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News 11.15.19 : Today’s Articles of Interest from Around the Internets

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News 11.15.19 : Today’s Articles of Interest from Around the Internets
@louise_grdd via @yana.potter.art
News 11.15.19 : Today’s Articles of Interest from Around the Internets
@gisforgeorgina
News 11.15.19 : Today’s Articles of Interest from Around the Internets
@caroline.chagon

The story starts with a gothic mansion, all stone turrets and peaked windows, a fortress-like structure. The camera descends from a dark swirling sky to a full moon to finally frame the mansion. A male voice narrates Shirley Jackson’s famous opening lines from her 1959 gothic novel, The Haunting of Hill House: “Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut,” he reads. We are told, from the moment we start the show, that this is a story about a house. And we are told that, while the house is sinister, it does have good bones.

As the seconds pass, we move indoors. Children sit awake in their beds, children wander the halls, and a father in respectable blue pajamas comes to comfort his crying, ghost-touched daughter. “How long do we have to live here, Daddy?” she asks. “Well, your mother and I have to finish fixing this house, and then someone has to buy it,” he replies. “Then we can go?” she asks. Then, he says, they can go.

Read the rest of this article at: Curbed

News 11.15.19 : Today’s Articles of Interest from Around the Internets

News 11.15.19 : Today’s Articles of Interest from Around the Internets

Ensign Spock, a young half-Vulcan science officer fresh out of Starfleet Academy and newly posted to the Enterprise, found himself alone in a turbolift with the ship’s formidable first officer, a human woman known as Number One. They were waiting for me to rescue them from the silence that reigns in all elevators, as universal as the vacuum of space.

I looked up from the screen of my iPad to my father, lying unconscious, amid tubes and wires, in his starship of a bed, in the irresolute darkness of an I.C.U. at 3 a.m. Ordinarily when my father lay on his back his abdomen rose up like the telescope dome of an observatory, but now there seemed to be nothing between the bed rails at all, just a blanket pulled as taut as a drum skin and then, on the pillow, my father’s big, silver-maned head. Scarecrow, after the flying monkeys had finished with him. His head was tilted upward and his jaw hung slack. All the darkness in the room seemed to pool in his open mouth.

Hey, Dad, I need a line, I said, breaking, if only in my head, the silence that reigned between us. I’m writing dialogue for Mr. Spock.

I’d tried talking aloud to my father a few times in the hours since he’d lost consciousness, telling him all the things that, I’d read, you were supposed to tell a dying parent. There was never any trace of a response. No twitch of an eye or a cheek, no ghost of a tender or rueful smile. I wanted to believe that he’d heard me, heard that I loved him, that I forgave him, that I was thankful to him for having taught me to love so many of the things I loved most, “Star Trek” among them, but it felt like throwing a wish and a penny into a dry fountain. My father and I had already done all the talking we were ever going to do.

Read the rest of this article at: The New Yorker

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“I’m still flying at four thousand feet when I see it, that scarcely perceptible glow, as though the moon had rushed ahead of schedule. Paris is rising over the edge of the earth.”

At the end of his grueling 33-hour solo flight over the Atlantic, Charles Lindbergh was searching for the airport, north of the French capital, on which to land the Spirit of St. Louis. The pilot would recall the unconventional but dazzling navigation aid he used: “Far below, a little offset from the center, is a column of lights pointing upward, changing angles as I fly—the Eiffel Tower. I circle once above it and turn north-eastward.”

Advertisements tell us about much more than the products and services they promote. They tell us about desire, how it changes, and how it and thus we are manipulated. Like many revelatory urban features, advertising signage is ubiquitous to the point of becoming almost invisible. Yet we read cities as much as we inhabit and traverse them.

Advertisements tell us about much more than the products and services they promote. They tell us about desire, how it changes, and how it and thus we are manipulated. Like many revelatory urban features, advertising signage is ubiquitous to the point of becoming almost invisible. Yet we read cities as much as we inhabit and traverse them.

