Murmuration over Otmoor
This sequence was filmed by wildlife cameraman and travel journalist, Dylan Winter, who is currently sailing around the UK in an 18 foot boat. You can follow his journey and see more of his work on his blog, Keep Turning Left.
add this to the northern lights as something I want to see.
Vote for your favorite U2 t-shirt design! Survey closes Friday, August 1st!
If we make a U Talkin U Talkin U2 To Me, To Me podcast that would entitle us to a free shirt right?
Riff Raff day on #Betas
My shirt by @davidoreilly
Last night, I was talking with a friend who is fairly exhausted with Pitchfork (we all are, right?) And I read a review of Daft Punk’s “One More Time” aloud, rolling my eyes at all the particularly pompous parts (which was most of it). It’s a tough thing to write about, music. It’s completely…
This in turn made me think of this guy:
“The fact is that this stuff is worth loving. As with the tawdriest pop melody, there is a base pleasure in perfume, in just about any perfume, even the cheapest and most starved of ideas, that is better than no perfume at all. It decorates the day. It makes you feel as if the colors have changed. It’s a substitute for having an orchestra follow you about playing the theme song of your choice. Think of what the functional fragrance industry calls the magic moment, when the smell of fabric softener billows out of your dryer and you can’t help but feel great. Perfume is wonderful. And it’s simply not true, as some people believe, that thinking about our pleasures ruins them. For example, few things are as wonderful as having a great meal and talking about it afterward, and remembering other great meals, and planning the next one. We have found, in writing this book, that the same holds for perfume. All pleasure is connected, and the endless ride we take between disappointment and satisfaction and back again is largely what keeps us interested in life. What more is there to talk about?”
Though it almost impossible to talk about and/or objectively rate music or an art in general. We still want to do it. and yes pitchfork is pretentious.
“So exactly how long are we supposed to sit here and wait for this shitbird to come on out of his hidey-hole?”
“Oh, I don’t even wanna hear it from you asshole.”
“The fuck did I do?”
“It was you runnin’ your mouth that got us on this bullshit stakeout in the first place! You just can’t resist fuckin’ with the chain of command, can you? Gotta be the cowboy. Fuckin’ big-mouth dickhead.”
“Look, you know I was right about that prick crooked councilman! He’s as guilty as— okay, door just opened. There’s our guy. He’s on the move.”
“All right. Now. How do we get out of this thing?”
“Hell if I know— how did we even get into it?
“Q: How did you come up with the idea of collecting first edition white albums? and why just first editions?
A: I got into collecting multiple White Albums because every copy tells a story. Each one has aged uniquely over the course of the last half-decade. The pressings from 1968 were numbered, implying that it is a limited edition, although one running in excess of 3 million.”
Talking Heads - “Road To Nowhere” (by ealdrett)
Dear Every Girl I Have Ever Been Attracted to,
First off, I apologize for any inconvenience that may have caused you. Secondly I went about something wrong which I also regret; I just want you to know that, from the bottom of my heart I regret it. I will also go ahead and apologize that you had to go through a rigorous test for to know I indeed had a crush on you. I’m sorry that I imagined you as a credible person/personality of a performing bassist, glockenspiel, keyboard, or accordion player to some cool and quirky Rock N’ Roll band. I’m sorry that I had to think about you in the context of the “Free Wheel’N Bob Dylan” album cover. Some you passed these tests, others didn’t.
I listen to Talking Heads a lot for the past month it has almost exclusively been what I have ran to. In the midst of running a new provision occurred in my attempts to systematically structure how I tend to relate to the fairer sex. I want you to either be a Talking Heads fan or a future Talking Heads fan. I equate the Talking Heads and by extension David Byrne with intelligence, some sass, the inclination to follow ones thoughts and interests way down those particular rabbit holes, funny, inventive, and a lot other positive descriptors. This all may mean I have a crush on David Byrne, it may mean I have a crush on St Vincent, all I know is that I will probably be attracted to you once we both start excitedly talking about this song.
“I MEAN, THIS IS THE THIRD TIME IN LESS THAN A MONTH. YOU’RE PROBABLY AS SICK OF READING THESE FLIERS AS I AM OF WRITING THEM. YOU KNOW WHAT? NOW THAT I’M WRITING THIS ALL OUT? FUCK THIS CAT. ‘MESSAGE RECEIVED,’ KNOW WHAT I’M SAYING? SO IF YOU’RE MY LOST CAT, AND YOU’RE READING THIS FLIER, I GET IT. YOU DON’T WANT TO LIVE WITH ME. MAYBE IT’S MY FAULT. MAYBE YOU DIDN’T LIKE THE DRY FOOD OR MAYBE I WASN’T IMPRESSED ENOUGH BY YOUR ABILITY TO READ. I’M SORRY. LET US PART AS FRIENDS. ANYONE ELSE READING THIS, SORRY TO WASTE YOUR TIME. I SHOULD NOT HAVE CONTINUED TO TYPE UP THIS INTERNAL MONOLOGUE, ATTACH A PHOTO, PRINT MULTIPLE COPIES, AND POST THEM THROUGHOUT THE NEIGHBORHOOD. PLEASE TEAR THIS DOWN AND DISPOSE OF IT IN AN APPROPRIATE RECYCLING RECEPTACLE. IF YOU JUST THROW IT IN A REGULAR TRASH CAN, I HOPE YOU WILL SUBSEQUENTLY APOLOGIZE TO A TREE. AND IF YOU KNOW A TREE THAT SPEAKS ENGLISH, DON’T TAKE IT FOR GRANTED! LET THAT TALKING TREE KNOW THAT YOU ARE IMPRESSED!”