There’s two rules to this whole game called journalism: Get it right; and don’t be boring. Because if you’re boring, you’re dead. I’ll say it this way: [The] press is written into the Constitution like the judiciary, the executive and the legislative, except they didn’t leave us any money. We have to find our own money to do it. So if people don’t want to purchase your product, you’re dead. So I like Borat; I like Jackass; I like Charles Kuralt; I like Colbert; I like 60 Minutes. I like kitty cats and YouTube. Put them all together, shake it up, and give me something — give me something smart and give me something entertaining. That’s my mantra.
“I don’t know how many child soldiers in Sierra Leone use Skype.” (via)
It’s similar to calligraphy or samurai. I want to make cricket cages. You know those Japanese cricket cages? Tiny, with the doors? That’s it for me: solitude and precision, refining a tiny thing for the sake of it.
Perfect morning for Mr. Kishi Bashi.
If life has become merely a clutter of kitsch objects, an endless series of sarcastic jokes and pop references, a competition to see who can care the least (or, at minimum, a performance of such a competition), it seems we’ve made a collective misstep. Could this be the cause of our emptiness and existential malaise? Or a symptom?