A Year in New York. (h/t Curiosity Counts).
in permanent beta. work in media. ephemeral thoughts on the intersection between design, culture and technology. insatiable appetite for startups, eames, iceland, entrepreneurship.
i've also claimed real estate on twitter, linkedin, and way too many other social platforms where you can usually find me by searching @sarablask or some permutation thereof. email is the most reliable way to find me: sara [at] sarablask [dot] com. let's brainstorm.
• About Sara
• Best of
SARA BLASK
i've also claimed real estate on twitter, linkedin, and way too many other social platforms where you can usually find me by searching @sarablask or some permutation thereof. email is the most reliable way to find me: sara [at] sarablask [dot] com. let's brainstorm.
• About Sara
• Best of
SARA BLASK
Unreal.
“The next time you make a sandwich, pay attention to your hands. Seriously! Notice the myriad little tricks your fingers have for manipulating the ingredients and the utensils and all the other objects involved in this enterprise. Then compare your experience to sliding around Pictures Under Glass.”
— An interesting read by Bret Victor if you care about the way in which we interact with technology.
“How does it end? The dictator dies, shrivelled and demented, in his bed; he flees the rebels in a private plane; he is caught hiding in a mountain outpost, a drainage pipe, a spider hole. He is tried. He is not tried. He is dragged bloody and dazed, through the streets, then executed. The humbling comes in myriad forms, but what is revealed is always the same: the technologies of paranoia, the stories of slaughter and fear, the vaults, the national economies employed as personal property, the crazy pets, the prostitutes, the golden fixtures.”
— The lede to Jon Lee Anderson’s piece in The New Yorker this week about Gadhafi’s last days.
“We’ve been in this town long enough to know that every Brooklyn couple hits a couple of speed bumps. Those romantic fantasies of four-story brownstones and easy parking spaces exist only in the movies. It’s like living in a crowded small town. You haven’t been married in Brooklyn until you’ve had at least one public argument inside Trader Joe’s.”
— From Jason Gay’s WSJ column today on love in Brooklyn, basketball and the Kardashian-Humphries union that spanned 72 days.
“We all — in the end — die in medias res. In the middle of a story. Of many stories.”
— Mona Simpson’s eulogy to her brother Steve. The most beautiful eulogy you might ever read.
