At 74, multitalented Dennis Hopper (actor, painter) has died. As a tribute, some memorable movie scenes.
At 74, multitalented Dennis Hopper (actor, painter) has died. As a tribute, some memorable movie scenes.
Hoe heb ik dit kunnen missen. Na de legendarische hit Mossels is de Mosselman terug met deze Songfestival cover. Beats the original.
Gelijk ook maar de jaren negentig knaller erbij:
Wow, this is some information I’ve been looking for for a long time. According to psychological research from Canada, there is a connection between playing video games, and having really aware, colorful, vivid dreams. Also some people experience lucid dreaming, in which you control your actions and the events in a dream.
When I dream, it is often very vivid and “cinematic” – with huge landscapes, cityscapes, sci fi or fantasy themes, storylines, and that sort of thing. Like not always, but it occurs regularly, and it is quite enjoyable. It’s never lucid, though. Also, I play video games – not a lot, but once in a while, once every couple of weeks, and these are most often imaginative, storytelling, sci fi or fantasy themed games. So I’ve often wondered about some possible connection, and Googled it, but I never could find anything.
So this is revealing. Hope this line of research will be pursued.
Playing video games before bedtime may give people an unusual level of awareness and control in their dreams, LiveScience has learned.
That ability to shape the alternate reality of dream worlds might not match mind-bending Hollywood films such as “The Matrix,” but it could provide an edge when fighting nightmares or even mental trauma.
Dreams and video games both represent alternate realities, according to Jayne Gackenbach, a psychologist at Grant MacEwan University in Canada. But she pointed out that dreams arise biologically from the human mind, while video games are technologically driven by computers and gaming consoles.
“If you’re spending hours a day in a virtual reality, if nothing else it’s practice,” said Jayne Gackenbach, a psychologist at Grant MacEwan University in Canada. “Gamers are used to controlling their game environments, so that can translate into dreams.”
The first study suggested that people who frequently played video games were more likely to report lucid dreams, observer dreams where they viewed themselves from outside their bodies, and dream control that allowed people to actively influence or change their dream worlds – qualities suggestive of watching or controlling the action of a video-game character.
A second study tried to narrow down the uncertainties by examining dreams that participants experienced from the night before, and focused more on gamers. It found that lucid dreams were common, but that the gamers never had dream control over anything beyond their dream selves.
The gamers also frequently flipped between a first person view from within the body and a third person view of themselves from outside, except never with the calm detachment of a distant witness.
This guy made a video of himself, uploaded it to YouTube, then ripped it from YouTube, uploaded that download to YouTube again, then downloaded it again, uploaded that again, et cetera. He did that a thousand times.
The result is this:
An homage to the great Alvin Lucier, this piece explores the ‘photocopy effect’, where upon repeated copies the object begin to accumulate the idiosyncrasies of the medium doing the copying. Full words: I am sitting in a room different from the one you are in now. I am recording the sound of my speaking voice as well as the image of myself, and I am going to upload it to YouTube, rip it from YouTube, and upload it again and again, until the original characteristics of both my voice and my image are destroyed. What you will see and hear, then, are the artifacts inherent in the video codec of both YouTube and the mp4 format I convert it to on my computer. I regard this activity not so much as a demonstration of a digital fact, but more as a way to eliminate all human qualities my speech and image might have.
Een verkiezingsoverwinning van de VVD zou historisch zijn, niet alleen omdat het de eerste keer zou zijn dat die partij een premier levert, of omdat Rutte de eerste liberale premier zou zijn sinds Pieter Cort van der Linden (1913-1918), of omdat, met uitzondering van België en Denemarken, in de ons omringende landen liberalen al decennia lang niet de grootste partij zijn geweest – ook omdat Mark Rutte de eerste single premier zou zijn sinds, bij mijn weten, Johannes Kappeyne van de Coppello (1877-1879).
Kappeyne van de Coppello, die leefde van 1822 tot 1895, ook een liberaal, had een reputatie als bachelor die nogal “van het leven genoot”, een hekel had aan kleinburgerlijke conventies, niet maalde om uiterlijkheden, graag tot diep in de nacht doorwerkte, en in een neglicé tussen boeken en shit op de vloer van zijn woonkamer sliep. Bovendien veegde hij graag de vloer aan met Abraham Kuyper en andere griffomeerden in de Tweede Kamer. Kortom, een mooie gast. De vraag is nu of Rutte deze fraaie liberale traditie gaat voortzetten.
Gezien zijn christelijke voorkomen en conservatieve standpunten kunnen we dat waarschijnlijk wel vergeten. Dus wellicht een tussentijds huwelijk zoals Sarkozy? Met Jack de Vries als wingman aan Rutte’s zij moet het lukken. Ook een televisieformat is denkbaar, met de titel van deze post als voor de hand liggende naam. Mw. Jaspers kan aan de bak.
Check out these pictures of the Russian blogger and photo journalist Ilya Varlamov, who, in a rare exception, was allowed to go into a 3 Megawatt nuclear power plant near Smolensk, Russia, and take pictures. Pretty awesome.
