In what was likely one of the most unexpected surprises in the life of architecture critic Oliver Wainwright, his trip to North Korea revealed a variety of spaces with an eerie resemblance to Wes Anderson’s carefully curated movie sets. The use of primary colours and muted pastels, as well as a heavy emphasis on symmetry and proportion, evoke the trademark aura of the director’s acclaimed interiors.
Read the full story by Oliver Wainwright over at The Guardian.
alton brown: this sabotage will force one of your opponents to trade in all their normal-sized tools, pans, and bowls for these doll-sized replicas. (cut to confessionals) light: I look over at L, and he’s got that weird smirk again. At first I think he wants to get this sabotage, but I know he knows I know he makes that face when he likes something, so he must be pulling that face to trick me into not bidding for it so he can give it to me. But I see through him! Nothing in hell could stop me from giving him that sabotage! L: *finger still playing with his lip* i love the tiny tools. i work with them all the time for a secret youtube channel i curate, though my usual set is even smaller.
George Hurrell:: Exquisite Hollywood Regency composition featuring silver screen superstar Bette Davis seated in a carefully curated studio setting. Glamour photograph with Davis posing in front of two mirrors, she is reflected back to the viewer three times over, 1930′s / source: eBay
more [+] by this photographer /
more [+] Bette Davis posts
prompt: "my brain is a carefully curated pinterest board"
set in the sherlock au verse!!! :D (unofficially)
“I just don’t understand how you remember so many inane things when you can’t even remember which order the months go in,” Yuuri complained, though his eyes were soft and fond as he shot an exasperated glance at Victor over the rim of his coffee cup.
Victor leaned back in his seat, the ambient noise of Charlotte’s Corner swirling around them. Victor paid no attention to it; Yuuri was much more interesting. He offered an indulgent smile. They’d been living with each other for a few months now, the distance between them growing smaller and smaller as they got to know each other better.
Still, they each had their mysteries—and the mysteries they shared were the most interesting of all.
“My mind is a carefully curated Pinterest board, Yuuri,” Victor said with a dainty, haughty sniff.
Yuuri snorted into his triple espresso. “Did you sneak onto Yuuko’s desktop again?”
Victor pouted into his travel mug of Earl Gray. “No.” He didn’t like to think that these few moments he could steal with Yuuri before his classes and clinic shifts would be taken up by allusions that he was anything less than impressive.
…but really, he just wanted to impress Yuuri. He always wanted to impress Yuuri.
Yuuri arched a brow. The stark white collar of his med coat was peeking out from under his puffy winter jacket. “No? Really? Would you perjure yourself if we were in court right now?”
“…I didn’t sneak anywhere. Yuuko gave me permission to use her desktop,” Victor admitted, but Yuuri’s bark of laughter was worth the gloom of confessing to anything less than extraordinary. “It’s an interesting website, Yuuri. And an adequate analogy! You know how my brain works.”
“Enough to know you won’t remember Pinterest next week now that you’ve made your reference. How long have you been sitting on that line?” Yuuri’s grin was bright; his eyes shone behind his glasses, and it was almost worth the implication that Victor lived his life from cheap trick to cheap trick, from witty quip to another one-liner… no matter how true that may be.
Victor scuffed his feet under the café table. The toe of his oxford shoe caught Yuuri’s winter boot. “You wound me, Yuuri. Pretty soon I’ll be forced to think you don’t hold me in high regard at all.”
Yuuri shook his head, a fond little gesture that spoke familiarity and affection more than agreement to Victor’s complaint. “There’s no one I think more highly of. You know that.”
Victor blinked. He stared. His lips parted and he exhaled, even as the rapt attention drew a pink stain to Yuuri’s cheeks. “Really?”
“Come on. I can make fun of you and still admit you’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met, can’t I?”
Yuuri’s eyes were downcast now; he worried his lip between his teeth. And then Victor felt Yuuri’s foot under the table—a flicker of warmth, even at the shiver of cold as the icy boot hooked around the back of his ankle.
Victor let out a long, low, silent breath. He smiled against the plastic lid of his cup. “Sometimes you forget to mention that second part.”
“It’s true.” Yuuri drummed his fingers against his to-go cup, then turned a wry smirk back on Victor. “Even if I don’t say it often.”
Contentment. Victor’s eyes lingered on Yuuri—the beautiful shapes of him, a miracle of physics and biology all wrapped up in that truly terrible winter coat. “I’ll remember that,” Victor vowed.
