Hawk Thompson, Content Director.
Oodles and oodles of nodes, y'all.
This story isn't so much about coping with a mid-life crisis as it is about savoring the daily grind. It's also an intoxicating blend of art and copy. All of which makes for a peculiar tale that celebrates the creativity of one of the finest design shops in the land. So happy fortieth, Pentagram. Here's to many more.
(via @malbonnington)
Stan from Mad Men was right: there's always a million bands who sound like that. Hence DDB London, as if inspired by Lady Lazarus, goes elsewhere to score Beach House-y music when it can't get the real thing. And another good band loses a little more lunch money. Ah, the adolescent joy of this industry.
Oh my. Cannes Lions has added a Branded Content & Entertainment Lions category. Long overdue, but better late than never. Hope WINTR submits this rad video it created for Niki & The Dove....
Once upon a time in the nineties, I found a Folk Implosion guitar pick in my Doritos. The pick itself wasn't just bright orange and Dorito-shaped: it was splattered with the same kaleidoscopic mix of psychedelic purples and greens found in the Natural One video (way to be on-brand, dudes).
This alt-crackerjack prize stood for everything I hated about Lou Barlow's Kids-fueled success in particular (damn you, Larry Clark) and the mainstreaming of indie rock in general. While I'd already begun ignoring Sebadoh long before opening that fateful bag of chips, it vacuum-packed my hate for sellouts.
It's true: I was once an old-school music snob. Every time then-obscure bands like Sebadoh or even the Frogs got signed, my interest in them (especially in their hype-influenced output) began to wane. As a struggling writer-painter-musician-bartender-waiter-dabbler-jackass, I was convinced the value of art was born of struggle. No struggle, no value. Cut and dried.
Then I decided to make a career out of selling things for a living. Now, looking back, I tip my hat to Lou, Larry and Frito-Lay for their admirable co-branding efforts. Pretty much nothing about art is clear cut, and the struggle to create it — regardless of what inspires it — doesn't end with a taste of success.
To that end, I see that old attitude of mine as a selfish one. Yes "authenticity" can be important, but obsessing over it obscures the fact that artists without salaries or insurance need our support in order to succeed over the course of their (hopefully) long lives. It also gets in the way of discovering and enjoying some really good stuff. Plus it's just kind of a drag.
We all buy and/or sell things for a living (whether we create them or not). And when we enjoy the fruits of other people's creative labor, we become their patrons. As such, we should invest in them — and we should do it over the long haul. It's easier than ever for us to give artists we believe in the support they deserve. Which, to paraphrase one of the best bands ever, is only what we should have done in the first place.
First Sweden became a country curated by its inhabitants. Now Iceland has morphed into an odd social creature who just wants to be your friend. It seems neutrality can lead to some fairly sizable identity crises.
Here's the thing. People are people. Places are not (neither are companies). But as far as contrived campaign conceits go, Iceland as that quirky pal you don't get to chill with enough is actually kind of a spot-on personification.
Of course, I can only speak from my own experience in Bjork's homeland. My dad, my brother and I spent ten strange and unforgettable days there in 2004. Every time we get together, we reminisce fondly about the trip. Without fail, one of us suggests that we all return someday. Request still pending.
When Ray Bradbury encourages you to "find the author who can lead you through the dark," you know he's speaking from experience. For Mr. Bradbury, that author is John Steinbeck (a man after my own heart).
Among the many pearls of wisdom Bradbury shares in this excellent interview courtesy of Brain Pickings, this has got to be one of my favorites:
The things that you do should be things that you love, and things that you love should be things that you do.
S/O to Maria Popova for shining a light with her curatorial skills, which are fueled by a potent mix of her insatiable curiosity and our generous support. Her panel with Noah Brier, Max Linsky, Mia Quagliarello and David Carr reminded me why a SXSWi badge is still worth every penny.
Sure, you could stay home and listen to the Clientele until it stops raining. Or you could just attend Everything Is a Remix, so Steal Like an Artist, then call it a day and still get your money's worth.
But then you'd miss the Razorfish Happy Hour at Roial and all the other cool shit going on at SXSWi. And you don't want to do that. So lace up your galoshes, grab your slicker and go splash around in some puddles.
On my way down yet another Saturday morning internet wormhole, I came across Casa Fernando Pessoa. Being the word nerd that I am, I immediately began reading about Pessoa's annotations. This note in particular stood out:
One buys glory with misfortune.
If you asked me to describe saudade (or, to a certain extent, Portuguese culture) in five words or less, I'd point you to this sentence. And it might somehow point you to Bobulate's great post about the social life of marginalia.
Sometimes our notes reveal more about who we are and what we think than our polished thoughts ever could. Which is exactly why they're worth sharing — and contemplating as part of a body of work as well as on their own merits.
Nothing lasts forever.
Time heals all wounds.
These clichés sound vapid and trite to anyone who has suffered a devastating loss. And yet, they endure. Maybe because they contain a degree of truth.
Of course, bromides like these aren't always true. Once we become parents, for example, we are parents forever. Nothing can change that.
Three hundred eighty-two days ago, our daughter Amalia joined us. Seventeen days later, she died. Which makes today an anniversary (one of many for us).
Of all these revelations, the things we've discovered about Down Syndrome loom large. But while a diagnosis of DS is a sign of challenges to come, it's also the beginning of something incredible. And thanks to the support of people who care, it's becoming more and more possible for children with DS and their families to enjoy life to the fullest.
Amalia was a beautiful and serene child. She exuded a sense of calm, and brought joy into the lives of everyone around her.
We have no choice but to accept and embrace our loss. We will always love Ama. She will always be our daughter and our first child. We will never forget her, and she will continue to teach us new things for the rest of our lives.
If you'd like to help children like Amalia and parents like us face the challenges of DS, please donate to the Down Syndrome Association of Central Texas.
France has bid the word "mademoiselle" adieu. As Fillon points out, the honorific marries a woman's identity to her "matrimonial situation" while a man suffers no such burden. And to whom does the honor belong in that situation?
