n: vb: the spice of imagination
The wicked playful, amazing and just downright weirdo-funny portfolio of talented, award winning, dutch flash artist/designer Coen Grift.
Make sure to zoom in on everything, there’s an obscene amount of detail packed into the 1000 megapixels of art, comedy, and minigames.
To start, find the raccoon with the metal detector. He’s hanging out by the tree of carrot death.
via James Everett
I came home from work today to this AIM message from Steen:
(4:13:24 PM): so I meet this guy randomly at the laughing squid drinkup, and invite him to our hackspace. So we’re standing outside talking, and he mentions that he lived in Vancouver for a while
(4:13:58 PM): so I say, completely joking, because you know, it’s a fairly large city, “So, do you know Jhayne?”
(4:14:27 PM): and he says “Oh, yeah. Everyone knows Jhayne.”
(4:14:33 PM): totally deadpan, totally meant it.
(4:14:41 PM): it was awesome
went away at 4:19:44 PM.
EDIT: internet is still completely useless at home. bugger.
Something has gone terribly, wretchedly wrong with my computer. No data’s been lost, but it can’t boot out of anything but SafeMode. (And even that has been rife with sketchy moments). We’ve been trying a little bit of everything to fix it, (bare minimum start up sets, system rollbacks, etcetera), but nothing so far has worked, instead the errors grow more esoteric as we continue.
Thankfully, my friend Frank is bringing over a system disc for a fresh OS install, but as that’s going to be at ten tonight, if you need to get a hold of me today, call.
David Byrne’s guide to being a musician in the 21st century.
Strange to think that the internet is only thirty years old. On November 22, 1977, the first three networks were connected to become the Internet, (ARPAnet, a lossy packet radio network that had a name, though I don’t know it, and SATNET, the Atlantic Packet Satellite Network.)
David Byrne and Radiohead’s Thom Yorke discussing the music industry.
Dear lazyweb, I am in need of some internet/codemonkey skills.
I am in the midst of designing something I do not know enough to build. Would anyone like to help out in exchange for some writing or photography?
I’m toying with a shop, a mapped gallery, and some other things which would be easy for someone who knows how but night impossible to for me figure out without wasteful hours of limping code.
Late night question: Has anyone been able to get past level 50 on Free Rice? I’m stuck.
For those not in the know somehow, Free Rice is a vocabulary game that, for every correct answer, donates a set amount of rice to the United Nations to help end world hunger. I highly recommend it as the first place to go whenever you feel the need to either keep busy while something’s loading or just down right procrastinate. Me, I’m just not so hot at falling asleep before 2 am.
The Secret Machines didn’t really kick in until a third through their set, but when they kick in, they’re kicking in more than just the front door, they’re kicking in your entire cellular system. They sure do love their lights. It’s a first class show, only a little below Metric or the Arcade Fire with Wolf Parade. Duncan took a great little video of glasses dancing off a table from the thump and pull of the music. I was farther forward, in the front against the stage. It was both a tragedy and a shame that there weren’t more people, but it meant that I could move back and forth in front of the stage as much as I wanted, trying to get the perfect angle for my fan-slavish photography.
Two found ads that taste great together: Campari & Choco.
And here I am, glad to be on-line again because a friend is building a spaceship that’s going to fly with NASA and a 43-tonne wooden elephant took over London and Burrow has a new boy and they’ve discovered the oceans on Titan are actually sand. I felt horribly cut off without my pretty little window screen into the rest of the world. Trapped in my own head, unable to push out my miseries with keeping busy, is a wretched place indeed. I don’t recommend visiting. As I said to a friend earlier today, my posts this week have been the written equivilant of my computer catching me in the middle of a crying jag. I would apologize if what I had written wasn’t also true, however, so that’s that.
Michael and I are huddled like literate junkie street kids around the stolen wireless outside Andrew‘s apartment. Andrew, however, is apparently on Denman street. Eating sushi. The death food.
Michael is being a rebel without a cause, as I say he shouldn’t. It’s too silly with his black leather jacket. Especially with that hair of his. What is he thinking? When he was writing his entry, I was reading Murakami. Sputnik Sweetheart. A woman walked past us, looking confused, but not minding us. She stepped over my second rate pastries and smiled. She had thick ankles.
Now Michael’s singing endearments to the wall. I don’t know if he’s making up the song, but I doubt it. He says it’s from the internet.
