This is a 1960′s ad for Tory’s Whiskey animated by Ryohei Yanagihara. I’m a big fan of Yanagihara’s style. It’s fun and carefree with a smart choice of colors. This commercial makes my inner 10-year-old want to go get hammered. As that’s impossible, maybe I’ll just go give some booze to a 10-year-old. That’s cool, right?
You are browsing the archive for July2010
It’s hot out so as Lavender-level General, I order you to listen to some reggae. (Above title typeset in code: Wingdings). God-speed, soldier.
Capleton // Gwaan Fight Dem
It’s finally gotten to that time of year where you’re always self-conscious about having sweat show through your shirt on your lower back; or in the case of the lady I saw at the busstop the other day, worried that you’re going to soak through your stretched-to-the-limit hot pants. It’s hot and miserable to have any serious amount of clothing on, yet completely wonderful because of it. So kick back, put on this mix, and take your shirt off. The neighbors won’t mind. Except for maybe that one lady. She’s a real trick.
I’m excited. [But whatever for, Destin? Did Angelina Jolie finally respond to your letters?] Really? That’s the first thing you went to? Straight to the heart. Twist that knife a little bit. Hold on. Let me lay down so you can get better leverage. No, she didn’t respond. That trick. I know she gets them. I spray all the envelopes with the tears of an orphan. It’s irresistible to her. Screw you, Brad. Someday she’ll be mine. Anyways, I’m excited about a recent trend in hip hop. It’s reaching back. Not quite to its roots, but to those mid 90s days of soul-sampling (and not the sped up Kanye steez) with piano and horns and actual drum kit beats that makes your head nod no matter what. The production isn’t relying on lame autotune hooks or techno beats and the flow doesn’t rely on purple drink. I’m talkin’ Reasonable Doubt-type steez.
Enter stage left: Phil Adé. He just put out his second mixtape, The Letterman, this last week. If you know how to use the internet, you can find it easy enough. I’m not gonna give you the link. I’m not that easy. You’re gonna have to work if you want some of this, girlfriend. The song below is from his first tape that came out last year, Starting On JV.
Phil Adé // Hollywood
This isn’t the official video for this song, but it damn well should be. Ori Toor created it (As a frame by frame animation in flash, no less. Crazy.) for his final project at the Shenkar School of Engineering and Design. It’s like all my Twizzlers and Mike N Ikes (and their lovable but slow cousin, Good N Plenty) got together, dropped acid, and decided to reenact a billion years of evolution.
Tennis is a force. A husband and wife combo that is bent on the destruction of the world and will not rest until they fulfill the prophecy unveiled to them by the great Zoltan, ruler of the Underworld. Or it’s just a couple from Denver who created a band while sailing the north Atlantic and make rad music. You decide, dear reader. Follow your heart!
Tennis // South Carolina
Unless it’s terribly interesting or pertaining to some sort of music or design or art area, I don’t write about myself on this site. Mainly because I’m a white guy that lives in Utah. However, the events of yesterday have forced my typing hand. To begin, I don’t have a car and my scooter, Fernando, is currently incapacitated and in need of some sort of new belt or chain or something. I ride the bus and train to work. I have an old road bike that I use for little errands, getting around the neighborhood, exercise, and keeping my social status within the hipster community. Yesterday, she was taken from me—ripped from her pleasant little home in my apartment’s courtyard. The above picture is the last known photograph of her.
I’m not really going to write about Artemis (that was my bike’s name. It was an Olympia) or the douchebag that stole her. I am going to write about people that steal bikes in general. There is a special place in hell for you guys that take other people’s property. All it will be is an endless stretch of highway, and you will be forced to ride across it on all your Huffys with no helmet. And you will be ran over for all eternity by an old Asian lady in a giant Buick.
Shoplifting from Dick’s Sporting Goods is one thing. I certainly don’t condone it, but it’s essentially a giant faceless corporation with a phallic name. They expect it to happen and it doesn’t exactly affect them in any meaningful way. Other than dressing up like an actual penis, stealing from another human being is about the dickest thing you can do.
In conclusion, all you bike thieves are terrible people and I hope you crash and get road rash in really embarrassing places.
So, I pretty much need this to be real. Saikat Biswas made this concept of a digital Holga. For one, it’s beautiful. It’s a design Howard Roark would be proud of. Simple, elegant, and without anything it doesn’t need.
I also love the integrity of it. Sure, it’s digital, but it wouldn’t have an LCD or anything. Your images would be stored on an SD card and downloaded later, recreating that delayed gratification (or frustration) getting film developed entails. There’s an E-Ink display for battery status, frames left, aspect ratio, etc. and also a clever idea of having the top being able to flip for easier use for those weird southpaws among us.
There is the problem of digitally recreating those random light leaks and imperfections that make the Holga what it is. But whatever, that’s for the scientists and Kevin Costner to figure out.
The only thing I could see going wrong with this is the hipsters getting so upset that Holga went digital, they turn on the brand. It’d be like Dylan going electric. They wouldn’t be able to wrap their little brains and wispy mustaches around the idea. The tragedy!