Friday, April 10, 2009
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
24 Tweets by Michael Dare
24. Yeah, I came here to check it out, signed up, sat back, and waited. Within a day I had almost 50 followers even though I hadn't twitted
23. once. Every time I started something it ran too long, as I often do, and being an adherent to the beginning, middle, and ending theory of
22. writing, I found no way of communicating I was happy with. I live with the dreaded red negative number outside the Twitter box. I
21. considered posting cutesy sayings like "The early worm gets eaten by the bird." Aren't you glad I didn't? I'm certainly not going to bother
20. anyone with what I'm actually doing right now. I'm typing, obviously, and anyone who disagrees can meet me outside. But there's a larger
19. issue at stake here as social networks continue to take over our lives. If there were just one place, I could deal with it, but having to bop back
18. and forth between Facebook and MySpace and Plaxo and Blogger and Skype and Twitter is just too fucking much. I'd rather not know
17. anybody than have to face the mountain of blather, and I don't mean you personally. All your postings are succinct and precise. You're a
16. genius. I'm talking about all that other crap out there. What am I doing? Right now? Twitter, do you really want to know? Wading through
15. crap. That's all I do. This is my first and last twit, though it may go on for a while. I say if you want to believe in evolution, just take a look at
14. the human mind today compared to 20 years ago. Today, our PCs are an extension of our brains, which are intricately connected to everyone
13. else's brain. 20 years ago, if you wanted to be published, you had to find an editor at a publishing house or newspaper or magazine to reach
12. an audience. Now all you need is a library card. The death of newspapers has less to do with Craig's List and more to do with the death of the
11. job of editor. In the reader's quest for the uncensored and thoroughly enlightened version of whatever it is we like, we just Google and find it,
10. whatever it is we're looking for, it's there, in abundance. We don't need no stinking editor. Fuck editors, always telling you what they think
9. you should read. We cut out the middleman and mainline the pure stuff. Like a sculptor who dreams of giant bronze statues, writers dream of
8. expanding their horizons, moving from words, lots of words, to actual sentences that say something, upward to paragraphs that expand upon
7. your every thought, adding up to complete pieces with themes that bind it all together, more than words and sentences and paragraphs, a
6. fluidity of thought that leads to the novel, the final experiment for any budding wordsmith. The evolution of the writer is the constant
5. expansion of your ability to string it along in a larger and larger forum where everything has a coherency that fulfills the reader's desire for
4. meaning, which is all we're really looking for. Twitter is the opposite of that. Now that writers are personally involved with their readers,
3. skipping the editor and the publisher, the words flowing directly from one computer to another, the job of middleman has become purely
2. technological. What else is Twitter but a big bad editor telling you how many words you can use, so fuck Twitter too. I only write to size if
1. someone is paying me. It costs to shut me up. Faced with Twitter, Charles Dickens would have a coronary. 140 characters? Bite me.
23. once. Every time I started something it ran too long, as I often do, and being an adherent to the beginning, middle, and ending theory of
22. writing, I found no way of communicating I was happy with. I live with the dreaded red negative number outside the Twitter box. I
21. considered posting cutesy sayings like "The early worm gets eaten by the bird." Aren't you glad I didn't? I'm certainly not going to bother
20. anyone with what I'm actually doing right now. I'm typing, obviously, and anyone who disagrees can meet me outside. But there's a larger
19. issue at stake here as social networks continue to take over our lives. If there were just one place, I could deal with it, but having to bop back
18. and forth between Facebook and MySpace and Plaxo and Blogger and Skype and Twitter is just too fucking much. I'd rather not know
17. anybody than have to face the mountain of blather, and I don't mean you personally. All your postings are succinct and precise. You're a
16. genius. I'm talking about all that other crap out there. What am I doing? Right now? Twitter, do you really want to know? Wading through
15. crap. That's all I do. This is my first and last twit, though it may go on for a while. I say if you want to believe in evolution, just take a look at
14. the human mind today compared to 20 years ago. Today, our PCs are an extension of our brains, which are intricately connected to everyone
13. else's brain. 20 years ago, if you wanted to be published, you had to find an editor at a publishing house or newspaper or magazine to reach
12. an audience. Now all you need is a library card. The death of newspapers has less to do with Craig's List and more to do with the death of the
11. job of editor. In the reader's quest for the uncensored and thoroughly enlightened version of whatever it is we like, we just Google and find it,
10. whatever it is we're looking for, it's there, in abundance. We don't need no stinking editor. Fuck editors, always telling you what they think
9. you should read. We cut out the middleman and mainline the pure stuff. Like a sculptor who dreams of giant bronze statues, writers dream of
8. expanding their horizons, moving from words, lots of words, to actual sentences that say something, upward to paragraphs that expand upon
7. your every thought, adding up to complete pieces with themes that bind it all together, more than words and sentences and paragraphs, a
6. fluidity of thought that leads to the novel, the final experiment for any budding wordsmith. The evolution of the writer is the constant
5. expansion of your ability to string it along in a larger and larger forum where everything has a coherency that fulfills the reader's desire for
4. meaning, which is all we're really looking for. Twitter is the opposite of that. Now that writers are personally involved with their readers,
3. skipping the editor and the publisher, the words flowing directly from one computer to another, the job of middleman has become purely
2. technological. What else is Twitter but a big bad editor telling you how many words you can use, so fuck Twitter too. I only write to size if
1. someone is paying me. It costs to shut me up. Faced with Twitter, Charles Dickens would have a coronary. 140 characters? Bite me.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Settling once and for all whether Ravel was gay
Hidden clue to composer's passion
 |  Renoir was among the artists who depicted Parisian socialite Misia Sert  |
The French composer, Maurice Ravel may have left a hidden message - a woman's name - inside his work.
A sequence of three notes occurring repeatedly through his work spells out the name of a famous Parisian socialite says Ravel expert David Lamaze.
He argues that the notes, E, B, A in musical notation, or "Mi-Si-La" in the French doh-re-mi scale, refer to Misia Sert, a close friend of Ravel's.
Well known in art circles, she was painted by Renoir and Toulouse-Lautrec.
Ravel never married, but Misia was married three times. Ravel composed some of his work while staying on a boat belonging to Misia and her second husband.
|  It has never been done before. To take one person and to place them at the centre of a life-long work  Professor David Lamaze, Conservatoire de Rennes |
"It has never been done before. To take one person and to place them at the centre of a life-long work," says Professor Lamaze of the Conservatoire de Rennes, who is working on a book about Ravel and Misia.
Professor Lamaze believes Ravel was romantically inspired by Misia. "To put the feeling of love at the very central point of the creation without us knowing it. That is typical of Ravel, I think."
Secretive
 Ravel was intensely private about both his work and his love life |
Ravel was notoriously secretive about all aspects of his life, from his compositional process to his private life, which has led to speculation that he may have been gay.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/7968024.stm
FREE PRESS REBUTTAL
We're supposed to buy the premise that "Mi-Si-La" in French refers to "Misia," a friend of Ravel's? If Ravel was such a perfectionist, where'd that extra "L" come from? Sorry, bub, close but no cigar, and I do mean that in the Freudian sense.
MD
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Tilt shift time lapse photography
Time lapse photography? Cool. Tilt shift photography? Cooler. Tilt shift time lapse photography? Coolest.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Thursday, March 12, 2009
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