More from carrion laughing, who put together a nice little post there, combining this image and
“I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.”
Mary Shelley, Frankenstein.
(via carrion laughing)
Yeah, relax, idiot. I’m not coming out to the internet. I’m just liking this nice gif.
We’re still winning.
me: “Can you imagine what it was like dancing at the Savoy? I mean, it would have been insane! All those people!”
Dave: “Woah, yeah! It had two stages, didn’t it?”
me: “Yeah, because it was big…”
Dave: “That blows my mind! That a ballroom was so big the curvature of the earth made it difficult to see the band at the end of a room so they got a second…”
me: :|
I have no evidence or further reading to support any of the claims in this article, but it’s interesting.
Basically, it argues: work for 90 minutes or less, then take a break. Then repeat.
I’m personally of the opinion that no meeting or class should be longer than an hour. After that, we start to get stupid. More importantly, an hour time limit forces you to focus and get shit done in a reasonable, structured way. No time to waste babbling on about rubbish.
I’ve used this approach in planning dance workshops weekends. I don’t let classes run any longer than 1 hour and 15 minutes, and I insist on a rest (of at least 15 minutes) between sessions. That rest has to include changing tasks – you’re not allowed to practice or film or whatevs. You have to eat or sit down or talk or go to the toilet. Doesn’t matter what it is, you’ve just got to change tasks.
This can be challenging if you’re teaching: when you’re in the zone, any break feels like an interruption that might ‘break’ the zone. But it’s really better to take that break, reset and come back in fresh.
When I’m writing, I usually sit down and write solidly for hours at a time. I forget to go to the toilet. I don’t eat. This is how I got my PhD done. But that sort of obsessive work isn’t helpful. Even if you do really enjoy that feeling of being in the zone, with the rest of the world blocked out.
I’m also of the opinion that a dance practice session shouldn’t be any longer than 90 minutes. And, unsurprisingly, I guess, I find 90 minutes is my optimal DJing set length. I can and have gone longer, but I find I get in, do good work, then come out a winner if I keep it to 90 minutes. A ten minute break in the middle… now, that would be good.
No, actually. That’s incorrect.
So far’s I can tell, this is how it goes:
Sister writes moderately feminist (not especially radical feminist) piece about gender shit in dancing.
Some of her peeps read it, link it up. Word circulates. Peeps get to chatting. Tumblr gets a-whirring. Discourse, discussion, grown up talk and thinking happens. All is cool.
A high profile blogger/aggregator finally gets to that feminist piece in their rss. They link it up on their well-trafficked fb page with some sort of provocative line about feminists or boobs or gender wars or who-fucking-knows-what-just-make-it-shit-stirry.
The sister’s piece gets nine million billion hits, and a squillion really nasty emails/comments from dickwads who didn’t bother to read the post, but came in swinging because they were primed that way by the high profile blogger/aggregator. Shitstorm ensues. High profile blogger/aggregator’s stats go through the roof.
Sister feels a bit low. Blames herself for speaking louder than a whisper in public.
Peeps with brains send that sister emails or messages on fb or whatevs voicing their support. Remind her that her word is legit and important and valuable.
High profile blogger/aggregator carries on, business as usual. Unless someone calls them on their bullshit. Then they sook.
For fuck’s sake, people. You know there are too many fuckwit blokes out there in the online dancing world, just itching to get up there and blow some uppity female away for, oh, I don’t know, being out in the internet on her own at night wearing something inappropriate (like an independent thought). Think about how you prime your readers before you send them off to linkbomb, k? Maybe even have a think about writing your own piece calling fuckwits on their bullshit behaviour?
Near… far!… near again!…. far again!… near again!…. far again!… near again!…. far again!… near again!…. far again!… near again!…. far again!… near again!…. far again!… near again!…. far again!… near again!…. far again!… near again!…. far again!… near again!…. far again!… near again!…. far again!… near again!…. far again!… near again!…. far again!… near again!…. far again!… near again!…. far again!… near again!…. far again!…
(sesamestreet… and yes, I’m still reading MindlessMunkey’s tumblr. It’s the business.)
Bandit’s Roost (1888), by Jacob Riis, from “How the Other Half Lives.” Bandit’s Roost, at 59½ Mulberry Street (Mulberry Bend), was the most crime-ridden, dangerous part of all New York City.
You must look at the hi-res version of this here.
Look at this man:
Via mindlessmunkey of course.
