blog
tyblography

categories

architecture (31)
on location (23)
random thoughts (1,267)
staff (27)
the design life (294)
the writing life (418)
blog archive




A Much-Needed Corrective

We live in stupid times. On this there can be no debate. And while it’s certainly tempting to give up in despair over the festering shitshow that haunts seemingly every waking moment of every single day, let’s instead take a moment to celebrate a couple of milestones in human artistic achievement.

Last month marked the seventy-fifth anniversary of the publication of Evelyn Waugh’s Brideshead Revisited, “one of those quintessentially iconic stories that encapsulates…our communal yearning for something glorious yet unattainable”; today is the eighty-fifth birthday of the great Julian Priester, who’s worked with everyone from Herbie Hancock to Sun Ra to Woody Herman to the experimental metal/drone band Sunn O))).

Feel better now? I know I do.

A Capital Idea

Kwame Anthony Appiah has an interesting piece over at the Atlantic on language and usage, racial designation as social identity, and the linguistic arguments that (hopefully) lead to consensus. In short, it’s a philosopher’s take on whether we should capitalize the B in black as a designation for those of African descent.

My two cents? I don’t really care which—capitalized or not—ultimately wins out. But opinions to the contrary notwithstanding, there simply is no case to be made for applying one rule to black and another to white. Just doesn’t make sense.

But in this crazy, upside-down world in which we now find ourselves, sense is in rather short supply.

Poetry Break

from ATTICS OF MY LIFE
Robert Hunter*

In the attics of my life
Full of cloudy dreams unreal
Full of tastes no tongue can know
And lights no eye can see
When there was no ear to hear
You sang to me

*The poet, lyricist, and singer-songwriter would have turned 79 today.

Miscellany

Evangeline Garreau, from the latest issue of her never-boring email newsletter, on the occasion of her thirtieth birthday:

One thing that becomes more clear to me every year is the absolutely absurd improbability of existence. You’re telling me not only did intelligent life form on earth and then persist for MILLIONS of years despite fundamental design flaws in the species that continually attempts to self-destruct, BUT THEN two people amidst billions found each other and fell in love and created BRAND NEW LIFE, and THEN I made it all the way around the sun THIRTY TIMES despite the fact that a) I barely made it out of infanthood and b) the planet is chockablock full of life-threatening dangers?? Who doesn’t want to have a party about that??

A question every Saturday Costco shopper is bound to ask sooner or later.

It was pandemics that brought down the Roman Empire, argues John Gray. And while it’s unlikely we’re on a similar trajectory, he does have some questions. “Human knowledge has increased tremendously,” he writes, “but are we so much more reasonable than the Romans were at their peak? Or are we descending into a state of collective derangement, far more rapidly than they did? The answer may begin to be clear over the coming months. ” Actually, Mr. Gray, we have our answer now. I’m afraid it’s…derangement.

“There is no such thing,” writes Jason Wilson, “as bad birdsong.”

This is extraordinary:

[T]he larger the human economy has become—the more people and the more goods and services they produce—the faster it has grown on average. Now, especially if you’re reading quickly, you might think you know what I mean. And you might be wrong, because I’m not referring to exponential growth. That happens when, for example, the number of people carrying a virus doubles every week. Then the growth rate (100% increase per week) holds fixed. The human economy has grown super-exponentially. The bigger it has gotten, the faster it has doubled, on average. The global economy churned out $74 trillion in goods and services in 2019, twice as much as in 2000. Such a quick doubling was unthinkable in the Middle Ages and ancient times. Perhaps our earliest doublings took millennia.

How did Darwin establish that earthworms are deaf? “He blew whistles at the ground, shouted into their burrows, played them the bassoon and placed them on a table next to a piano….”

You Win, 2020

In these unprecedented times (as nearly every TV commercial now begins), I guess it’s nice to know that Australia is still…Australia: “Two men snuck into a bedroom with machetes after being hired to carry out a stranger’s sexual fantasy of being tied up in his underwear and stroked with a broom, only to discover they had got the wrong address.”

If you’re like me, you’re wondering what a gig like that pays. Five grand, it turns out—but only if it’s “really good.”

Meanwhile, the animal kingdom must be sensing that we’re on the ropes: bears are walking on roofs, people are getting in fist fights with alligators, and there’s a “mystery pig” rooting around a Pennsylvania neighborhood.

Time is money. Or something.

“People who don’t write think that writing is just the physical act,” says author Edward P. Jones, “but first come all the steps of thinking it out before.”

It’s hard to convince non-writers of this truth—and still harder to account for when you’re putting together an estimate for a client.

Something I learned early on in this business is that you don’t simply charge for the time you spend at the keyboard; you charge for your experience, your know-how, your insights. In other words, you charge for all the unique ways in which you approach—and ultimately solve—a particular creative problem.

Think about the way your mechanic makes a living: Parts plus labor equals an invoice. Pretty simple and straightforward, right? The problem is, my labor includes an awful lot of internal, off-the-clock mental noodling—whether I’m actually conscious of it or not. Yet I can’t exactly bill for the time an idea popped into my head when I was mowing the lawn, or when the perfect ending to a 30-second TV spot revealed itself to me when I was on a hike.

It’s just part of that nebulous, ill-defined thing we call the “writing” process, I reckon.

For Your Next Meeting of The Finer Things Club

To all you “traumatised Brits” triggered by an American woman’s TikTok video describing how to make a cup of “British tea,” I hear you. This is an outrage, and I, for one, roundly condemn her actions.

