A Brief History of the Great American Road Trip

I live in Asia, where no few peo­ple express an inter­est in trav­el­ing to my home­land, the Unit­ed States of Amer­i­ca. When I meet such peo­ple, I always give them the same advice: if you go, make sure to take a cross-coun­try road trip. But then I would say that, at least accord­ing to the premise of the PBS Idea Chan­nel video above, “Why Do Amer­i­cans Love Road Trips?” While dri­ving from New York to Louisville, Nashville, and then Philadel­phia, host Mike Rugnetta the­o­rizes about the con­nec­tion between the road trip and the very con­cept of Amer­i­ca. It begins with phys­i­cal suit­abil­i­ty, what with the U.S.’ rel­a­tive­ly low gas prices, amenable ter­rain, and sheer size: “Amer­i­ca is big,” Rugnetta points out. “Some might say too big.”

As Rugnetta dri­ves far­ther, he goes deep­er: for quite a long stretch of U.S. his­to­ry, “progress and mobil­i­ty were peas in a pod, and mobil­i­ty has always been a sub­text of Amer­i­ca’s favorite soci­etal bul­wark, free­dom.” In oth­er words, “Amer­i­ca’s idea of its own awe­some­ness” — and does any word more clear­ly mark mod­ern Amer­i­can speech? — “is very much built on metaphors hav­ing to do with move­ment.”

In the 20th cen­tu­ry, move­ment came to mean cars, espe­cial­ly as the end of the Sec­ond World War and the begin­ning of the 1950s came around, at which time Pres­i­dent Eisen­how­er, “inspired by the awe­some sys­tem of roads he saw in Ger­many,” autho­rized the con­struc­tion of a nation­al high­way sys­tem, the replace­ment for sto­ried but non-com­pre­hen­sive inter­state roads like Route 66.

From then on, the Unit­ed States saw an enor­mous surge in both car own­er­ship, auto-indus­try employ­ment, “the mid­dle class, sub­ur­bia, fast food,” and a host of oth­er phe­nom­e­na still seen as char­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly Amer­i­can. “To say that mod­ern Amer­i­ca was built both by and for the car,” as Rugnetta puts it, “would not be an insane over­state­ment.” But he also notes that the idea of the road trip itself goes back to 1880s Ger­many, when Bertha Benz, wife of Benz Moter­wa­gen founder Karl Benz, took her hus­band’s then-exper­i­men­tal car on a then-ille­gal 66-mile dri­ve through the coun­try­side. The first Amer­i­can road trip was tak­en in 1903 by a doc­tor named Hor­a­tio Jack­son and, as the Rough Guides video above tells it, involved a bet, a dog, and — the whole way from San Fran­cis­co to New York — no sig­nage at all.

Rugnetta also presents a philo­soph­i­cal ques­tion, derived from the Sorites Para­dox: at what point does a “dri­ve” turn into a “road trip?” Does it take a cer­tain num­ber of miles, of gas-tank refills, of road­side attrac­tions? A coast-to-coast dri­ve of the kind pio­neered by Jack­son unques­tion­ably qual­i­fies as a road trip. So does the auto­mo­bile jour­ney tak­en by Dutch­man Hen­ny Hogen­bi­jl in the sum­mer of 1955, his col­or film of which you can see above. Begin­ning with footage of Ams­ter­dam’s Schiphol Air­port, New World Sym­pho­ny shows off the sights Hogen­bi­jl saw while dri­ving from New York to Los Ange­les, with places like Nia­gara Falls, Chica­go, Mount Rush­more, Yel­low­stone Nation­al Park, and Salt Lake City as the stops in between — or the places, to use the phrase Rugnetta cred­its with great impor­tance in Amer­i­can myth, Hogen­bi­jl was just “passin’ through.”

