There’s no more abrupt change in the seasons, I think, than the one between summer and autumn. A case in point — on Sunday morning, C and I were fettling about in the garden, moving some acers and working on the new border in t-shirts. At 3pm we stopped for a cuppa, and on the dunk of the second biscuit, fat drops of rain started to fall. The gardening day was done and, so, it seems, was summer. Jumpers and long-sleeves are coming out, as are the warmer jackets. I’ve started making stews and soups. The air and the light have changed, becoming somehow smokier, more diffuse. We’re sliding towards Samhain, bitches. Time to get gothy with it.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
Reading? I have no time to read, far too much writing to do.
Rob is watching…
We’ve started VisionQuest on Disney+, the last part of the WandaVision trilogy. In a way, it would be more interesting without the Marvel trappings, because at its core the show is a really interesting exploration on legacy, memory, identity and that all-encompassing question about what it means to be human. It’s worth it just to see James Spader chew up the scenery in a reinterpretation of the asshole Ultron. Todd Stashwick (the best part of Picard, frankly) is great as the morally ambiguous mercenary Paladin, too. A bit talky, a little slow, but that’s the way I like my skiffy sometimes.
Rob is listening to…
(and watching) this fun lil cut of R.E.M’s Supernatural Superserious to visuals from Teenage Sex And Death At Camp Miasma. It all fits together rather perfectly. Fair warning, there is one extremely gory and physically improbable moment in here. You may want to avert your eyes at 1:38.
Rob is eating…
Not curry. Some very wisdom from the incredible Asma Khan.
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
In the same wheelhouse as the video about a supersonic trebuchet I posted a few weeks ago. This is so geeky and the end result massively over-engineered and somehow incapable of doing as good a job as the existing design but ohh gods I want me one of these.
I’m kinda pleased to see the gradual reapppraisal of AI in the arts, and particularly my chosen passion of writing, as a toolset which can and should be used with extreme care or preferably not at all. It is gradual, though, and the news that a majority of writers on Medium are using generative AI to create their posts is not particularly welcome. I’ve yet to find a purpose for it, but then I’m not trying to push out dozens of ‘books’ a week to Amazon. Keep it real, people. Keep it real.
A detailed examination into what the heck went wrong with Digger, and how the Hollywood bubble and creator hubris can steer a very expensive star vehicle right into the nearest tree. What this all means for the big wild swing-for-the-bleachers movies in the future is yet to be seen. Interesting to note that the movies people are flocking to this year were made on a budget that wouldn’t cover Digger’s catering. Maybe it really is about character, story and good scripts after all.
The writer of James Bond had a far more charismatic and talented older brother. This quick overview of his life and times from Neil Stephenson also looks into a writer’s trick which, executed correctly, can really stimulate the reader’s imagination.
Further considerations on the above.
And one more, with particular reference to a single throwaway line in The Empire Strikes Back. SF does this sort of thing best, I think. Why stress on world-building when you can throw out a random phrase and let your readers join the dots for you?
This has to be satire. Surely this has to be satire.
As a long-standing parishioner to The Church Of Saturday Kitchen, I am deeply familiar with the televisual offerings of one Richard Stein. Here’s an argument that his earlier works, before he started getting a bit too comfortable, are shows of manic and unfettered genius. He’s certainly less avuncular, a little more spiky. I personally believe there’s an argument to be made that David Prichard, who directed these early shows and those featuring the extraordinary Keith Floyd, re-invented food programming in the late 80s and early 90s, creating a seat-of-your-pants energy which wouldn’t be matched until the appearance of one James Oliver.
Moving, hilarious and pretty damn sweary, this is a great piece on how a freewheeling lively person can suddenly become locked in the cycle of elderly care with no fair warning. This could be your future, hate to say.
In conclusion.
One of those ‘reasons for this apart from it came up on the feed and I’d forgotten how much I liked it’ tracks. A time, a place, a very distinct mood. One of the greatest, ugliest guitar solos going. Boys always work it out.
See you in seven, fellow travellers.
