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September 2, 2010

8 Circles. 1,000 Efforts. — Tony Orrico

"Tony Orrico performs a graphite drawing of 8 circles. Each circle is drawn by four patterns consisting of 31.25 efforts each, 1,000 efforts total. The roll is measured by the torso and one arm. This event took place in 2009 at PlacMark, a residency and performance space in Hudson, New York."

September 2, 2010 at 04:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBack

Snow White Pencil Case

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By Toronto-based Tara Kolesnikowicz, creator of the wonderful "Caffeinating... please wait" cup sleeve.

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She wrote, "Inspiration struck while looking at some of my new lovely fabric scraps.  Originally I wanted to attempt the boxy pouch but quickly realized none of my scraps were the right measurements.  So I ventured off on a journey to make a lined pencil case type thingie.  And boy did it turn out to be quite the journey!!"

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"After much stitch ripping, brain scrambling and muttered potty mouth words I have a very sweet and cute Snow White zippered pouch!  I even got fancy and stitched one of my new labels into it."

September 2, 2010 at 03:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack

YOU WANT IT YOU NEED IT YOU BUY IT YOU FORGET IT

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Barbara Kruger spells it out for you.

Above, from her "Plenty" exhibition, up through October 11, 2010 at Guild Hall in East Hampton, New York.

September 2, 2010 at 02:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBack

What is this?

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Answer here this time tomorrow.

Hint: bigger than a breadbox.

September 2, 2010 at 01:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBack

Bill Millin, who played his bagpipes at the D-Day landings, is dead at 88

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He learned later that German snipers had had him in their sights but, out of pity for him obviously being mad, had not fired.

His astonishing story, recounted in a August 26, 2010 Economist obituary, follows.

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Any reasonable observer might have thought Bill Millin was unarmed as he jumped off the landing ramp at Sword Beach, in Normandy, on June 6th 1944. Unlike his colleagues, the pale 21-year-old held no rifle in his hands. Of course, in full Highland rig as he was, he had his trusty skean dhu, his little dirk, tucked in his right sock. But that was soon under three feet of water as he waded ashore, a weary soldier still smelling his own vomit from a night in a close boat on a choppy sea, and whose kilt in the freezing water was floating prettily round him like a ballerina’s skirt.

But Mr Millin was not unarmed; far from it. He held his pipes, high over his head at first to keep them from the wet (for while whisky was said to be good for the bag, salt water wasn’t), then cradled in his arms to play. And bagpipes, by long tradition, counted as instruments of war. An English judge had said so after the Scots’ great defeat at Culloden in 1746; a piper was a fighter like the rest, and his music was his weapon. The whining skirl of the pipes had struck dread into the Germans on the Somme, who had called the kilted pipers “Ladies from Hell”. And it raised the hearts and minds of the home side, so much so that when Mr Millin played on June 5th, as the troops left for France past the Isle of Wight and he was standing on the bowsprit just about keeping his balance above the waves getting rougher, the wild cheers of the crowd drowned out the sound of his pipes even to himself.

His playing had been planned as part of the operation. On commando training near Fort William he had struck up a friendship with Lord Lovat, the officer in charge of the 1st Special Service Brigade. Not that they had much in common. Mr Millin was short, with a broad cheeky face, the son of a Glasgow policeman; his sharpest childhood memory was of being one of the “poor”, sleeping on deck, on the family’s return in 1925 from Canada to Scotland. Lovat was tall, lanky, outrageously handsome and romantic, with a castle towering above the river at Beauly, near Inverness. He had asked Mr Millin to be his personal piper: not a feudal but a military arrangement. The War Office in London now forbade pipers to play in battle, but Mr Millin and Lord Lovat, as Scots, plotted rebellion. In this “greatest invasion in history”, Lovat wanted pipes to lead the way.

He was ordering now, as they waded up Sword Beach, in that drawly voice of his: “Give us a tune, piper.” Mr Millin thought him a mad bastard. The man beside him, on the point of jumping off, had taken a bullet in the face and gone under. But there was Lovat, strolling through fire quite calmly in his aristocratic way, allegedly wearing a monogrammed white pullover under his jacket and carrying an ancient Winchester rifle, so if he was mad Mr Millin thought he might as well be ridiculous too, and struck up “Hielan’ Laddie”. Lovat approved it with a thumbs-up, and asked for “The Road to the Isles”. Mr Millin inquired, half-joking, whether he should walk up and down in the traditional way of pipers. “Oh, yes. That would be lovely.”

