#robert silverman

[filmjunky-99]

'How do you stop them, your voices?' - vale

'My art. My art keeps me sane.' - pierce

s c a n n e r s, 1981 🎬 dir. david cronenberg

[thingstrumperssay]

Robert Silverman on Twitter

“If you're seeing some lunacy about a person of interest who was detained re: Waukesha, here's a brief window into how the right-wing disinfo machine works. It starts with Andy Ngo, of course. First, another reporter—not Andy—does the actual work of finding the POI's record. 1/x”

Robert Silverman goes through how right wing disinformations spreads. It’s a good read.

It starts with Ngo looking up the person of interest on FaceBook and it somehow ends with Tim Pool saying that cops ruled out terrorism. (They did not.)

[videomessiah]

Naked Lunch (1991)

[filmjunky-99]

s c a n n e r s, 1981 🎬 dir. david cronenberg

[the-spooky-mind-of-spiderwish]

[indizombie]

What if it wasn’t a retired NBA player like Shane Battier, but rather a current star that complained about the ever-increasing use of invasive technology and tracking devices. What if ballplayers joined the growing chorus of voices explaining that publicly financed arenas and stadiums have little to do with “economic development,” and only serve to empty the local coffers and line the already well-lined pockets of owners. Or if football players refused to wear pink gear until the NFL set up a breast cancer charity that wasn’t a massive, profit-generating boondoggle. What if the Thunder announced that they won’t play in Oklahoma City until Aubrey McClendon stopped befouling the land and simultaneously bilking the very people he’s fracking out of their royalties, or if the New York Knicks decided, as members in good standing of the National Basketball Players’ Association, that they took umbrage with owner James Dolan “illegally threatening to withhold employee pay unless the employees voted against joining a union,” or the gentlemen that suit up for the Washington professional football team taped over the racist logo on their helmets.

Robert Silverman, 'Athletes are free to protest – as long as it doesn't cost anything', The Guardian

[42daysofopera]

Day 2

Everything packed in two small bags, no double backs, quick through check-in and security (although I ended up having to check my suitcase), and then time to wait. 

I met up with four of the other singers on the trip who were on the same flight. We ate, and talked, and waited some more.  At times travel is like rehearsal. A lot of hurry up and wait.  If I may, I would like to divert for a paragraph or two to talk about the act of traveling. Travel has always made some part of me nervous. This will be laughable to those who are aware that that I very rarely get nervous, especially not stage fright. However, the sheer logistical scale of international travel is enough to turn my stomach over. And of course, flying does it’s part to add to the problem. In print advertisements for airlines traveling by plane looks like the most luxurious thing in the world. 

Yet reality comes crashing down when it is revealed that you are sitting near a baby for a nine hour flight, and my legs, the ones attached to my 6 foot 3 inch self, must share a compartment with a backpack the size of a shoebox.  For the record I want to say that the baby didn’t cry once, and with my aisle seat, I was able to stick my legs out a bit. Courtney was later quoted as saying “I didn’t need to look for Duncan’s head, all I needed to do was look down the aisle and spot the spider legs”.  Besides, here I am complaining about the inconveniences associated with the miracle that is intercontinental air travel, when the flight actually had some high points. It just so happened that I was seated next to pianist Robert Silverman, a former director of the UBC school of music, and former professor of my father while he attended UBC. He was an absolute joy to talk to, and I was lucky to have my seat where it was.  When I was younger my family went on a trip to Hawaii. Since then I have always been struck by particular sensation of stepping off a plane, and into a new country. Whether it be smell or sound, even though airports all feel the same, that feeling is unique.  And, I feel I can say with utter certainty that stepping off the plane at Flughafen Frankfurt Airport was entirely not like that in the slightest.  I had half a mind to turn to the cable crew and check we hadn’t just gone to a different part of YVR.  With english everywhere, and roughly the same climate as when I left Vancouver, everything leading up to the city proper felt very familiar. And even in the city, while it didn’t feel like my home city, it shares many things with other cities I’ve spent time in.  The train station feels like a cross between Waterloo and Gare du Nord, the streets like those of Madrid. Even the finical district with it’s sharp contrasting architecture feels remarkably like it’s counterpart in Manhattan (admittedly the german has cleaner sidewalks, although I can’t speak for their business practices). 

And maybe it was the lack of identity, but I have few regrets about leaving tomorrow morning. I will concede that maybe that is a bias from all my german friends who dislike the city, sometimes even aggressively so. But in my defence a city famous for it’s finical and red-light districts really doesn’t have much to offer me.  But, I digress. I say none of this pessimistically. There was still good food, and good friends, and good wine. The people were nice, and the opera house is beautiful. 

My hotel is comfortable. Maurizio Pollini’s Well Tempered is playing through my computer speakers,  while AC/DC’s Highway to Hell trickles in through a car window on the street. Plans and schemes must be made for tomorrow, and as it has been a long 48 hours without much sleep, my bed is calling to me.  Tomorrow I get on a train and head toward Dresden. 

[sonateharder]

brave