“It’s got nothing to do with Vorsprung durch Technik, y’know?”
Just back from an amazing weekend at my beloved Laity Lodge, where I got to hang out and kinda-collaborate with some astonishingly gifted people, including Dana Tanamachi, Uwade, and Jon Searle — plus my buddy Austin Kleon. Hearing Uwade sing live sent chills down my spine — you can get a sense of her amazing vocal presence by watching this. Goodness, being around people this gifted … well, it’s humbling. That’s a mild word for it.
So long (for now) to the canyon.
When in 1792 the noted engraver and cartographer John Cooke (1765-1845) moved from Drury Lane, London to Mill Hill, he made this card to show friends his passage. Beautiful! (You’ll want to open the image in a new tab or window to see it full size.)
I don’t use Chrome so I can’t use this, but I love the idea of a productivity blocker.
The story of the Raphael Cartoons is complicated and fascinating. This photo shows how they were conveyed from Hampton Court Palace to the South Kensington Museum (now the V&A).
I wrote a brief essay that starts from an idea of Phil Christman’s and commends (in one respect anyway) Noam Chomsky. You can’t pigeonhole ME.
“I regard neither a class of error nor an example of it as one stone which has made me stumble: I learn to distrust my trot in general and set about improving it. To learn that we have said or done a stupid thing is nothing: we must learn a more ample and important lesson: that we are but blockheads.” — Montaigne
A nice little inside joke in Dorothy L. Sayers’s Murder Must Advertise: When Lord Peter is told that he must leave the advertising agency in which he’s working undercover, he explodes, “Dash it all, Charles! You don’t understand. It’s a really big scheme. It’ll be the biggest advertising stunt since the Mustard Club.” The Mustard Club was the most famous and successful advertising campaign created by Sayers herself when she worked for Benson’s Publicity. And I’ve just discovered that there was even a short film about the Mustard Club.
“Attention must be paid.”
Those of you who’ve been hipped to the traditional-folk scene by A Complete Unknown (and maybe before that by Inside Llewyn Davis) should enjoy this episode of the Walter Martin Radio Hour. And maybe that will turn you on to the distinctive sensibility of Mr. Martin.
Phil Christman’s gentle pushback to my recent comments on Resistance-blogging is unsurprisingly good. What he’s doing makes a lot of sense.
Margery Brews of Norfolk, in the year of our Lord 1477, writes to her “right well-beloved valentine.”