Man I am so happy the curtain has lifted on Electric Objects. I have been advising @jrlevine on this but it’s most certainly his poetry and code, along with his team. You might miss it in this picture, which is exactly the point: that Nick Knight photo of the flower there, that’s actually a screen, a beta version of Electric Objects. I have been housebound for 3 months and mostly lying on a couch watching the world scroll past me on the internet. But every once in a while, when something beautiful came to mind or caught my eye, I would throw it to the slow screen on my wall. The flower has been there for a week or so, from the first day I went outside. Later I might shift it back the 1972 NASA photograph that Charles Duke took on the moon. So much of the connected home is about utility this and efficiency that. Some part of it has to be about pleasure. This is that part.Kickstarted here.

Man I am so happy the curtain has lifted on Electric Objects.

I have been advising @jrlevine on this but it’s most certainly his poetry and code, along with his team. You might miss it in this picture, which is exactly the point: that Nick Knight photo of the flower there, that’s actually a screen, a beta version of Electric Objects.

I have been housebound for 3 months and mostly lying on a couch watching the world scroll past me on the internet. But every once in a while, when something beautiful came to mind or caught my eye, I would throw it to the slow screen on my wall.

The flower has been there for a week or so, from the first day I went outside. Later I might shift it back the 1972 NASA photograph that Charles Duke took on the moon.

So much of the connected home is about utility this and efficiency that. Some part of it has to be about pleasure. This is that part.

Kickstarted here.

oldnewyork:

nycnostalgia:

96th and Lex, 1983

Old stomping grounds

This is where I got off the subway for junior high.
Is it a fact that anyone will have a strong visceral reaction to seeing impersonal images from their late childhood/early adolescence, or is it really just that NYC really was that special?  

oldnewyork:

nycnostalgia:

96th and Lex, 1983

Old stomping grounds

This is where I got off the subway for junior high.

Is it a fact that anyone will have a strong visceral reaction to seeing impersonal images from their late childhood/early adolescence, or is it really just that NYC really was that special?  

Reblogged from Old New York

"Pickup trucks customized to spew black smoke into the air are quickly becoming the newest weapon in the culture wars.

"Coal Rollers" are diesel trucks modified with chimneys and equipment that can force extra fuel into the engine causing dark black smoke to pour out of the chimney stacks. These modifications are not new, but as Slate’s Dave Weigel pointed out on Thursday, "rolling coal" has begun to take on a political dimension with pickup drivers increasingly viewing their smokestacks as a form of protest against environmentalists and Obama administration emissions regulations.

[…]

"The feeling around here is that everyone who drives a small car is a liberal," a roller named Ryan told Vocativ. "I rolled coal on a Prius once just because they were tailing me."

Weigel spoke to a seller of coal rolling customization equipment who described why some drivers see spewing smoke as a political protest.

"I run into a lot of people that really don’t like Obama at all," the salesperson said. "If he’s into the environment, if he’s into this or that, we’re not. I hear a lot of that. To get a single stack on my truck—that’s my way of giving them the finger. You want clean air and a tiny carbon footprint? Well, screw you."

This is, in a very real sense, why we can’t have nice things.

Transformer assembly, China.

Today, dollar vans and other unofficial shuttles make up a thriving shadow transportation system that operates where subways and buses don’t—mostly in peripheral, low-income neighborhoods that contain large immigrant communities and lack robust public transit. The informal transportation networks fill that void with frequent departures and dependable schedules, but they lack service maps, posted timetables, and official stations or stops. There is no Web site or kiosk to help you navigate them. Instead, riders come to know these networks through conversations with friends and neighbors, or from happening upon the vans in the street. (via New York’s Shadow Transit | The New Yorker)

Today, dollar vans and other unofficial shuttles make up a thriving shadow transportation system that operates where subways and buses don’t—mostly in peripheral, low-income neighborhoods that contain large immigrant communities and lack robust public transit. The informal transportation networks fill that void with frequent departures and dependable schedules, but they lack service maps, posted timetables, and official stations or stops. There is no Web site or kiosk to help you navigate them. Instead, riders come to know these networks through conversations with friends and neighbors, or from happening upon the vans in the street. (via New York’s Shadow Transit | The New Yorker)

"Brown bears in the Russia’s far east have been spotted sniffing discarded oil cans full of waste products of kerosene of and gasoline. The neglectfully treated waste has been left in the Kronotsky Nature Reserve where the nearby wildlife picked up on the strong smell. The Kronotsky Nature Reserve in South Kamchatka, is home to more than 700 brown bears, some of the largest in the world."

