Amusing and titillating as these images are, it’s easy to forget that they’re the work of an army of invisible laborers—the Google hands. This is the subject of an art work by the Brooklyn-based artist Andrew Norman Wilson called “ScanOps.” The project began in 2007, when Wilson was contracted by a video-production company to work on the Google campus. He noted sharp divisions between the workers; one group, known as ScanOps, were sequestered in their own building. These were data-entry workers, the people to whom those mysterious hands belonged. Wilson became intrigued by them, and began filming them walking to and from their ten-hour shifts in silence. He was able to capture a few minutes of footage before Google security busted him. In a letter to his boss explaining his motives, Wilson remarked that most of the ScanOps workers were people of color. He wrote, “I’m interested in issues of class, race and labor, and so out of general curiosity, I wanted to ask these workers about their jobs.” In short order, he was fired.
And now pardon me while I go and click through to all of the links in the article: there are a WHOLE LOT OF THEM, and judging by the ones I've already looked at, the majority of them lead to some weirdly fascinating stuff.
There's Saba/DeMalo, which is to be expected. And a bizarre happier ending for Rebel Heart which is also to be expected, but which also brings Gracie-the-two-sentence-dead-child back to life, which was a bit surprising.
But then there's also one that's Saba/Lugh and Saba/Emmi.
Earlier this year, a New York Times Magazine profile of the showrunner Shonda Rhimes (“Scandal,” “Grey’s Anatomy”) included a line that made me think she was even more than the talented and savvy TV writer she’s already shown herself to be: “Rhimes observes that people, even the ones who like ‘Scandal,’ describe it as ‘ridiculous,’ which she can live with, or a ‘guilty pleasure,’ which she ardently despises.” I despise it, too. If there’s a contemporary idiom that puzzles and irritates me in equal measure, “guilty pleasure” is it. I object to neither the pleasure, nor the guilt; it’s the modifying of one by the other that works my nerves, the awkward attempt to elevate as well as denigrate the object to which the phrase is typically assigned.
Ridley Scott has optioned screen rights to Fae, the young adult fantasy bestseller written by sibling authors Colet and Jasmine Abedi. The title was published last summer by Diversion Books and is the first in a trilogy. Protagonist Caroline Ellis reaches 16, a birthday that triggers the battle fated for centuries between the Dark and Light Fae, forcing her to confront who she is and discover whether her tumultuous relationship with Devilyn Reilly, who’s battling the power of the Dark within him, will destroy them both along with humanity.
CBS Films has picked up the rights and acquired an accompanying pitch by Patrick Melton and Marcus Dunstan, the duo wrote a slew of the Saw horror movies.
Melton and Dunstan will now write the script, which will use the horror folktale anthology as a jumping off point and incorporate some of the book's short stories, while concentrating on a group of kids who band together to save their town from living nightmares.
I would really, really like for it to be A) good and B) scary.
But... I can't say that I'm not extremely worried that it'll be a dud.
“For a millennium the space for the hotel room existed – undefined,” pronounces Lynch at the top of each chapter. “Mankind captured it and gave it shape and passed through. And sometimes when passing through, they found themselves brushing up against the secret names of truth.” All of Hotel Room‘s episodes play out in one such space in particular, number 603 of New York City’s Railroad Hotel. Each visits it in a different era, though, in typically Lynchian fashion, the hotel’s ageless maid and bellboy exist outside of time.