Not long ago, a mod­ern-day Hogen­bi­jl made that great Amer­i­can road trip with the des­ti­na­tions reversed. Like Hogen­bi­jl, he filmed it; unlike Hogen­bi­jl, he filmed not the stops but the dri­ving itself, and every sin­gle minute it took him to get across the Unit­ed States at that. Lucky for the busy view­er, the video com­press­es this eight days of footage into a mere sev­en hours, adding an indi­ca­tor of the state being passed through in the low­er-left cor­ner of the frame. Even sped up, the view­ing expe­ri­ence under­scores a point I try to make to all the hope­ful road-trip­pers I meet on this side of the world: you must dri­ve across Amer­i­ca not just to expe­ri­ence how inter­est­ing the coun­try is, but at the same time how bor­ing it is. Allow me one use that most char­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly Amer­i­can locu­tion when I say that both Amer­i­ca’s inter­est­ing­ness and its bor­ing­ness, as well as its many oth­er qual­i­ties best seen on the road, inspire awe — that is, they’re awe­some.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Why Route 66 Became America’s Most Famous Road

If You Dri­ve Down a Stretch of Route 66, the Road Will Play “Amer­i­ca the Beau­ti­ful”

12 Clas­sic Lit­er­ary Road Trips in One Handy Inter­ac­tive Map

Four Inter­ac­tive Maps Immor­tal­ize the Road Trips That Inspired Jack Kerouac’s On the Road

Down­load Dig­i­tized Copies of The Negro Trav­el­ers’ Green Book, the Pre-Civ­il Rights Guide to Trav­el­ing Safe­ly in the U.S. (1936–66)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

The Sex Pistols Riotous 1978 Tour Through the U.S. South: Watch/Hear Concerts in Dallas, Memphis, Tulsa & More

The Sex Pis­tols “start­ed out as an elab­o­rate Sit­u­a­tion­ist-inspired per­for­mance art piece dreamed up by mega­lo­ma­ni­ac man­ag­er Mal­colm McLaren,” wrote Jonathan Crow in a post here at Open Cul­ture about one of the band’s sto­ried, dis­as­trous final shows in Dal­las of 1978. After begin­ning as the cre­ation of McLaren and part­ner Vivi­enne West­wood, how­ev­er, they “evolved beyond just being a stunt.”

The state­ment is objec­tive­ly true by music his­to­ry stan­dards. The band’s ear­li­est gigs were direct­ly respon­si­ble for almost every major band that took British punk in sub­se­quent post-punk, goth, new wave, dub, etc. direc­tions, includ­ing the Buz­zcocks, Siouxsie and the Ban­shees, The Clash, Joy Divi­sion, Wire, and too many oth­ers to list.

Lat­er came the huge­ly influ­en­tial post-punk of John Lydon’s (for­mer­ly Rot­ten) own project, Pub­lic Image Lim­it­ed, which reflect­ed his seri­ous inter­est in mak­ing exper­i­men­tal, cere­bral, music with oblique lyrics deriv­ing as much from sym­bol­ist poet­ry as the “deep sim­mer­ing well of cul­tur­al dis­con­tent” he’d tapped into with the Pis­tols.

Lydon retired the char­ac­ter of John­ny Rot­ten when the band broke up at the end of their first and last U.S. tour, famous­ly end­ing things at San Francisco’s Win­ter­land Ball­room by sneer­ing “ever get the feel­ing you’ve been cheated?”—a bit­ter com­ment on the band’s col­lapse, its very exis­tence, and a press and audi­ence will­ing to buy the act. No mat­ter how influ­en­tial they may have been, the Sex Pis­tols’ archi­tects always main­tained they were a cyn­i­cal prank to the end.

The “one-time hip­pie haven of the Win­ter­land in San Fran­cis­co,” as Ulti­mate Clas­sic Rock describes it, may have been the per­fect venue for their demise, a final screw you to the self-sat­is­fied 60s rock cul­ture Rot­ten loathed. But it was their tour through Atlanta, Mem­phis, San Anto­nio, Baton Rouge, Tul­sa and the for­mer­ly Jack Ruby-owned Long­horn Ball­room in Dal­las that made the most press, just as McLaren had designed it to do, book­ing coun­try & west­ern venues express­ly to pro­voke, enrage, and scan­dal­ize.