Several years ago I found myself in the company of a British couple who, after some gentle prodding, kindly explained how to make tea the English way. I’ve been following their instructions ever since. Here’s what they told me, for what it’s worth:

• always start with fresh, cold water

• pre-heat your pot or mug

• loose tea is preferred if you’re posh, but bagged is fine

• wait for the water to reach a rolling boil before you pour it over the tea

• steep for anywhere from 3 to 5 minutes, depending on your taste (but never more than 5)

• add a bit of whole milk to taste (not cream, not half and half; whole milk)

As for the type of tea, spring for the real thing. My preference is for Yorkshire—it’s about $5 for a box of 100 bags—though PG Tips and Typhoo are also good. Stay away from Lipton (it’s too astringent). And for the love of God, don’t drink a mug of tea with the tag hanging over the side. We’re not barbarians, after all.

On My Mind

Seems appropriate right now to share this, the first known television interview with Nelson Mandela:

Only twenty-four seconds long, the footage is believed to have been filmed during a break in the 1956 Treason Trial.

While we’re at it, here’s Paul Simon covering Peter Gabriel’s “Biko,” about the anti-apartheid activist who was murdered in 1977:

 

That pretty much sums it up for me.

Weekend Miscellany

Matthew Walther thinks John Lennon’s “Imagine” is the worst song ever recorded. (He’s right, of course.)

“Dark heritage” in context.

New music recommendation: Flamagra Instrumentals by Flying Lotus, which, as its name implies, is an all-instrumental version of last year’s “cosmic jazz-funk saga.”

Does T.S. Eliot still matter? Yes. Yes, he does. Perhaps even more than ever.

Have a good weekend, everyone. Stay safe and healthy.

Our Glorious Mosaic

After moving to Argentina three years ago, Dominic Hilton remains frustrated with his inability to learn the language—and bemused at the locals’ misuse of English:

You see a lot of that in Buenos Aires. English swearwords, I mean. It’s as if swearing in a foreign language doesn’t count. Oh, those? I imagine people saying. Forget about those. They’re just some random four-letter words. No one understands, or bothers with translating them. Let’s go eat some more beef!

Meanwhile over at the Guardian, correspondents contributed to a list of 10 of the best words in the world (that don’t translate into English). Here’s my favorite:

Dating back to the 16th century, the term Feierabend, or “celebration evening,” used to denote the evening before a public holiday, but has come to refer to the free time between leaving the office and bedtime on any working day.

The key to understanding Feierabend is that it isn’t time for going to the cinema or gym, but time for doing nothing. In 1880, the cultural historian Wilhelm Heinrich Riehl described the concept as “an atmosphere of carefree wellbeing, of deep inner reconciliation, of the pure and clear quiet of the evening.”

Quote of the Day

From the The More Things Change, The More They Stay the Same Department (courtesy of Plato, in his critique of Heraclitus):

“If you ask any one of them a question, he will pull out some little enigmatic phrase from his quiver and shoot it off at you; and if you try to make him give an account of what he has said, you will only get hit by another, full of strange turns of language.”

And to think it was just a little over a month ago that I was quoting from Ecclesiastes.

A Little Something to Take Your Mind off the Chaos and Insanity

Couple of cool stories from Humanities magazine: Ron Stanford rediscovers some photographs taken in 1972 while he and his wife were on an NEH-sponsored trip to Louisiana to document Cajun and Creole musicians, and Sheryl Kaskowitz writes about the Special Skills Division of the Resettlement Administration, “one of the New Deal’s most radical, far-reaching, and highly criticized programs.”

Throw Away the Swear Jar

It’s official: Repeatedly dropping the F-bomb increases both your tolerance and your threshold for pain. Lest you think that a word is just a word, however, it turns out that made-up substitutes—for the purposes of this particular study, fouch and twizpipe—showed no such salubrious benefits.

This research couldn’t have come at a better time, to be honest. Perhaps the only good that’s come from the increased use of Zoom, Microsoft Teams, et al. has been the ability, during client meetings,* to mute myself, turn away from the camera, and get in touch with my inner stevedore. (Thanks, pandemic!)

But now, when things get back to normal and we start meeting in person again, I can just go ahead and let the expletives fly. It’s #science, after all.

*I kid! I kid!

Stop! Grammar Time!

“English is an immensely complicated language to get right,” writes Mark Forsyth, “and native speakers often have no idea of its strangeness.” In fact, he adds, it’s “largely made up of the rules we don’t know that we know.” For example:

You are utterly familiar with the rule of ablaut reduplication. You’ve been using it all your life. It’s just that you’ve never heard of it. But if somebody said the words “zag-zig” or “cross-criss” you would know, deep down in your loins, that they were breaking a sacred rule of language. You just wouldn’t know which one.

Speaking of loins, Forsyth explains how, when it comes to verse, rhythm is far more important than rhyme:

It’s the subtle difference when we record a record or present a present or tell a rebel to rebel. It’s a difference that is very hard for people to learn, and is the main reason that, in a strong French accent, there’s no difference between happiness and a penis.

His book, The Elements of Eloquence, would make a great gift for the word nerd in your life. Like, you know, me. I mean, I do have a birthday coming up.

Diversion

You think you know your Azafen from your Minalcar from your Orophin? Think again—then test your knowledge with this quiz that asks if a given word is an antidepressant or a Tolkien character. (I scored 18 out of 24, but only because there were definitely a couple of gimmes in there.)

back to top    |     1 20 21 22 23 24 132     |    archive >