A very well-written article at Resident Advisor, already from October 2009, exploring the experience of what is currently probably the most illustrious techno club in the world – Berghain/Panoramabar in Berlin.
If you’re not into techno, or not into Berlin, you probably won’t understand what this is about.
The first third of the article wonderfully explores what is like to stand in line for Berghain – a line that can last for more than an hour and a half, up until 8am in the morning, and which offers you no guarantee at all that you will get in. In fact, Berghain’s door policy is Byzantine – nobody really knows how you have to look, or how to behave, in order to get in, and previous entrance offers you no security. One thing’s for certain though: look gritty. Unlike those thirteen-in-a-dozen clubs everywhere (f.e., London, Amsterdam, southern Europe), where you’re expected to look either like you got money to spend or semi-alternative, quasi-hip, for Berghain you dress down (or dress like a Berliner, or gay, but don’t imitate). Yet even then, the tattooed, pierced, Viking-like bouncer (and art photographer) might send you away with a chilling “Sie kommen nicht rein. Wir wollen es nicht”.
Unfortunately, that’s how far my experience goes. The rest of the article shows what happens once you get in, and that explains why people even want to get in line. This is, so they say, a cathedral of techno, an industrial, decadent otherworld completely sealed off from the outside world, in which you can stay until the next night if you want to (it doesn’t close). The crowd is supposed to be mixed, with regular and completely weird types combined, and the atmosphere seems to be that of the best electronic music parties – that is, open-minded. There are the darkrooms, of course, and the shutters keeping out the light that sometimes go open, the sexual acts apparently perpetrated around the dancefloor, and other things that have added to the dark mystique surrounding Berghain. Just read the article.
This year I’ll hopefully be able to experience it for myself. But I don’t count on it…
- Edit: Well, I came in. See the comments below for my experiences.
All these things may run through your mind as you stand in the famous queue outside Berghain. The first and most important difference between this and all other queues is that it’s for everyone. There is a guestlist here, too, but it’s relatively short and carries no symbolic weight. If you’re on it, you still have to wait, you just don’t have to pay. Only the night’s DJs and their entourage can amble past the queue, plus a few people who have a particular connection with Berghain. This has little effect on the queue, however. Perhaps three or four small groups walk past you in the space of an hour, no more. You can watch them while you wait. It always takes a while, whether it’s one, three or six o’clock in the morning. Sometimes there’s an extra doorman who stands about halfway up the queue and whose sole responsibility is to send back any wannabees who think, for whatever reason, that all are equal before the door to Berghain—except for them.
In its implementation, this policy actually gives a faint sense of Jacobin Terror. Whether you’re a queen or a farmer, it really can happen to anyone. Firstly, then, this door is radically democratic. Secondly, however, it exhibits a refreshing arbitrariness which makes you ask yourself the question each and every time, even after years of getting in without a problem: Will I get turned away tonight?
This is the question that all in the Berghain queue ask themselves. Whether it’s the couple who keep telling each other off for fidgeting around, or the group of Italians who look as if they’ve been reading fanzines back home with style tips for Berlin clubs. Their new-rave look comprises huge coloured sunglasses and haircuts nurtured for maximum asymmetry. The girls are wearing purple leggings and poison-green tops, the guys have post-ironic slogans on their T-shirts. One woman is battling her fear of not getting in with an endless and increasingly confusing lecture on her home city of Wuppertal. The two Dutch guys she’s befriended in the queue are preventing her monologue from petering out by muttering an occasional “hm” and “ah.” Two other guys are making fun of those who aren’t let in while warning one another not to laugh too loud, otherwise they might be on the receiving end themselves.
Berghain not only bears a certain architectural resemblance to a cathedral, it’s an actual temple of techno. And whether by design or not, waiting in the queue is the first step in an initiation ritual, soon followed by an unmistakable feeling of butterflies in your stomach as you edge towards the door. You watch as people ahead of you get turned away. You try to figure out the criteria. Most of the time it’s pretty simple: groups of young men always have a hard time. If on top of that they are tourists, straight or obviously drunk, things get even tougher. But these are just rough guesses. When a punk who doesn’t get in shouts out, “Fuck you, Germany! You’re scum! I’m from Vienna!” everyone has a little chuckle.
You don’t want to party with just anyone, so no tears are shed for any of those who are turned away. At the same time, the price you pay for exclusivity is the risk of not getting in yourself.
Then, once you’ve crossed the final threshold and entered the large hall which you could hear booming from outside, it suddenly gets dark again. You cross the hall, climb the large steel stairs, and even if you already know what you’ve let yourself in for over the hours to come, you still get a sharp shock every time as you stand facing the dance floor and let the music thunder over you. For a few seconds, as your eyes try to adjust to the strobes, you stumble around in semi-blindness. It’s a little like a punch in the face—not only do you have to jostle your way through a mass of sweating bodies which have already been there a couple of hours longer than your somewhat more sober self, you also get physically assaulted by the sound waves of the music.