Rot­ten had more com­pli­cat­ed feel­ings about what would become a series of vio­lent spec­ta­cles. He seemed half in on the joke, and half hop­ing that “real peo­ple” out­side of coastal cities would become real fans. “We’re play­ing these cities because these are the peo­ple who will either accept us or hate us,” he said at the time. “They’re not as pre­ten­tious as they are in New York.”

He main­tained in his auto­bi­og­ra­phy that McLaren had also fore­seen the U.S. tour as savvy mar­ket­ing. “It wasn’t a ques­tion of throw­ing the band to the wolves when we chose to just play the South…. We felt that if we were ever going to be tak­en seri­ous­ly in Amer­i­ca, it would be from a base we built down south. The cow­boys seemed to take it for the joke it was meant to be. We weren’t there to destroy their way of life or any­thing like that.”

Of course, he must have seen the U.S. press accuse the band of doing just that before their arrival—corrupting the youth, etc. Did he real­ly hope for a warmer wel­come from “the cow­boys”? Was it all the glo­ri­ous train wreck every­one thinks it was? Reports from eye­wit­ness­es vary wide­ly, as Alt­press and The Dal­las Morn­ing News point out, with some express­ing seri­ous dis­ap­point­ment and oth­ers awe. Noel Monk’s book 12 Days on the Road describes “out­ra­geous behav­ior, and con­certs that fre­quent­ly degen­er­at­ed into near-riots.”

You can see for your­self what those unprece­dent­ed, at the time, shows looked and sound­ed like in the record­ings here from the entire sev­en-city run. (Begun after a can­celled Decem­ber 1977 gig in Pitts­burgh). At the top we have “Anar­chy in the U.K.” from the Jan­u­ary 1978 tour open­er in Atlanta; then audio of the entire show in Mem­phis days lat­er; film from Randy’s Rodeo in San Anto­nio (in which Sid Vicious hits a fan with his bass); audio of the Baton Rouge con­cert; film of the entire per­for­mance at the Long­horn; film from Cain’s Ball­room in Tul­sa, OK, with audio from the Win­ter­land finale, and, final­ly, the Win­ter­land itself.

After their flame-out in the first month of 1978, and Sid’s alleged mur­der of Nan­cy Spun­geon and his over­dose and death, John Lydon “claimed the Pis­tols had ‘killed’ rock and roll,” notes the site Randy’s Rodeo (named for the riotous Texas show fur­ther up). The whole tour “was a per­verse, provoca­tive joke.” McLaren’s “intent was not to sell tick­ets, but to incite con­tro­ver­sy and may­hem.” The band, frac­tious, burned out, and eager to escape McLaren’s machi­na­tions, would have been more than hap­py to make some mon­ey for their trou­ble. Ever get the feel­ing you’ve been cheat­ed?

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Sex Pis­tols Play in Dal­las’ Long­horn Ball­room; Next Show Is Mer­le Hag­gard (1978)

Watch the Sex Pis­tols’ Very Last Con­cert (San Fran­cis­co, 1978)

Mal­colm McLaren: The Quest for Authen­tic Cre­ativ­i­ty

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

How Bicycles Can Revolutionize Our Lives: Case Studies from the United States, Netherlands, China & Britain

A two- (and three- and one-) wheeled rev­o­lu­tion is upon us. Dubbed “micro-mobil­i­ty” by start-up mar­keters and influ­encers, the trend incor­po­rates all sorts of per­son­al means of trans­port. While the buzz may hov­er around elec­tric scoot­ers and skate­boards, the faith­ful bicy­cle still leads the pack, as it has for over a hun­dred years. And advocates—who bike as their pri­ma­ry means of exer­cise, com­mut­ing, and run­ning dai­ly errands—are chal­leng­ing the ortho­dox­ies of car cul­ture.

