via youtube.com
A short Animated film from Ringling College of Art and Design.
http://www.lirontopaz.blogspot.com
A naive music-lover's patience is tested on his quest to download music online, as his perspective on technology completely changes.
7/04/2009
7/03/2009
7/01/2009
Line forms here
VIDEO
“Soy Tu Aire”
A Spanish group called Labuat has created one of the most beautiful music videos we’ve ever seen. And the best thing is, it’s interactive.
As the song — “Soy Tu Aire” (“I’m Your Air”) — kicks off, a line of black ink moves across the screen: You can send it up, down, back, and forth, or swirl it into circles. The line grows thicker along the way and splatters into several shapes: butterflies, red lips, birds. The immersive experience will make you feel like a maestro.
Labuat’s “Soy Tu Aire”
http://soytuaire.labuat.com/
Line forms here
VIDEO
“Soy Tu Aire”
A Spanish group called Labuat has created one of the most beautiful music videos we’ve ever seen. And the best thing is, it’s interactive.
As the song — “Soy Tu Aire” (“I’m Your Air”) — kicks off, a line of black ink moves across the screen: You can send it up, down, back, and forth, or swirl it into circles. The line grows thicker along the way and splatters into several shapes: butterflies, red lips, birds. The immersive experience will make you feel like a maestro.
Labuat’s “Soy Tu Aire”
http://soytuaire.labuat.com/
6/25/2009
'High' Wallabies' Munchies Blamed For Australian Crop Circles
June 25, 2009 04:17 AM EST | 
In this undated photo provided by Wirrimbirra Flora and Fuana Sanctuary, a red neck wallaby stands in an enclosure on the grounds of the sanctuary in Bargo, Australia. Wallabies snacking in Tasmania's opium poppy fields are getting "high as a kite" and hopping around circles, trampling the crops, a state official said Wednesday, June 24, 2009. (AP Photo/Wirrimbirra Flora and Fuana Sanctuary)
SYDNEY — Wallabies snacking in Tasmania's legally grown opium poppy fields are getting "high as a kite" and hopping around in circles, trampling the crops, a state official said.
Tasmania Attorney-General Lara Giddings told a budget hearing Wednesday that she had recently read about the kangaroo-like marsupials' antics in a brief on the state's large poppy industry. Tasmania is the world's largest producer of legally grown opium for the pharmaceutical market.
"We have a problem with wallabies entering poppy fields, getting as high as a kite and going around in circles," The Mercury newspaper quoted Giddings as telling the hearing. "Then they crash. We see crop circles in the poppy industry from wallabies that are high."
Calls to Giddings' office were not immediately returned Thursday, and The Associated Press was unable to obtain a copy of the brief she cited.
A manager for one of two Tasmanian companies licensed to take medicinal products from poppy straw told the newspaper that wildlife and livestock _ including deer and sheep _ that eat the poppies are known to "act weird."
"There have been many stories about sheep that have eaten some of the poppies after harvesting and they all walk around in circles," Tasmanian Alkaloids field operations manager Rick Rockliff said.
Others in the local poppy industry could not be reached for comment.
Tasmania supplies about 50 percent of the world's raw material for morphine and related opiates. About 500 farmers grow the crop on 49,420 acres (20,000 hectares) of land.
6/23/2009
What? Is it “RED-HOT LOVE” or “RADAR LOVE?”
From: S. Belle Karper's – Beauties and Beasts
So here’s the deal, I’m flying down the freeway in good old southern California. Los Angeles, to be exact.
Radio blasting. Car shooting down the 101, in a southerly direction when on one of my favorite songs comes on the radio.
I hear that familiar lick of the guitar. Bong, bong booooooooong. Bong, bong booooooooong. I crank the music up a couple more notches. Yeah, we’re at 24 on the dial at least. Gotta happen. This song is worthy.
And then, in comes the rat-tat-tat of the drum. “Ooooooh, Yeah…..” I grin to my friend with a knowing smile. The pulse of the music is making my butt jump around in the drivers seat. Crap these fricking seatbelts, hampering my girating pelvis. That, and the Spanx that are holding my lame ass entact.
I look to the left… I look to the right… no cops… YEAH, BABY! Just me and my friend in the two seats of my silver convertible. 350Z’s were born for songs like THIS, man!
So, I continue to jump around in my seat. Butt muscles wiggling to the sound of that snare drum. One of my favorite songs is coming on. I know it’s coming. I know the intro. I’ve been singing this song since 1973. Yeah, you know it, too, baby, even though half of you that are reading this blinkin’ blog weren’t even born yet…
And, we have that Rock N’ Roll down, now don’t we? And, as Austin Powers would, “Oh, yeeeeeaah, ba-baaay!”
So, the music kicks in full gear, on this, one of the most famous driving songs known to modern man.
Yeah, shake it baby. I look at my friend. She gets it, too. We are now a pulsating mass of dyed hair, cellulite, and prescription lenses. Hey, turning 40 does have a couple price-tags, right?
We start screaming the lyrics at the top of our non-tweeny-bopper lungs (thank you very much), and it finally ambles it’s around to the chorus, of which I have now missed my last three exits due to my “head-banging” and getting my hair stuck in my goopy lipstick — “But, hey, Baby, this is rock and roll! Screw the lipstick.” So, what that it’s dragged Revlon Red streaks half way across my face. “Yeah, man! Get outta my Goddamn way, asshole — Move your frickin’ Pinto, man! I’ve got a song to sing!”
Then, I start scream-singing the chorus. Man, I want everyone to hear me. “We’ve got a thing, that’s a called, Red-Hot Love! We’ve gotta wave our hands in the air! RED-HOT LOVE!” Then I pretend that my butt is playing the bongo interim and then I sing with sexy heat to my friend, “Red-Hot Love…”
Butt, a-shaking.