 (via Russian Bears sniffing Jet Fuel, getting high and passing out | The Mortem Post)

right now, I can’t tell whether I do or don’t want this to be true.

"Brown bears in the Russia’s far east have been spotted sniffing discarded oil cans full of waste products of kerosene of and gasoline. The neglectfully treated waste has been left in the Kronotsky Nature Reserve where the nearby wildlife picked up on the strong smell. The Kronotsky Nature Reserve in South Kamchatka, is home to more than 700 brown bears, some of the largest in the world."

(via Russian Bears sniffing Jet Fuel, getting high and passing out | The Mortem Post)

right now, I can’t tell whether I do or don’t want this to be true.

(via Being a Times Square Elmo : The New Yorker) and I have to say today is the day I re-subscribed to the New Yorker. 

"The characters in Times Square work for themselves. They do not have employers and do not belong to a union. The characters pocket their own earnings, up to two hundred dollars for eight hours, on a good day, but usually less than a hundred dollars. They buy their own costumes, which cost anywhere from two hundred and fifty dollars (for a standard Elmo getup) to four hundred dollars (for a souped-up Mickey Mouse, with a moving mouth and eyes that open and close). Reyes sends away for hers, paying by cash, from a designer in Lima. (“See those superheroes?” she asked, motioning toward a threadbare Batman. “They’re not from Peru. They look like Halloween costumes. Like, from Party City!”) They also set their own hours, which, for Reyes, typically amount to eight-hour shifts five days a week, with breaks on Tuesday and Wednesday, when there’s a lull in tourist traffic.

If their autonomy is a point of a pride, it’s also a liability. A few days earlier, at Forty-second Street, I had discussed this with Emer, a fifty-year-old Peruvian, who was dressed as Woody and didn’t want to provide his last name. “I don’t work for anybody,” he boasted. “I’m free to do things my way.” Emer had been there almost five hours, and had earned about fifty dollars; it was already dinnertime, though, and he was about to go home, to New Jersey. Ebbs in traffic and a glut of competition mean diminished returns. “Normally, with work, you know how much money you’ll get based on the hours,” Reyes said. “Here, there’s no telling.” She had spent eight hours on the same corner a week earlier and came away with fifteen dollars; she was still distraught about it, and told me that she’s started looking for another job.

To hear Emer and Reyes tell it, they suffer all sorts of indignities. There are daily torrents of verbal abuse (most of them variations of “You illegal Mexicans!”) and constant struggles to find public bathrooms and places to have lunch without being turned away. Reyes used to dress as a minion from “Despicable Me,” but she “kept getting beat on by people, kids and older guys, just knocking me around.” A wayward punch broke her nose several months ago. She chalks up some of it to malice, and the rest to Disney-influenced confusion: “In the movie, the minions are always beat on. I think some kids just think it’s part of the game.”

When the Times Square characters do shed their masks and make the news, it’s usually not for their acts of endurance. Earlier this month, two Statues of Liberty got into a fistfight over disputed turf, and one was arrested. A judge, two weeks ago, found a Spider-Man guilty of harassing a family that had allegedly shorted him money while taking a picture. The police have a loose policy of begrudging acceptance toward them, with the occasional lashing out. (“You can’t stand there!” “Move along!” “How much money did he just give you?”) The police lord it over them that so many are immigrants without papers, Emer said. He was in the middle of a story about a policeman when two teen-age girls walked past. Emer’s mask was up, and his flushed face was exposed. “Hey, baby,” he called out, in shaky English. “Want to take a picture?”

(via Being a Times Square Elmo : The New Yorker) and I have to say today is the day I re-subscribed to the New Yorker.

"The characters in Times Square work for themselves. They do not have employers and do not belong to a union. The characters pocket their own earnings, up to two hundred dollars for eight hours, on a good day, but usually less than a hundred dollars. They buy their own costumes, which cost anywhere from two hundred and fifty dollars (for a standard Elmo getup) to four hundred dollars (for a souped-up Mickey Mouse, with a moving mouth and eyes that open and close). Reyes sends away for hers, paying by cash, from a designer in Lima. (“See those superheroes?” she asked, motioning toward a threadbare Batman. “They’re not from Peru. They look like Halloween costumes. Like, from Party City!”) They also set their own hours, which, for Reyes, typically amount to eight-hour shifts five days a week, with breaks on Tuesday and Wednesday, when there’s a lull in tourist traffic.