As an avid cyclist myself, who bikes as often as I can for gro­ceries and oth­er errands, I will admit to a strong bias in their favor. But even I’ve been chal­lenged and sur­prised by what I’ve learned from bik­ing advo­cates like Liz Can­ning, pro­duc­er and nar­ra­tor of a new doc­u­men­tary film, Moth­er­load, a por­trait of the many peo­ple who have cho­sen to use car­go bikes instead of cars for near­ly every­thing.

The film is remark­able for the ordi­nar­i­ness of its sub­jects. As one car­go cyclist, Brent Pat­ter­son of Buf­fa­lo, New York, says, “I’m not an ath­lete. I’m not super­hu­man. I’m just a com­plete­ly nor­mal per­son like you.” The Pat­ter­son fam­i­ly “sold its car,” notes Out­side mag­a­zine, “and trav­els by car­go bike year-round, even in snow­storms.” Anoth­er car­go cyclist in the film, Emi­ly Finch, “carts all six of her kid­dos around on two wheels.” We see car­go cyclists around the world, using bikes as emer­gency trans­port haulers and dai­ly gro­cery-get­ters.

Most of the Amer­i­cans pro­filed live in bike-friend­ly com­mu­ni­ties like Marin Coun­ty, Cal­i­for­nia or Port­land, Ore­gon. But oth­ers, like the Pat­ter­sons, do not, “and not all are as com­fort­ably off as Can­ning,” who retired as a com­mer­cial film­mak­er to raise her kids in bike-friend­ly Fair­fax, CA. “Some had to sell their car or take out a no-inter­est loan in order to afford a car­go bike.” No one seems to have regret­ted the deci­sion.

Read­ers who hail from, or have lived in, places in the world where bike-reliance is the norm may scoff at the pre­sumed nov­el­ty of the idea in Canning’s film. But at one time, even the Netherlands—home of the ubiq­ui­tous Bak­fi­ets—was almost as car-cen­tric as most of the U.S., as Amer­i­can Dan Kois writes in a New York­er essay about how he learned to become bike com­muter in the Nether­lands.

I had assumed that Dutch people’s adept­ness at bik­ing was the result of gen­er­a­tions of inces­sant cycling. In fact, after the Sec­ond World War, the Nether­lands had, like the U.S., become dom­i­nat­ed by cars. Cycling paths were over­tak­en by roads, and neigh­bor­hoods in Ams­ter­dam were razed to make room for high­ways. Between 1950 and 1970, the num­ber of cars in the coun­try explod­ed from about a hun­dred thou­sand to near­ly two and a half mil­lion. Dur­ing that same peri­od, bike use plum­met­ed; in Ams­ter­dam, the per­cent­age of trips made by bike fell from eighty to twen­ty.

That all changed when young activists and par­ents, espe­cial­ly mothers—like the bik­ing moth­ers in Moth­er­load—began protest­ing high num­bers of traf­fic deaths. They took to the streets on their bikes, block­ing traf­fic, run­ning for office, and pres­sur­ing city offi­cials to make infra­struc­ture and pub­lic space safe and accom­mo­dat­ing for bikes. Now, there are more bikes than peo­ple in the Nether­lands, and cars co-exist on roads full of cyclists of all ages and class­es, on their way to work, school, and every­where else.

Dutch dri­vers “look out for cyclists,” writes Kois. “After all, near­ly all of those dri­vers are cyclists them­selves,” using the car for a brief, nec­es­sary out­ing before they get back on their bikes for most every­thing else. Next to Kois’ first-per­son account of his few-months-long sojourn through Delft, we have the glob­al tes­ti­mo­ny of the Bicy­cle Archi­tec­ture Bien­nale, a “show­case of cut­ting edge and high pro­file build­ing designs that are facil­i­tat­ing bicy­cle trav­el and trans­form­ing com­mu­ni­ties around the world.” The exhibits, writes Karen Wong at David Byrne’s Rea­sons to Be Cheer­ful, “point the way to a two-wheeled utopia.”

