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It's starting to seem like Columbia Records had a difficult time with that whole "live recording" as a paradigm for authenticity thing. First, we discovered that Duke Ellington's Live at Newport was faked, now Johnny Cash's Live at Folsom Prison turns out to be less than authentic, too. Is nothing sacred?
A "device for perfusing an animal head." Wonder if the patent was granted.
In case that device for perfusing your head doesn't work, there's always transplantation. How has this been kept so quiet?
You go first.
Yeah, yeah, I know—it's not cool to dig Dilbert now that it's huge. So sue me. I like Scot Adams' work ethic, the fact that he still corresponds with his readers, and his schtick. I think the strip continues to be the high point of the daily three-panel gag strips. Also, a lot is this is sadly true.
He's a genius, but he can't drive a car, hold down a 9-to-5 job, or tell left from right. So he works from home, developing custom courses on language acquisition, numeracy, and literacy. He's autistic and he's articulate. Richard Johnson delivers a three-dimensional portrait of a very rare savant—one who can tell us how he does what he does.
I'm not even sure what holiday it was that kept us out of the office yesterday, but I am thankful for it. We can call it Tweak Day.
Long weekends are good for undressing audio gear, playing games with cables and interconnects, fooling around with speaker placement, and devouring instruction manuals. Who knew?
Have I mentioned that I hate instruction manuals? I do. (Usually.) But, this weekend, there was one that actually commanded my attention. In fact, it had me hotly... riveted. I might go so far as to say: I was engrossed, captivated, immersed, absolutely bathed in…
"When she turned her back on the boy
He creeps up from behind."
He creeps up from behind."
Film at 11:00.
Can't get your mojo workin' 'cause you don't know what it is? Here's a source for your one-stop African American Folk Magic information center.
Via Incoming Signals.