Yuuri tilted his head and crossed his arms over his chest, and his voice was private and only for Victor when he replied, “Yes, I’m sure you will.”
Deconstructed Korean Bulgogi at Gan Shan Station, Asheville by North Carolina-born, chef Patrick O’Cain, who trained at Xia Bao Biscuit in Charleston. - photography by Paola & Murray for CNTraveler November 2016
For the new Ferragamo Museum exhibition, curators set their eyes on 1927, the year Salvatore Ferragamo left Hollywood in pursuit of Florence. Curated in collaboration with Lampoon Magazine, eight Instagram artists were enlisted to visually tell the story of his journey. Inspired by the cultural sensibility of the era, each artist created an original piece that seeks to draw a parallel between Salvatore’s ground-breaking designs and the visual world in which he lived. Here, a look at the works.
Flickr has introduced auto-tagging, aided by Machine Learning (I checked that it is with ML and found this Yahoo machine learning presentation). The user response has been quite negative so far, this Flickr forum post has a lot of angry pro users having to correct thousands of photographs for inexact tagging. Flickr openly say they want people to correct their tags because that will further help train their ML algorithms.
Alex Hern of the Guardian wrote about some contentious cases such as when people have been auto-tagged ‘ape’ and when concentration camps get tagged ‘sport’ and ‘jungle gym’. In isolation these cases seem really outrageous so I did a search for ‘jungle gym’ and found many false positives, painting a much more systemic problem; it seems Flickr’s strategy is to auto-tag as much as possible, forcing their users, often not bothered about tags, to respond by curating a better set of tags for each image. So the bigger strategy seems to pitch machine learning against human labour in an attempt to make their algos smarter and their image service perfectly tagged.
Oh when the weather outside is frightful…the NOVL Gift Guidewill help you purchase all that you need from home. Introducing our second specially curated gift set, inspired by Holly Black’s The Darkest Part of the Forest. Romance, dark terror, worthy heroes, and the faerie realm? This story has it all and so we scoured the internet and found a ton of awesome products that showcases the lush world—like gorgeous art pieces from fan artists (#1 and #4) that can be printed into various products, and more.
GIVE A GIFT that any fan of Holly Black would love.
Obsessed with all of the above? We’re giving this entire bookish set away! Enter for a chance to win everything pictured above HERE.
Discover more fun bookish recommendations in the NOVL Gift Guideas we continue to bring you specially curated gift sets inspired by our favorite books and authors. Tune in next week for the next gift guide set—it features a certain blue-haired character…
Imagine Steve keeping very detailed and personal journals throughout his life. Someone comes across these journals and discovers just how good Steve is at hiding his depression/PTSD. Cue Steve/anyone confrontation and platonic comfort.
After Steve was thawed out of the ice, Pepper Potts took it upon herself to retrieve some of his personal effects from where the Smithsonian had been keeping them in storage. She had been good friends with the curator for years, so when she called up asking after Captain America’s belongings, he told her she was more than welcome to collect his things. The only items on display in the museum were of little sentimental value. Most of what he’d left in the Brooklyn apartment had been boxed up by the SSR, and donated by Peggy Carter when she moved on to establish S.H.I.E.L.D. The exhibit mainly consisted of wartime relics: propaganda posters and mission reports from Steve’s days with the Howling Commandos, and Steve had made it abundantly clear that none of that was important to him.
“Here we are,” the assistant curator chirped, setting a dusty filing box on the table in front of Pepper. “I guess there wasn’t much to the place besides the furniture,” she admitted apologetically.
“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled either way.”
“Well, we’re happy to have been able to hold onto these for him.”
Pepper gave her a wry smile. “A bit different from a museum’s usual mission, isn’t it?”
“Returning the artifacts wasn’t covered in my graduate program, no,” she laughed. When the lid was lifted, it was clear nothing had been disturbed for quite some time. No dust had gotten inside, and the tags denoting each item were yellowed, with elegant, faded handwriting. Pepper imagined that they were old enough to have been written by Carter herself. “Let’s see.” The assistant curator carefully pulled a string of painted wooden beads from the box, letting them pool in the palm of her other hand. “Mrs. Rogers’ rosary,” she read from the tag. “Recovered from Captain Rogers’ rucksack.”
“Oh, he’ll definitely want that,” Pepper told her, and the woman placed it gently in the new box she’d brought over to send back to the tower.