BYCS, the group respon­si­ble for this well-curat­ed exhi­bi­tion, come from Ams­ter­dam. The projects they fea­ture, how­ev­er, are in Lon­don and Chong­min and Cheng­du, Chi­na. The car­go cyclists in Moth­er­load, and the fero­cious activism of cyclists in places like New York City, despite tremen­dous “bike­lash,” may show Amer­i­cans they don’t need to look abroad to see how bikes could slow­ly dis­place cars as Amer­i­cans’ vehi­cles of choice in some parts of the coun­try. But learn­ing from how oth­er places have reimag­ined their infra­struc­ture could prove nec­es­sary for last­ing change.

Many Amer­i­cans can­not imag­ine life with­out their cars, even if they also have garages full of bikes. Some lash out at cyclists as a threat to their way of life. The coun­try is enor­mous (though we do most dri­ving local­ly); cars serve as modes of transport—for human, plant, ani­mal, and every­thing else—and also as escape pods and sta­tus sym­bols. Canning’s film shows us ordi­nary Amer­i­can men and women get­ting the gump­tion to trade some com­fort and secu­ri­ty for lives of minor adven­ture and eco­log­i­cal sim­plic­i­ty. (And a good many of them still have cars if they need them.)

We also see, in exhi­bi­tions like that pre­viewed in the video above how design prin­ci­ples and pol­i­cy can help make such choic­es eas­i­er and safer for every­one to make. Can­ning point­ed­ly frames her argu­ment in Moth­er­load around cycling’s rad­i­cal his­to­ry. “100 years before the bicy­cle saved me,” she says in the film’s offi­cial trail­er at the top, “it lib­er­at­ed the poor, empow­ered the suf­fragettes, and trans­formed soci­ety faster than any inven­tion in human his­to­ry. It could hap­pen again.”

via Out­side

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The First 100 Years of the Bicy­cle: A 1915 Doc­u­men­tary Shows How the Bike Went from Its Clunky Birth in 1818, to Its Endur­ing Design in 1890

The Art & Sci­ence of Bike Design: A 5‑Part Intro­duc­tion from the Open Uni­ver­si­ty

How Leo Tol­stoy Learned to Ride a Bike at 67, and Oth­er Tales of Life­long Learn­ing

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Make an Adorable Crocheted Freddie Mercury; Download a Free Crochet Pattern Online

Giv­en his pas­sion for his pussy­cats, is it real­ly such a stretch to imag­ine Queen front­man Fred­die Mer­cury pass­ing a qui­et evening at home with a cup of tea and a bas­ket of cro­chet sup­plies?

Tis but a handicrafter’s fan­ta­sy.

Oth­er than a boy­ish inter­est in stamp col­lect­ing, Mer­cury claimed to have no hob­bies, famous­ly telling an inter­view­er who inquired, “I have none. I have a lot of sex. Try and get out of that one!”

Which is not to say sex and cro­chet are mutu­al­ly exclu­sive.

If your cro­chet notions are root­ed in frumpy afghans, lumpy baby sweaters, and 1970s beer can hats, you need to get with the times and pic­ture a church bazaar pop­u­lat­ed exclu­sive­ly by sexy woolen Mer­curys in minia­ture fac­sim­i­les of his Wem­b­ley Sta­di­um era garb.

Moji-Moji Design’s Jan­ice Holmes, a self-taught expert in amigu­ru­mithe art of tiny cro­cheted crea­tures, devised the pat­tern in order to stitch up a spe­cial request for a Queen-lov­ing friend.

The result, com­plete with hairy chest, jack­et buck­les, and a bam­boo skew­er mic stand, was so fab­u­lous that she felt com­pelled to share the pat­tern with the world, in hope that those who took advan­tage of the free down­load would con­sid­er donat­ing to the Mer­cury Phoenix Trust, a char­i­ty that band­mates Bri­an May and Roger Tay­lor and Queen man­ag­er Jim Beach found­ed to fight HIV/AIDS world­wide.

