The international hipster community is in shock this week after the purchase of a vintage Polaroid camera by a young hipster failed to bring him instant acclaim as a gritty, original, yet quirky photographer. Meanwhile, the non-profit Hipster Photographer Rescue has revealed that “this kind of tragic occurrence is happening so often now that it’s almost become mainstream”. Leaning against the exposed brickwork in his loft-slash-studio, 28-year-old ‘creative’ and part-time barista, Zak Retrough, said that he is “like, shocked?” that his totally deck photographs of his friends looking moody next to some kitchen appliances from the 70′s have continued to be ignored by independent art galleries.
Rear Window with Glen E. Friedman
Getting old
Just realized I have been working in the photo biz for 22 years now. Yikes. First assisting gig for a local Mall (remember malls?) was that long ago. It was where I first learned to call duct tape "Gaffers Tape" to make it sound fancy. LOL!
Generation X is sick of your bullshit.
"Right now, Generation X just wants a beer and to be left alone. It just wants to sit here quietly and think for a minute. Can you just do that, okay? It knows that you are so very special and so very numerous, but can you just leave it alone? Just for a little bit? Just long enough to sneak one last fucking cigarette? No? Whatever. It’s cool.
Generation X is used to disappointments. Generation X knows you didn’t even read the whole thing. It doesn’t want or expect your reblogs; it picked the wrong platform.
Generation X should have posted this to LiveJournal."
One of those days
Get off my digitally textured lawn!
Meet the sexy hot SyQuest Disk, the height of storage when I first started using Photoshop. We had the 80 meg platters and not this exact one pictured but you get the idea. We honestly had no idea what we would do with so much storage space. 80 megs! WOW! We also had a 4x5 film writer that would work with B&W film and looked horrible. If I ran a unsharp mask on a 15 meg file I could literally take the elevator down 8 flights, get a cup of coffee from the lobby, take the elevator back up and sit with some time still to go.
Ahh, good times.
The Banker
Pink Motel Pool session.
Vintage effect + Helvetica = Done.
Not mine, but awesome all the same. Just add, "Post to FFFound" to make it complete.
Have We No Sense of Decency, Sir, at Long Last?
Isn’t that the motivation for much of what we call oversharing, online? Ours is the age of nanocelebrity: broadcasts created by us and, too often, for us and us alone. How many YouTube videos and blog posts and Flickr sets languish, their discussion threads registering a melancholy zero comments, their feature attractions playing to a spellbound audience of one? We’re all Norma Desmond, ready for our close-up. In the age of reality TV and Paris Hilton, American Idol and YouTube (which has the power, if your video goes viral, to turn you into a global celebrity, even if you’re just some guitar geek shredding Pachelbel’s Canon), we see fame as our Warholian birthright. In his book, Fame Junkies: The Hidden Truths Behind America’s Favorite Addiction, Jake Halpern notes that 30% of American teenagers believe they’re destined to be famous. The middle-school students he surveyed seemed to see becoming famous as a goal unto itself, rather than a by-product of doing something that merited renown. Thus, we’re increasingly comfortable with the disappearance of privacy and the prying media eye, not only because it affords a few minutes of Warholian fame but because, like the characters in White Noise, we only feel that we truly exist when we see ourselves reflected in the media eye, because that’s where the real reality is, these days: on the other side of the screen. As ever, the visionary sci-fi novelist J.G. Ballard was prescient. In 1996, he said, “Nothing is real until you put it in the VCR.” Our blithe acceptance of the Death of Privacy makes Foucault’s portentous ruminations on life in surveillance culture seem like so much twitchy-eyed paranoia; in the age of YouTube and Twitter, Facebook and Flickr, we’ve learned to stop worrying and love the panopticon.
Interesting read VIA Riley Dog. And yes, blogging about it is funny I guess but I'd put forth that I use a blog in the classic sense. As in a a web log, such as it was based on a ships log back in the day. A log of one's travels and what one finds interesting. I blog so I can find things again so I can remind myself or read up on them again. It's what I like to find so I put it someplace where I can find it again. If someone stumbles along and finds this poor little site, so be it.
This got me mad....
Seeing this just really got to me today. Really, no shit. None of that apathy bullshit. This is a massive train wreck that is ruining our biggest fishery. And BP will walk away from it all and people will keep drilling away. Keep chanting "drill baby drill" you god damn twits.
For more outrage if your blood pressure allows see this link at Metafilter with many links. Unctuous Gunk in the Bayous.
Oil from the Deepwater Horizon spill hits the Louisiana wetlands.More photos here. Meanwhile, the state department confirms US officials have begun talks with Cuba about how to help the small island nation deal with the environmental impacts of the disaster. And as McClatchy and other news agencies are now reporting, the latest independent scientific estimates appear to confirm a rate of flow much higher than BP has previously been willing to acknowledge, in the likely range of 95,000 barrels a day, amounting to roughly an Exxon Valdez size spill every three days. Meanwhile, ProPublica reports that the industry seems intent on keeping the lid on just how bad things really are in the Gulf, and quotes company spokesmen as saying that the actual rate and amount of flow is “not relevant to the response effort.”