…in the form of new ketchup packets. thank you heinz.
I am genuinely curious to know what most people think of these things. They supposedly hold about three times as much ketchup as the previous versions. Additionally, they make dispensing that oh-so-glorious red goop onto your processed, chemically flavored fries as you fly down the interstate going 93 miles an hour (while juggling your iPhone and nursing a coke shoved between your nads, of course) a breeze.
What’s going to happen with this +∆ : K/Pq (scientific expression for increase in Ketchup per Packet)? Here’s my prediction: Americans will overconsume ketchup like never before, and due to the heightened levels of high fructose corn syrup consumption, the country will soon suffer obesity levels so high that they will be considered an epidemic.
Wait. I feel like I’ve overlooked an important fact. What could I be missing?
Try this.
Haha yes, yes, I know that these two things are almost completely unrelated. But do I care? Not really. The thought gave me a chuckle and that’s why I shared it with you.
Ok. Putting it out there, this it hands down one of the coolest things I’ve seen in awhile. It’s not just what this guy is doing, but how fast he does it. There are those that are gonna bitch and moan because it’s “not fine art” and “can’t hang in a gallery” and “he’s going too fast to give any artistic consideration to what he’s doing”… whatever. Art is art. And this is sick.
When most people think of trash bags lying on the side of the street, they don’t usually think of creative minds at work. Yet street artist Joshua Allen Harris defies our common preconceptions about the nature of art by using only garbage bags and tape to create works of inflatable art, powered by nothing more than the exhaust air from New York City’s subway system. If you’ve never seen this before, check it out [links to YouTube]. New York Magazine interviews this innovative artist and has him talk about his art and its relation to others.
When one thinks of the great Ansel Adams, pioneer of photography, conquerer of the minds of photographic America, one sees the shiny surfaces of black-and-white silver halide prints, glistening in the controlled light of a gallery, their complexities and shades meeting the mind’s incessant wish for tonal completeness.
One does not think color.
That’s why many will be surprised that out of his 50-year career, Adams spend 40 of them pursuing color alongside his mastered medium, and that by the time of his death had produced nearly 3,500 photographs in color.
Time did an excellent job on summing up the color works of Ansel Adams [new window], and anyone who loves his work will consider this a great if not surprising read.
[Hint: he was never happy with a single color photo he took... see why.]
A 35,000 year old bone flute was discovered in a cave in present southwestern Germany about a week ago. Read what the New York Times has to say about this ear-splitting discovery.
Ironically, the prehistoric instrument was found with a carving of a voluptuous woman, which archeologists compare to ancient hardcore pornography. That means that the makers of American Pie might’ve been onto something: excited flute players are nothing new.
Of all of the celebrities that have died in the last week, I feel most strongly for Billy Mays.
“Wait, what the hell?”
Is this guy nuts? Why? To be honest, I’m not really quite sure. Maybe it was because he sold products that enriched and fulfilled the lives of the average American who can’t live without excess consumer goods. Maybe it was because he built a name and a career for himself on something that most people can’t stand [see: infomercial]. Hell, maybe it was that youthful, spritely beard. That beard holds secrets and wisdom, my friends.
No, I suspect that it’s because he was the most down to earth of all of them. And to me, he didn’t just define a genre of an art, he created a genre of art. That’s right, the art of the infomercial. As much as I can’t believe those words are coming out of my mouth (please forgive me, mom), a lot of creative vision goes into creating the screamo ads that sell you those hallowed things that you can’t live without. And no one mastered that creative vision like Billy Mays. Sorry Anthony Sullivan, but he’s got you.
So, here’s an OxyClean toast to Billy Mays: your obnoxious yet oddly compelling voice and personality will be sorely missed by all late night TV’ers everywhere.
I found an extraordinarily interesting video montage of the works of Piet Mondrian yesterday. Mondrian has always been one of my favorite artists for his use and development of linear cubist style and primary color use, but I had never considered the evolution of this style. This video shows, presumably, the creative path of the evolving stages of his art by morphing works into one another in a roughly chronological order.
Even if you don’t appreciate Mondrian’s work, you should take a look at the video just to appreciate the works’ interconnection. In looking at this montage, it is very easy to see that each painting changed one little detail at a time, but from point x to point y a completely different style evolved.
Also, the video’s soundtrack features an excerpt from Philip Glass’s Glassworks, one of the composer’s stylistically defining pieces. Something about the combination of Glass’s music and Mondrian’s trippily morphing art put me into an almost hypnotic trance the first time I saw it. Feel free to give your opinions.
It’s not hard to see that hibachi is one of the biggest fad/trends in American-Asian cuisine in the last ten years. I thus present to you a scenario where car salesmen or stuntmen take charge of a 1,000,000 BTU hibachi griddle.
…no, not literally cooking the dog, but cooking along side the dog. That’s what the Japanese cooking show “Cooking with Dog” is all about. Check out this, um, uniquely Japanese twist (?) on the traditional cooking show.
When one thinks of the great Ansel Adams, pioneer of photography, conquerer of the minds of photographic America, one sees the shiny surfaces of black-and-white silver halide prints, glistening in the controlled light of a gallery, their complexities and shades meeting the mind’s incessant wish for tonal completeness.
