted. He sees no disabled people and is told North Korea doesn’t have any of those. He describes the International Friendship Museum, which is essentially a building full of all the gifts that have been given to the Great Leader, so, like, neckties and a refrigerator, to prove how well loved he is. The book is interesting and creepy and awesome. I have told at least three people about it this month alone and I can’t understand why more people haven’t read it. READ IT.
When I was five or six years old, I was a really good reader. I was in this reading group called the “Six good readers” (at least I think I was six – it was senior kindergarten or grade one or something) and we used to go to the library to read as a group because the other kids in our class were
dumber developing at their own pace. So, my point is that I was good at something too when I was little, OK?
Now let’s watch seven year old Zoe nail Sweet Child O’ Mine on guitar. (video is about a year old)
After attending a tiny smattering of events at Toronto’s Nuit Blanche, I have decided that I think confession soliciting art (not to be confused with confessional art – the stuff of folks like Tracy Emin) has got to be the cheapest form. There was a woman at the Gladstone Hotel sitting on a sofa with a jar of secrets. Her “art” was that she would read you a secret from the jar and then you must tell her one of your secrets. To me, she just looked like a busybody posing as an artist. Then we happened upon a tent on Queen street at which people were asked to write confessions on chalkboards, which were primed with starters such as “When I Let go I…” then pose for pictures. It felt hackneyed and provincial. I don’t know why, but it bothered me for a couple of days that people are passing this off as art. Could that be the point?
More of the “confession soliciting” media genre can be found at postsecret.com, a site that posts secrets sent in by anonymous strangers. The secrets are collages or decorated postcards and they are often quite mundane and I’ve never spent any time on the site — because I am not that interested in other people’s secrets. That being said, the blog is the biggest ad free blog in the world, apparently, so people must really get something positive out of it – maybe the experience of knowing that they’re not alone, which is highly valuable. Fair enough, I guess, but is it art?
That is all.