The Russian Hall, formerly the Russian People’s Home, consistently produces typography so clear, so straightforward, so capitalized it’s almost a design manifesto in itself. That’s what happens when you try to produce design degree zero: the more you eschew style, the cooler your no-style becomes and finally you’re just rad whether you like or not.
Noah: ‘I can’t help buying Doctor Who cards’. Photograph: Caroline Irby
I want to sit next to Noah, age 6. He was interviewed for the Guardian’s Seen and heard series of chats with children:
The world is being destroyed. It’s like summer in the winter now. We basically need factories stopped, shut down, and we need electric cars with a battery.
I had a girlfriend once and I don’t have one any more. She was a bit annoying – she really couldn’t control her anger.
My favourite food is crab and octopus – I had it when I was miniature.
Daddy died a year and a half ago. He wasn’t a very good driver, so he was driving when he was looking for something and suddenly he just crashed into a big lorry. I was sad. Not as sad as my Mum.
Picasso’s my favourite artist. He doesn’t draw properly, he’s an impressionist, same as Van Gogh.
My favourite subject is singing, but it’s up to our teacher what we sing – we once had to sing Winnie The Pooh And Tigger. I’d prefer to sing adult songs like Viva Las Vegas.
I’m bad at helping myself. I can’t help it if I really want to do something. Like Johnny Cash doesn’t want to take drugs but he can’t help it. I can’t help buying Doctor Who cards or doing swapsies.
I know lots of people who’ve taken drugs. Like a friend of my Dad’s – he used to be nice but he isn’t any more because he took too many drugs.
I have two enemies. One’s an adult who I’m not going to tell you about because the adults might read it and get upset, but I’ll tell you about the child: he’s cuckoo and says he loves everyone, like our prime minister.
Love is for puny humans.
God has a big hood, black face, skeleton hands and a big axe.
In my ideal heaven you’d be able to sneak down, because you’re invisible, and steal sweeties from the sweetie shop.
When I grow up I want to be an actor. I want to be able to be the Doctor but I doubt I will, I don’t look good enough. Well, David Tennant only looks good in the film: the real David Tennant is ugly.
The founder of referencelibrary says his blog was born out of his eBay disappointments, as a sort of consolation catalogue of all the things he didn’t win. The photos tagged “Items I Didn’t Win” are so beautiful you can almost feel his disappointment. He has a really good eye, and you can easily imagine how nice his place must be despite his losses. Even so, it would be nice if someone would actually win something for him on eBay, like the Charlotte Perriand stool he missed below, because he deserves it. The blog also features many other compelling oddities, and there’s something almost conceptual about the way he puts it all together. Above is his pairing of a completely genius Faux Fox Stole by Slow and Steady Wins the Race (available at Stand Up Comedy) with a found image from Blind Pony Books.
Andy’s other blog is Stork Bites Man.
I found this item on the consistently entertaining blog deletia. It was taken from Rolcats, a site featuring fake English translations of an Eastern Bloc version of Lolcats. Rolcats makes Lolcats look very, very amateur, which granted is not difficult. Below is the translation of the caption above, and deletia’s response:
It’s pretty hard for me to express how much I love this. The men I’ve sent to death weigh heavily on my mind; but this burden is but a fist of straw compared to the strain of the republic. I can has post-Soviet irony in meme format?
It’s pretty hard for me to express how much I love deletia. The writer identifies herself only as Prolix, and she’s from Edmonton, which probably explains her command of irony.
This blog post by Mr. Skona wins this week’s prize for ingenuity and charm.
My lovely wool socks (please excuse the pills) were starting to get a little threadbare around the heels and the ball of the foot. The rest the sock was fine so I didn’t want to recycle them or resign them to dusting pile just yet. There weren’t any holes, the fluffy wool (fleece? is that the right term?) had just worn off leaving a fine grid of threads (they must be made of a blend). I had this idea that I could weave yarn over and under the grid which would fill in the threadbare area. Little did I know that’s exactly how you darn something.