“Aaand…there’s some recipe cards, his parents’ wedding rings, a copy of the Hobbit…”
“Yes to all of them.”
“Alright. Some sketchbooks?” Pepper’s eyebrows were the only thing that gave away her surprise. She hadn’t know Steve was an artist. He’d certainly never drawn anything when anybody else was around to see.
“Yes. Please.” Pepper took one of the offered notebooks and out of curiosity, opened it to a random page. In the corner was a quick sketch of a woman with smile lines by her eyes and a familiar shape to her mouth. Below that, he’d written “I wish she’d stayed like that forever.”
The next page was one of Bucky, in dirty work clothes with stooped shoulders. “He says I ain’t a burden, but he’s carrying me anyway.” Each sketch was dated and accompanied by what must’ve been the thought that prompted the drawing to begin with. It wasn’t a sketchbook; it was a journal. She flipped through a few more pages, before placing the book in the carton and picking up the next one. It was clearly from the war, and as she got closer to the back of the book, the more she felt like she was no longer looking at observations, but depictions of a nightmare. She closed the journal. All of the others were packed up without being opened.
The next day, she left her hotel near the museum and headed to Steve’s apartment in D.C. He was obviously surprised to see her, but smiled warmly anyway and took the box from her, offering a cup of coffee.
“So, what brings you to Washington, Miss Potts?” he asked.
“Oh, you sound like JARVIS. My name is Pepper,” she told him. “And I’m actually here to see you.”
“Oh?” She could hear the wariness seep into his voice, hiding under the hospitality.
“Yes. But just you, Steve. The suit stays on the hanger, I promise. I hope you don’t mind, but I have a friend at the Smithsonian, and I asked her for some of your stuff.” Pepper patted the box on the table beside her.
“Some of the personal effects that Agent Carter had in SSR storage. From your old apartment.”
“Oh,” he said quietly. “Thank you. You didn’t have to, really.”
“It was the least I could do. I know this hasn’t been easy.” She took a breath, steeling herself, and hoping she wasn’t about to ruin what trust he had in her. “And I owe you an apology. I…When we were sorting through your things, I came across some sketchbooks. Or, at least, what I thought were sketchbooks, but they, um, looked privates so, I’m sorry for looking at them. I didn’t mean to invade your privacy.” He looked at her in surprise, and he was younger than her, she realized. Captain America looked no older than the graduate students she worked with at Stark Industries, but she felt like she was about to receive a lecture from the principal for being so rude. Instead, he said,
“It’s okay. I haven’t had much in the way of privacy for a while now. Gotten used to it. But you’re the first person who’s at least had the decency to be sorry.” Pepper heaved a relieved sigh, and then figured she might as well go for broke. If he didn’t like her for it, at least she wouldn’t have to leave him looking so sad, knowing that she could’ve done more.
“Permission to completely overstep my bounds?” Steve bit his lip, eyebrows scrunching together just the slightest bit, but eventually nodded and said,
“I know,” she began, “that in your memory, psychologists were scary, and usually led to asylums, and there was a lot of shame surrounding them. Up until very recently, people avoided them, but it’s different now. You have to be sick of hearing that, but I promise this one’s true. People go to therapy now when they’re going through rough times, or having trouble adjusting…A lot of soldiers go. After they get back from the war. I think you would benefit from seeing someone. I know I did. When Tony…well, he was captured…for a long time. And it was difficult, even after he came back, so I started going to therapy. It helped life seem more manageable.” `
Steve was quiet for a moment, staring at his huge hands wrapped around the steaming mug. She could only see the top of his head, but didn’t miss the slight nod that followed. His hands tightened around the ceramic, and she reached out to lay one of hers on his wrist, giving a gentle squeeze before the cup could shatter. He looked up at her with watery eyes, but forced some measure of composure into his voice to say,
The book’s outside cover boasted poems by a disgraced writer,
but inside was page after page of handwritten recipes for alcohol — the
secretly preserved know-how of a Prohibition-era doctor. Decades later, the
book found its way to writer and former museum curator Matthew Rowley, who set
out to discover who its author was and why he documented recipes that could
have sent him to jail in the 1920s.
Rowley shares his hunt for answers in Lost Recipes of Prohibition: Notes from a Bootlegger’s Manual.
For Hillary Clinton supporters who’ve had “The Official Hillary 2016 Playlist” on loop since it appeared on Spotify in June, the Democratic presidential candidate has curated a set of new tunes from her favorite female artists in honor of Women’s History Month and International Women’s Day.