If their autonomy is a point of a pride, it’s also a liability. A few days earlier, at Forty-second Street, I had discussed this with Emer, a fifty-year-old Peruvian, who was dressed as Woody and didn’t want to provide his last name. “I don’t work for anybody,” he boasted. “I’m free to do things my way.” Emer had been there almost five hours, and had earned about fifty dollars; it was already dinnertime, though, and he was about to go home, to New Jersey. Ebbs in traffic and a glut of competition mean diminished returns. “Normally, with work, you know how much money you’ll get based on the hours,” Reyes said. “Here, there’s no telling.” She had spent eight hours on the same corner a week earlier and came away with fifteen dollars; she was still distraught about it, and told me that she’s started looking for another job.

To hear Emer and Reyes tell it, they suffer all sorts of indignities. There are daily torrents of verbal abuse (most of them variations of “You illegal Mexicans!”) and constant struggles to find public bathrooms and places to have lunch without being turned away. Reyes used to dress as a minion from “Despicable Me,” but she “kept getting beat on by people, kids and older guys, just knocking me around.” A wayward punch broke her nose several months ago. She chalks up some of it to malice, and the rest to Disney-influenced confusion: “In the movie, the minions are always beat on. I think some kids just think it’s part of the game.”

When the Times Square characters do shed their masks and make the news, it’s usually not for their acts of endurance. Earlier this month, two Statues of Liberty got into a fistfight over disputed turf, and one was arrested. A judge, two weeks ago, found a Spider-Man guilty of harassing a family that had allegedly shorted him money while taking a picture. The police have a loose policy of begrudging acceptance toward them, with the occasional lashing out. (“You can’t stand there!” “Move along!” “How much money did he just give you?”) The police lord it over them that so many are immigrants without papers, Emer said. He was in the middle of a story about a policeman when two teen-age girls walked past. Emer’s mask was up, and his flushed face was exposed. “Hey, baby,” he called out, in shaky English. “Want to take a picture?”

Flashbulb memories are clear episodic memories of unique and highly emotional events. People remembering where they were or what they were doing when they first heard the news of President Kennedy’s assassination or of 9/11 are examples of flashbulb memories.”
But let’s speak frankly to each other. I’m not the smartest guy you’ve ever met, or the hardest-working. I was a mediocre student. I’m not technical at all—I can’t write a word of code. What sets me apart, I think, is a tolerance for risk and an intuition about what will happen in the future. Seeing where things are headed is the essence of entrepreneurship. And what do I see in our future now?

I see pitchforks.”
We rich people have been falsely persuaded by our schooling and the affirmation of society, and have convinced ourselves, that we are the main job creators. It’s simply not true. There can never be enough super-rich Americans to power a great economy. I earn about 1,000 times the median American annually, but I don’t buy thousands of times more stuff. My family purchased three cars over the past few years, not 3,000. I buy a few pairs of pants and a few shirts a year, just like most American men. I bought two pairs of the fancy wool pants I am wearing as I write, what my partner Mike calls my “manager pants.” I guess I could have bought 1,000 pairs. But why would I? Instead, I sock my extra money away in savings, where it doesn’t do the country much good.”

The Pitchforks Are Coming… For Us Plutocrats - Nick Hanauer - POLITICO Magazine

Not a Nick Hanauer fan, and there are things in this post that set my teeth on edge, but there’s also a lot I agree with.

And while I know a few hyperwealthy people who might (or do) agree with all the sentiments here, it takes a certain conviction to state it publicly.

Worth reading the whole thing, and then forgetting a few really gross parts in the middle.

humansofnewyork:

"I’d like to design algorithms to apply machine learning to quantitative market research."

humansofnewyork:

"I’d like to design algorithms to apply machine learning to quantitative market research."

Reblogged from College Life
discoverynews:

Bees To Get Help from White House
The U.S. federal government is getting serious about the decline in bees and other pollinators, forming a federal task force to address the crisis. Read more

I feel certain that the last President of the United States would have simply found a way to wage war on, um, whoever the fuck is responsible for this.

discoverynews:

Bees To Get Help from White House

The U.S. federal government is getting serious about the decline in bees and other pollinators, forming a federal task force to address the crisis. Read more

I feel certain that the last President of the United States would have simply found a way to wage war on, um, whoever the fuck is responsible for this.

Reblogged from DiscoveryNews
(via Stroszek (1977) - IMDb)

Hey IMDB. Werner Herzog’s “Stroszek” is many many things, but one thing it’s NOT is a fucking comedy.

(via Stroszek (1977) - IMDb)

Hey IMDB. Werner Herzog’s “Stroszek” is many many things, but one thing it’s NOT is a fucking comedy.

Reblogged from Surfing With The Alien