Those who braved the tricky, many-stepped pat­tern were invit­ed to share pho­tos of their final cre­ation on Moji-Moji’s Face­book page. As of last count, there are 21, and it’s fas­ci­nat­ing to note the slight vari­a­tions in eyes, mus­tache, and chest hair.

In keep­ing with amigu­ru­mi tra­di­tion, the afford­able pat­terns in Moji-Moji’s Etsy shop run toward cute ani­mals, cud­dly mon­sters, and sea­son­al favorites like witch­es and elves.

But Fred­die clear­ly stirred some­thing up. Read the com­ments and you’ll find crafters peti­tion­ing Holmes for more music icons like David Bowie and Prince.

Ready to snug­gle up with a cro­chet hook? Down­load Moji-Moji’s free Fred­die Mer­cury ami­garu­mi pat­tern here.

If that’s rather too daunt­ing, ease into the crafti­ness with anoth­er free down­load—Lady Lazy­bones’ far less advanced fold­able cube­craft Fred­die.

Even if you plan on stick­ing with sex as your sole hob­by, please con­sid­er mak­ing a vol­un­tary con­tri­bu­tion to the Mer­cury Phoenix Trust here.

via Boing Boing

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Meet Fred­die Mer­cury and His Faith­ful Feline Friends

Watch Behind-the-Scenes Footage From Fred­die Mercury’s Final Video Per­for­mance

Fred­die Mer­cury Reimag­ined as Com­ic Book Heroes

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Join her in NYC on Mon­day, Octo­ber 7 when her month­ly book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain cel­e­brates the art of Aubrey Beard­s­ley. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Wes Anderson Explains How He Writes and Directs Movies, and What Goes Into His Distinctive Filmmaking Style

“I do feel kind of like I’ve got my own style and voice,” Wes Ander­son says in the Direc­tor’s Chair pro­file video above. Both his fans and his crit­ics will take that as a vast under­state­ment. View­ers in the for­mer group can’t get enough time in his cin­e­mat­ic world, built out of places, cos­tumes, fonts, cul­tur­al arti­facts, and film­mak­ing tech­niques metic­u­lous­ly select­ed and arranged; view­ers in the lat­ter group see all those things as adding up to the same film over and over again. But the man who direct­ed Rush­more, The Roy­al Tenen­baums, and The Grand Budapest Hotel knows exact­ly what he’s doing, as evi­denced by inter­views and clips of him in action. “What­ev­er is com­ing from my imag­i­na­tion is inspired by my back­ground and my own psy­chol­o­gy,” he says. “With­out me con­trol­ling it or choos­ing to, I’m in the movies.”

In a Stu­dio Binder break­down of Ander­son­’s style, SC Lan­nom encap­su­lates what Ander­son does as “direct-direct­ing.” In oth­er words, “laced through­out his films are nuanced pro­duc­tion design ele­ments and visu­al gags, but exe­cut­ed in such a delib­er­ate man­ner that the view­er always ‘catch­es’ these lit­tle east­er eggs that inform our mood.” His audi­ence “knows what he wants them to know,” “sees what he wants them to see,” and “feels what he wants them to feel.” The aver­age Hol­ly­wood hack might use this direc­to­r­i­al super­pow­er to for­mu­la­ic and cyn­i­cal ends, but Ander­son goes his own way. “The Wes Ander­son style is Wes Ander­son him­self,” Lan­nom writes. “A hard-work­ing, thought­ful human who is focused on his imag­i­na­tion. His visu­als are an exten­sion of his own psy­chol­o­gy. Ander­son is those clothes, those Zis­sou Adi­das, those record play­ers… those mem­o­ries.”

