“Most people are charmed by curiosity”—-Ari Marcopoulos in Interview.
I completely believe that hunger and curiosity are incredibly important and attractive- In relationships and in work. Regardless of credentials and experience, I think those two attributes should be some of the most important hiring standards. It makes you work better, smarter and at a time when everyone’s a copy of a copy of a copy and technology and required skill sets change every day, every second, it’s what keeps you relevant regardless of the circumstances.
“My simple vision of the future? Planning departments hire people who are especially adept on the information superhighway, while training up whomever they feel is getting left behind. Don’t make digital strategy a specialty, make it cost-of-entry to all planners. After all, for all of its complexities, the digital world is just another platform that’s part of our world — not an alternate universe.”—Does the world need digital strategists, House of Naked. Link via Alex Campbell. (via somethingchanged)
"Peggy Guggenheim’s Venice. Um, ok, HI. It’s inspired by Peggy Guggenheim, shot by KARL in VENICE which is BEAUTIFUL, model is LARA STONE, in two photos she is with a DOG, and clothing credits include COMME and PHILIP TREACY. So, like, yeah. I die. I think one of my favorite editorials of all time."
"All of which makes me wonder if I/we’ve been over-egging this internet revolution pudding quite a bit. Is it that much of a revolution? It certainly has been for me, but not so much for my Mum and Dad, or my son. Or for most people outside the West. Is it that epochal or is it just part of ‘gradual improvement’?
I sometimes suspect we’re living though a media and communications revolution because the people chiefly effected by it are the people who get to decide if we’re living through a revolution or not - the opionistas, the commenters, the thinkers and talkers.
"Twitter feels like conversation, ephemeral, written on water, designed to fade away. Blogging feels like notes, writing as thinking and rehearsing, to be kept and remembered, written on paper. And actually writing on paper, that’s still the best."
I waste some time, now and then, thinking of how our generation will deal with the day our children discover the archives of Our Internet Lives. Usually this wasted time is spent sliding down an emotional and theoretical hill: at first, amusement (having children! That’s for older siblings! Man, I’m just trying to live for today! But okay, okay, what if); then, perhaps, a little bit of mirth (it’s like I’ve pre-filtered my musical taste!); then, inevitably, fear and anxiety (can you erase it all? You can’t erase it all. There are screenshots. I’m sure there’s a bong in a screenshot. Wait, do you really have to pretend you don’t smoke pot when you’re a parent? Is that something you commit to, for the rest of your life? Or is it just the years between birth and eleventh grade? Or do you get a few years between when they’re born and when they’re toddlers where you can sneak outside and do it after you put them to bed? Is that still bad??).
The other problem is how quickly we seem to change every year in our 20’s. Is that why they’re so stressful? There are so many things to do habitually and with great enthusiasm, then reject and give up for good. See that huge pile of cigarettes? 2006 was a year where I liked to smoke a Camel light, then chase it with a Camel Menthol Light. I would have smoked them both at the same time if I hadn’t shellacked my hair with enough highly-flammable Aqua Net to freeze a marathon runner. And do you know why I had a beehive? It was because, back then, I thought I was going to work my way up to owning my own vintage store. Three months later I would rather have died in a menthol explosion than have spent another day sorting shoes that smelled like old sweat. At least when my future children find this photo, I will have sufficiently confused them as to the decade I was in — that is, if I crop out the Powerbook.
Your kids will be able to browse through all the places you lived (this one: West Hollywood, two years and change — I’ll tell them stories about our neighbors when they’re getting noise complaints in the shit-hole they’re renting with their friends the summer after their freshman year of college). They’ll see the moments, tapped out at a desk and on a computer (that will, to them, seem unbearably retro, so uncool) of your fright about whether you’ll ever make it or not. And they’ll know the answer. They’ll see the pets that died before they were born, the dog toys you threw away, the dinner you ate when you were twenty six and the bottle of 1983 Dom Perignon you drank when you booked your first real job, your big-deal job. It would have been just fizzy vinegar if you’d saved it for them.
I wonder how all that will be. For all the horrors I’m sure we’ll feel when they start using the computer, isn’t it kind of wonderful? Imagine knowing your parents that way.