Whewwwwwww. The air in my hair.
Yeah. Nice. Still got the old tubes, man. Belting out that song. People turning even though the roar of the freeway tries to drown us out…
But, curiously, I look at my friend that is now just sitting there looking at me…
– No butt bouncing
– No head banging
– No scream-singing.
Just staring.
At me.
“What, man? This is Red-Hot Love — Sing it, man! Aaaaaah!” Once again, I break into, “Red-Hot Love.” My knees are bouncing in time with the beat. The car jerking fast-slow-fast-slow with the tempo of this Hard Rock candy. Sweet-Sweet.
She looks at me and turns the radio down. Very serious. I look at her like she has just desecrated the Virgin Mary. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING? THIS IS RED-HOT LOVE, GIRL! YOU GOT A SCREW LOOSE? TURN THAT RADIO BACK UP!”
“What are you singing?” She yells at me.
“Red Hot Love, Goddammit. What the hell?”
“It’s called, Radar Love.”
“What? Yeah, that’s what I said, Red-Hot Love.”
“No, Girl. It’s RADAR love.”
“Huh?”
“R-A-D-A-R Love.”
“What? SHUT-UP! No man, don’t you mess with my Red-Hot Love, man. People have died for less, man.”
“Seriously. RADAR LOVE. Golden Earring. RADAR Love.”
“What? Don’t start messing with me. I can pull over this car, you know. . .”
“HELLO? RADAR LOVE. GOLDEN EARRING. LOOK AT THE GODDAMN RADIO.”
So, the invention of satellite radio has now confirmed what will be a haunting mind-crash for the next several moments. “What? Do my eyes deceive me? Does my radio actually have the read-out — RADAR LOVE GOLDEN EARRING.
“WHAT?”
Quietly, almost afraid to tell me. “Yes. It’s Radar Love.”
“Since when?”
“Since when? Since forever!” She looks at me, like dumb-shit.
How many years have I been singing the wrong lyrics to this song?
Let’s face it, even the best of us were out on the dance floor at the local drain station, at the disco scream-singing the wrong lyrics with all the other Travolta wannabes, while we groove on our way to a liquored frenzy.
I hate to admit it, that even I, yes, Moi, may have even sang a wrong lyric or two. Ah, hell, I can’t even tell you how many hundreds (thousands) of times I was screaming RED-HOT LOVE at the top of my voice, to find out (only a mere three decades later-Ouch!) that my rendition of a Red-Hot Love, along with other lyrics of my own making, turned out to be Radar Love.
RADAR Love?
Radar Love? What the hell kind of lyric is that?
Radar Love? Hello? That’s the stinking title, too? What?
I wish I could tell you that I am embarrassed and that I regret all of my renditions of Red-Hot Love, A.K.A. Radar Love, but give me a Goddamn freaking break.
But no, I am not embarrassed.
Frankly, I think the idiot came up with Radar Love(?), should have had the sense and forethought to know what a great and enduring freaking song that was going to turn out to be, and have the Goddamn common sense to name it appropriately — Red-Hot Love.
RED-HOT LOVE.
Calm down. Take it down a notch. Okay, Red-Hot Love.
Now that’s a Goddamned song title, right? Give a girl a break.
They still play that song from time to time, and rightly so, because it’s an unbelievably great dancing song. And I am going to tell you that I have no intention of changing my lyrics to FRICKIN’ RADAR LOVE. I mean, RED-HOT LOVE.
Dang it, you’ve got me worked up here.
Radar love? That’s laughable.
Yes, I have been… and will continue… to enjoy my gyrating pelvic thrust to the now, and continued yelled title, appropriately now and forevermore named RED-HOT LOVE.
And, I will continue to convert anyone within a 99 dB radius, including my gal pals on Chick Trips to Palm Springs, Vegas, Mammoth, the Caymans, and beyond. Yes, I will continue to scream-spreading the word RED-HOT LOVE.
It’s red-hot love, Goddammit… the end… period.
The fricking end.
Forever yours,
In RED-HOT LOVE,
(Oh, and by the way, don’t even get me started on the name of the band… Golden earring? Hello? That’s about as profound as the “Baked SweetPotatoes.” UGH. Golden earring?)
Holy crap.
Well, I guess, we need to show them a little Red-Hot Love.
Be well Dahhhhlings,
Belle
6/18/2009
IT PRO | 30 years of the spreadsheet
30 years of the spreadsheet
The spreadsheet was the ‘killer app’ that helped popularise the personal computer - 30 years since its introduction we hail VisiCalc, the world’s first spreadsheet.
By Benny Har-Even
As with most great events, the birth of the personal computer is somewhat hard to pin down. Was it the introduction of the Altair, the first kit computer introduced in 1975? Was it the moment Bill Gates managed to get IBM to agree to pay for a licence of his company’s operating system for every computer sold, or was it the first time IBM PC went on sale?
Whatever your opinion, there can be little doubt that a major milestone in the history of the PC in anyone’s book was the first application that got people to look at the personal computer as more than just a toy. This was VisiCalc, the world’s first spreadsheet, co-created by Dan Bricklin and Bob Frankston in 1979.
In these early days, computers were dismissed as being good for nothing more than playing games, but once the business community took a look at what the program could do, the need for a computer in the office became clear.
Ironically, while people associate PCs with ‘boring’ stuff like spreadsheets - a fact much played upon by Apple in its PC vs. Mac advertising campaign - the first spreadsheet was actually coded on an Apple II.
Read more >> itpro.co.uk
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