Grow­ing up in Texas, Ander­son first dreamed of becom­ing an archi­tect, then a writer. Though he has end­ed up devot­ing his life to film, those ear­ly inter­ests in mas­ter­ing space and nar­ra­tive clear­ly nev­er left him — nor has the porous­ness between imag­i­na­tion and real­i­ty that char­ac­ter­izes child­hood. “Wes Ander­son tells sto­ries from the per­spec­tive of a 12-year-old boy,” Lan­nom writes. “More specif­i­cal­ly, he tells sto­ries from his per­spec­tive as a 12-year-old. His films cap­ture the essence of a board game or sto­ry book, and the world he builds in each film resem­bles a snap­shot from his child­hood.” So do the places that con­sti­tute that world, shot in sym­met­ri­cal com­po­si­tions by his long­time direc­tor of pho­tog­ra­phy Robert Yeo­man: “Even if he is using an estab­lished loca­tion, you get the feel­ing that the whole place was built for the film, and that is not done by acci­dent.”

All this makes Wes Ander­son per­haps the most obvi­ous liv­ing exam­ple of an auteur, the kind of direc­tor who, despite work­ing with count­less col­lab­o­ra­tors, nev­er­the­less leaves an imme­di­ate­ly rec­og­niz­able aes­thet­ic and nar­ra­tive sig­na­ture on all his films. Nat­u­ral­ly, his list of influ­ences includes many auteurs before him, like Alfred Hitch­cock, Stan­ley Kubrick, Mar­tin Scors­ese, and Jean-Luc Godard. And though “learn­ing from Ander­son is one of the most impor­tant things you can do as a film­mak­er,” Lan­nom writes, “repli­cat­ing his style is one of the more ques­tion­able things you can do as a film­mak­er.” Far bet­ter, in oth­er words, to make films that reflect the var­i­ous forces that have shaped you, what­ev­er those forces may be, than to make knock-off Wes Ander­son movies. And how does Wes Ander­son him­self regard the con­cept of the “Wes Ander­son movie”? “The more I think about it, the more con­fused I get.”

via uncrate

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Com­plete Col­lec­tion of Wes Ander­son Video Essays

Wes Anderson’s First Short Film: The Black-and-White, Jazz-Scored Bot­tle Rock­et (1992)

Wes Anderson’s Cin­e­mat­ic Debt to Stan­ley Kubrick Revealed in a Side-By-Side Com­par­i­son

How the Aston­ish­ing Sushi Scene in Wes Anderson’s Isle of Dogs Was Ani­mat­ed: A Time-Lapse of the Month-Long Shoot

Acci­den­tal Wes Ander­son: Every Place in the World with a Wes Ander­son Aes­thet­ic Gets Doc­u­ment­ed by Red­dit

Wes Ander­son Movie Sets Recre­at­ed in Cute, Minia­ture Dio­ra­mas

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

The Coddling of the American Mind: Malcolm Gladwell Leads a Conversation with Jonathan Haidt, Greg Lukianoff & Lenore Skenazy

From the 92nd Street Y in New York City comes a wide-rang­ing con­ver­sa­tion fea­tur­ing Mal­colm Glad­well, Jonathan Haidt (NYU), Greg Lukianoff (Foun­da­tion for Indi­vid­ual Rights in Edu­ca­tion), and Lenore Ske­nazy (founder of the Free-Range Kids move­ment). Here’s a quick sum­ma­ry of the ground they cov­er:

Civ­il dis­course is in decline, with poten­tial­ly dire results for Amer­i­can democ­ra­cy.

On col­lege cam­pus­es across Amer­i­ca, vis­it­ing speak­ers are dis­in­vit­ed, or even shout­ed down, while pro­fes­sors, stu­dents, and admin­is­tra­tors are afraid to talk open­ly, for fear that some­one will take offense. Polit­i­cal dis­cus­sion on social media and tele­vi­sion has devolved into a wave of hyper-par­ti­san noise. A gen­er­a­tion of over­pro­tec­tive par­ents are reluc­tant to let their chil­dren play out­side with­out super­vi­sion. How did we get here? And how can we change the way that we engage with one anoth­er?

Greg Lukianoff and Jonathan Haidt’s The Cod­dling of the Amer­i­can Mind sounds the depths of this gen­er­a­tional cri­sis. Join us for a live­ly dis­cus­sion with the authors, pres­i­dent of the non-prof­it Let Grow and founder of the Free-Range Kids move­ment Lenore Ske­nazy, and #1 New York Times best­seller Mal­colm Glad­well on how we as cit­i­zens can engage with one anoth­er across the polit­i­cal spec­trum.