Read the rest of this article at: Citylab

News 11.15.19 : Today’s Articles of Interest from Around the Internets

News 11.15.19 : Today’s Articles of Interest from Around the Internets

Here is a list of stories about Tom Hanks I’ve heard over the last few miserable months, as it appeared that politeness and civility and manners were facing an extinction event in this country.

Once, in 2008, when he was shooting “Angels & Demons” in Rome by the Pantheon, a bride and her father couldn’t approach the chapel because of the hullabaloo, so Hanks stopped filming to escort them to the altar.

Once, in 2015, he stopped by a table of Girl Scout cookies and bought some boxes, donated an additional $20, then offered selfies to passers-by as an enticement to buy. That same year, he found a young woman’s student ID in a park and used his charming Twitter feed, which is filled with found items, to get it back to her.

Once, in 1997, before shooting “Saving Private Ryan,” Steven Spielberg sent Hanks and other cast members out to do military training in the woods with a former Marine. After spending time in the rain, they all voted to quit the training, except for Hanks, who chose to obediently perform the job he was hired for and spurred the other men to stick with it as well.

These are the regular-nice acts of a person who holds the mantle of Everyman in our movie star culture. But lately they have signified more than simple good deeds. They’re something like the embodiment of a gold standard of menschiness, which is not just gone from the culture at large, but now plays like a parody of it.

There’s more. Spielberg once said about him, “If Norman Rockwell were alive today, he would paint a portrait of Tom.”

Read the rest of this article at: The New York Times

“He was like Cypher from The Matrix—y’know, ‘You see code, but I see brunettes and redheads,’ ” Yannitell says. “But when he reached that genius moment, when he was on the cusp of some big idea that could maybe change the world, he got nervous.”

In 2006, Haas’ childhood friend Jerritte Couture contacted him about a job. Couture headed up a web development firm outside Dayton and hired Haas to work as a full-stack developer. Haas did the job remotely, from Athens, for four years, until Couture drove over from Dayton one day to check on his employee. He was shocked to discover that Haas was living with his girlfriend and her father in a house that had literally been hit by a tornado; there was a gaping hole in the roof. The floors were buried beneath mounds of newspapers, old cereal boxes, and plates encrusted with rotten food that emitted an unholy stench.

Haas seemed oblivious to the filth, his attention devoted to chatting with people online. (“Maslow didn’t know about the internet when he created his hierarchy of needs,” Haas once wrote. “I could be wrong, but I think it’s just below food.”) Under the alias tonehog, he spent countless hours moderating a cyberpunk web forum where he opined about his pet topics: libertarian politics, social anxiety, high-fat diets, and shibari bondage.

Fearing for his friend’s well-being, Couture eventually convinced Haas to move in with him and his family in the suburbs of Dayton and start working full-time at his company, Edge Webware. Haas left his girlfriend behind in Athens and instantly curtailed his drug use. At the office, he embraced the role of the lone weirdo amid Midwestern squares—the resident expert on matters such as government surveillance and a newfangled invention called bitcoin. “The way his ego worked, he was turned on by the things he knew that you didn’t know,” says Ron Campbell, the president of U! Creative, a marketing firm that had brought Edge Webware in-house. “He felt like he knew a whole world that you didn’t—that you’re living in this polished, 2.2-children, white-picket-fence world, but he knows a dark world you know nothing of, a humanity you know nothing of.”

But Haas couldn’t sustain this state of near-normalcy. He moved out of Couture’s home in 2013, reunited with his girlfriend, and once again drifted into darkness. Dressed in ratty black clothes, Haas would show up hours late for work or nod off at his desk. His dental hygiene was so poor that several of his teeth rotted into goo. One Halloween he whipped off his shirt and ran around the office with arms outstretched while muttering, “I’m getting the idea, man, I’m getting the idea.”

Read the rest of this article at: Wired

P.S. previous articles & more by P.F.M.

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