Three times therefore he walked up and down at the edge of the sea. He remembered the sand shaking under his feet from mortar fire and the dead bodies rolling in the surf, against his legs. For the rest of the day, whenever required, he played. He piped the advancing troops along the raised road by the Caen canal, seeing the flashes from the rifle of a sniper about 100 yards ahead, noticing only after a minute or so that everyone behind him had hit the deck in the dust. When Lovat had dispatched the sniper, he struck up again. He led the company down the main street of Bénouville playing “Blue Bonnets over the Border”, refusing to run when the commander of 6 Commando urged him to; pipers walked as they played.

He took them across two bridges, one (later renamed the Pegasus Bridge) ringing and banging as shrapnel hit the metal sides, one merely with railings which bullets whistled through: “the longest bridge I ever piped across.” Those two crossings marked their successful rendezvous with the troops who had preceded them. All the way, he learned later, German snipers had had him in their sights but, out of pity for this madman, had not fired. That was their story. Mr Millin himself knew he wasn’t going to die. Piping was too enjoyable, as he had discovered in the Boys’ Brigade band and all through his short army career. And piping protected him.


The Nut-Brown Maiden

The pipes themselves were less lucky, injured by shrapnel as he dived into a ditch. He could still play them, but four days later they took a direct hit on the chanter and the drone when he had laid them down in the grass, and that was that. The last tune they had piped on D-Day was “The Nut-Brown Maiden”, played for a small red-haired French girl who, with her folks cowering behind her, had asked him for music as he passed their farm.

He gave the pipes later to the museum at the Pegasus Bridge, which he often revisited, and sometimes piped across, during his long and quiet post-war career as a mental nurse at Dawlish in Devon. On one such visit, in full Highland rig with his pipes in his arms, he was approached by a smartly dressed woman of a certain age, with faded red hair, who planted a joyous kiss of remembrance on his cheek.

September 2, 2010 at 12:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack

Chobs (CHop On Both Sides)

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Good idea.

"Chobs raise your chopping board so you can use both sides, leaving you less to wash up and keeping your countertop or bench clean.

"Chobs grip to make any chopping board non-slip, and they expand to fit onto almost thickness of chopping board.

"Colored icons let you know which side of your board to use for meat or vegetables, keeping surfaces hygienic and preventing cross-contamination."

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Apply within.

September 2, 2010 at 11:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBack

Little black phone dress lets wearer make and receive calls by lifting her hand to her ear

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Can your little black dress do that?

I've been doing it for years — without the dress.

TMI, joe.

"A little black dress [top] that doubles up as a mobile phone is to be launched in Britain."

You could look it up.

From the Telegraph: "The garment, branded the M-Dress, lets wearers make and receive calls by slipping their SIM card under the label, allowing them to keep their usual numbers.

"Gesture recognition software allows users to pick up a call by raising their hand to their ear and end a conversation by letting it fall to their side.

"The M-Dress, designed by the London-based fashion company CuteCircuit, will ring when an incoming call is received and different ringtones can be assigned to different numbers.

"The dress is described as being made of "a dark, richly textured, form-fitting silk jersey" and will be released in 2011. Its price remains undisclosed.

"The antenna, described as “super-tiny”, is stitched into the bottom hem of the dress, which rests at about knee-height, to reduce the amount of radiation that the wearer is exposed to."

From the CuteCircuit/M-Dress website: “Very often phone calls are missed because mobile phones are quite awkward to carry, especially for women, who have garments with small or no pockets.To allow women to stay connected while remaining stylish, CuteCircuit designed the M-Dress. A mobile phone in its own right but built out of soft circuitry.”

[via Milena]

September 2, 2010 at 10:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack

Anti-Wrinkle Glasses

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You know you want them.

From the website:

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Embarrassed by those wrinkles starting to appear near your eyes?

Slip on these goggle-style glasses and you won't look tired and old any more!

Just wearing the Mejikara for five minutes every day will improve the appearance of your face.

On the inside of the Mejikara there are specially-designed ridges which massage and help your skin.

It puts gentle pressure on the skin and pushes those sagging eyes back up to where they once were!

It might seem like another wacky Japanese invention but in fact the Mejikara has been a sleeper hit here, and we can see why!

Details:

• Band size: Small (54-56cm/21.3-22"); Medium (56-58cm/22-22.8"); Large (58-60cm/22.8/23.6")

• Size: 5 x 16.5 x 0.8cm (2 x 6.5 x 0.3")

• Silicone rubber

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••

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$48.

September 2, 2010 at 09:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBack

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