More links filched from MetaFilter and Twitter.
I promised my father-in-law my never-fail sourdough recipe, which is even easier than the one I was using a few months ago because it needs no kneading and actually works better than if you do. Here it is, with the earlier recipe after it.
The trouble with this time of year is that the closer I seem to get to a time when I can catch up on non-work stuff, the more the moment edges away. So I’m just going to throw a few things out there in an effort to pass the tortoise.
The limerick is a throwaway written for a forum comment at the OEDILF, by the way, which I won’t be able to submit to its main database for fifty to a hundred years, depending on paradoxical chelonians, so here it is.
Just my luck that Radiohead release a glorious new album right in the middle of marking season. Makes a change from posthumous discography binges, at least. I’m past first reactions now and up to about ninth, but it still feels a little premature to post a review. In the meantime, some earth-shaped links.
Not just a Prince reference; it actually did snow on the hills around Edinburgh yesterday, although in our part of the city it was merely wet and freezing.
What would happen if we just gave people money? The long history of basic income proposals is enlightening; nobody ever talked about it in the late 1980s, when I first thought it seemed a good way to go.
Only 15–20 years before widespread loss of ocean oxygen.
And I know I said I don’t normally link technical how-tos, but I’m going to again. If you accidentally crack the screen of your Kindle 3, these replacement instructions (as simplified in the comment from Dave, dated 06/15/2015) are the business. A new screen, battery and keyboard cost me around twenty quid on eBay, and following the steps wasn’t hard.
This year’s string of pop deaths means that my music archives threaten to become nothing but obituaries; I still haven’t done my recap of last year’s listening (or the year before’s). But Tom Ewing has kept ploughing through 2001’s UK number ones, and even though I wasn’t paying much attention to pop that year I’ve commented on a few—reproduced here as a useful stop-gap during marking season.
Even though I was starting to get used to 2016 as the year that Death started getting his groove on (I AM A BLACK STAR), the news about Prince was a shock. He hit his stride just as I was first getting into pop and rock as a teenager, and was as big in Australia as he was anywhere in the 1980s. The single-LP version of 1999 (missing “Let’s Pretend We’re Married” and “D.S.M.R.”) got a lot of play in our house, and Purple Rain made just as strong an impression. In a fit of pop treachery I swapped my LP of the latter for a Big Country tape (je ne regrette rien), but before long rectified the situation by buying CDs of both. My favourite Prince track, though, wasn’t “1999”, “When Doves Cry” or “Darling Nikki”, great though they were, but an album cut that never makes the compilations, “Mountains” from Parade.
Somewhere around Graffiti Bridge I lost track of the purple one, as my ear turned to indie. The contractual wrangles and triple-album sets didn’t make full-price album purchases tempting, and Princely radio singles in the mid-’90s were few and far between. So although I’ve embarked on a second marathon listen to a late artist’s back catalogue in the space of a few months, I might hit a wall a dozen albums in. Pitchfork’s guide to his late-period picks could come in handy.
Those early albums, though: what a run. What other pop star so totally owned the Eighties? Not Bowie, who went off the boil after Let’s Dance. Michael Jackson only released two albums in the 1980s, and Madonna four. Prince released an album every year of the decade but one, including two double-LPs, and they’re almost all great; and he can be forgiven the gap in 1983 because he was making a movie (and did that again twice that decade, too).
It was the purplest of purple patches. Prince may not have been the tallest bloke, but the man was a giant.
I don’t normally link technical how-tos, but this was a godsend when attempting to install Slack on my iPhone 4: How to download and install apps on older versions of iOS (entirely legitimately).
Clive James: “I’ve got a lot done since my death”, but “still being alive is embarrassing”. He’s writing for The Observer again and just reviewed Game of Thrones in The New Yorker, which might even prompt me to start watching it. Plus he has a new verse book about Proust out this week.
Last week I had an unexpected urge to revisit some of my earliest programming efforts. Unfortunately, they’re stored on ancient 5¼" floppies which would probably be unreadable, even if I had a 5¼" drive and a way of converting it to USB. Fortunately, at the time I wrote them I also printed out my collection of Apple II and BBC Micro BASIC programs using our school’s dot-matrix printers, and after rummaging through some old boxes was able to find those printouts again.
In the capital of Europe. Written before the bombings of last week, which once again reminded me in the worst possible fashion that I’ve visited too many sites of subsequent terrorism. New York, Paris, London... Brussels.
Global warming’s terrifying new chemistry. Current temperatures are shocking even to climate scientists. Longest coral bleaching event on record. West Antarctic ice sheet could melt rapidly. Carbon emissions haven’t been this high since the dinosaurs.
Andy Stanton’s cult humour for kids. His Mr Gum books are some of the funniest I’ve read, to my son or otherwise. Andy Stanton at the Edinburgh International Book Festival. Brian Six.
Grenade in microwave! [Link already dead, sadly.]
A belated farewell to the late George Martin. Apart from his monumental work with the Beatles, which I could hardly begin to go into here without taking all week, I’ll always remember his work on one of my favourite comedy records, Peter Sellers’ 1959 album Songs for Swingin’ Sellers. The Fabs themselves were fans of Martin’s comedy productions, which helped bond them in the early days. On one Sellers track in particular, “Wouldn’t It Be Loverly”, Martin masterminded the Indian orchestral sounds that would come in handy on later Beatle tracks.
This sad event had happy consequences for Monday’s pub quiz. It meant that the bonus round was on the Fabs, and all those years of devouring Beatle biographies finally came in handy. Seventy loverly nicker.