He wants his tapes and pamphlets back.
1996. As Camper Van Beethoven fans, we dutifully trudged into Minneapolis’ First Avenue to see Cracker, David Lowery’s junky post-Camper band. An even less exciting prospect was the goofily named opener, Sparklehorse. We were making fun of the band’s name until halfway into the first song, when we shut up and listened.
…it’s labeled “La petite mort.”
(Sorry, I’ll just be over here in the corner, keeping my stupid jokes to myself.)
“This isn’t war, we don’t have to ration.”
Just some words from that song whose video I can’t stop watching.
“Mr. Head”
Twitter: The Criterion Collection
What if Twitter… came to life?
We asked some of our friends to film their favorite tweets. We didn’t care how they did it. They could read it. They could act it. They could do it with puppets. Whatever they wanted. The only rules were it had to be a tweet written by someone else and it had to contain the entire tweet and nothing but the tweet.
This is what they gave us.
We hope you enjoy it.
Well done, you two.
Merlin’s happy memory sent me back to listen to a past You Look Nice Today episode. From “The Tux Age,” here’s 34 seconds of our vision for the next big trend in music.
Hey Jude Flowchart, Japanese Edition
Based on the original English “Hey Jude” flowchart, the Japanese text just says “nanchara kanchara” (“blah blah,” or “something something”) over and over.
Via (by?) expo7000.
I could do this.
Hold Your Horses : “70 Million”
PEOPLE HAVING FUN AND MAKING THINGS
My favorite is Freaky Meninas. Watch for it.
Update: a list of all the referenced paintings from Flavorwire.
(via Booooooom)
Oh California, even after 4 years, I still feel like I should have to have some sort of visa to live here.
Birthday Cake
I love those Finns, maybe because saying their names is so much fun; also because, well, they’re from Finland, mysterious, exotic, remote, tiny, wacky Finland. Have you heard one Finn talking to another Finn? It’s kind of like Hungarian recorded at 33-1/3 but played at 45.
During sex, sometimes things start moving along a little too quickly. When that happens I try the trick that has been handed down through generations of mediocre lovemakers: to prolong the experience, think of something really unsexy. For me, the big problem with this strategy is that by the time it occurs to me to try it, it’s usually too late. The train has already left the station.
Which means that, during the moment of truth, of all the people in the world, the person I’m most likely picturing is someone from the 2001 New York Yankees.
