Imma hide this down here: I’m publically committing to releasing my next book on Friday 1 September. There, now I can’t procrastinate any more.
Australian stationery brand Kikki K is releasing a wooden box to conspicuously put your phone in when you get home so you are forced to interact with the humans you live with.
God forbid we should, you know, just turn our phones off. Or maybe the idea is to gift one of these to the person who won’t meet your eyes for longer than half a second at a time, as a subtle hint. At $USD $18 for the small Kikki K box and USD$36 for the large it looks like offline really is a luxury.
Grab a glass of wine and close your eyes.
Experiments in Confusion, from wanna-be-spooky Prop Hunt clone Prey.
Look At The Sky (Rob McVey version) (2008)
Half Light, from the soundtrack to 2002’s tragically underappreciated The Mothman Prophecies. This film manages to be poetic, gorgeous, and genuinely creepy: far more than you’d expect from the somewhat kitchy tales of Point Pleasant’s Mothman legend. It’s Richard Gere’s best movie, although Will Patton‘s superb performance steals the show. If you haven’t seen it, check it out as a great example of film-making.
The thing I miss most about music stores is finding unexpected treasures. Queen St store Real Groovy was my dealer of choice. You had to ask to try a CD/vinyl and they’d put it on one of the ‘listening posts’ so you could sample it. I almost always ended up buying whatever was playing in the store, though: the guaranteed-eclectic choice of random staff members. That’s how I found Bonobo aka Simon Green, with his Remixes and B Sides in 2002. In 1997 I walked in and Degobrah by Butter 08 hit me like an aural brick. I immediately bought the City of Industry soundtrack without knowing a damn thing about the film or the artists, and that’s how I discovered Massive Attack.
Real Groovy still exists, although in a new, smaller, building across the road. Yet somehow it seems too hard to head into the CBD by bus (there is zero parking) and sample music in meat space, when I can download it instantly without leaving the cocoon of my home. Instead I subscribe to a couple of thoughtfully curated mass-market new music lists, although I have no idea of the curators’ motivations, loves, or potential kickbacks.
I’m missing out. Where is the new, unexpected work that grabs my liver and shakes me by the vertebrae? I know it’s out there. There must be an online equivalent of descending into a gloomy cavern, entirely unaware of what’s about to ooze into your ears.