If it’s not already clear, the con­ver­sa­tion is based on Lukianoff and Haidt’s book The Cod­dling of the Amer­i­can Mind: How Good Inten­tions and Bad Ideas Are Set­ting Up a Gen­er­a­tion for Fail­ure. Ske­nazy is the author of Free-Range Kids, How to Raise Safe, Self-Reliant Chil­dren (With­out Going Nuts with Wor­ry). If you sign up for a free tri­al with Audi­ble, you can down­load copies of both books.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. Or fol­low our posts on Threads, Face­book, BlueSky or Mastodon.

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Nine Things a Woman Couldn’t Do in 1971

As we bar­rel toward the cen­ten­ni­al cel­e­bra­tion of wom­en’s suf­frage in the Unit­ed States, it’s not enough to bone up on the plat­forms of female pri­ma­ry can­di­dates (though that’s an excel­lent start).

A Twit­ter user and self-described Old Crone named Robyn recent­ly urged her fel­low Amer­i­cans to take a good long gan­der at a list of nine free­doms women in the Unit­ed States were not uni­ver­sal­ly grant­ed in 1971, the year Helen Red­dy released the soon-to-be anthem, “I Am Woman,” above.

Even those of us who remem­ber singing along as chil­dren may expe­ri­ence some shock that these facts check out on Snopes.

  1. CREDIT CARDS: Pri­or to the Equal Cred­it Oppor­tu­ni­ty Act of 1974, mar­ried women couldn’t get cred­it cards with­out their hus­bands’ sig­na­tures. Sin­gle women, divorcees, and wid­ows were often required to have a man cosign. The dou­ble stan­dard also meant female appli­cants were fre­quent­ly issued card lim­its up to 50% low­er than that of males who earned iden­ti­cal wages.
  2. PREGNANT WORKERS: The Preg­nan­cy Dis­crim­i­na­tion Act of 1978 pro­tect­ed preg­nant women from being fired because of their impend­ing mater­ni­ty. But it came with a major loop­hole that’s still in need of clos­ing. The lan­guage of the 41-year-old law stip­u­lates that the employ­ers must accom­mo­date preg­nant work­ers only if con­ces­sions are being made for oth­er employ­ees who are “sim­i­lar in their abil­i­ty or inabil­i­ty to work.”
  3. JURY DUTY: In 1975, the Supreme Court declared it con­sti­tu­tion­al­ly unac­cept­able for states to deny women the oppor­tu­ni­ty to serve on juries. This is an are­na where we’ve all come a long way, baby. It’s now com­plete­ly nor­mal for men to be excused from jury duty as the pri­ma­ry care­givers of their young chil­dren.
  4. MILITARY COMBAT: In 2013, for­mer Sec­re­tary of Defense Leon Panet­ta and for­mer Chair­man of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Gen­er­al Mar­tin Dempsey announced that the Pen­ta­gon was rescind­ing the direct com­bat exclu­sion rule that barred women from serv­ing in artillery, armor, infantry and oth­er such bat­tle roles. At the time of the announce­ment, the mil­i­tary had already seen more than 130 female sol­diers killed, and 800 wound­ed on the front­lines in Iraq and Afghanistan.
  5. IVY LEAGUE ADMISSIONS: Those who con­ceive of elite col­leges as breed­ing grounds for sex­u­al assault protests and Title IX activism would do well to remem­ber that Colum­bia Col­lege didn’t admit women until 1983, fol­low­ing in the mar­gin­al­ly deep­er foot­steps of oth­ers in the Ivy League—Harvard (1977), Dart­mouth (1972), Brown (1971), Yale (1969), and Prince­ton (1969). These days, sin­gle sex high­er edu­ca­tion options for women far out­num­ber those for men, but the net­work­ing pow­er and increased earn­ing poten­tial an Ivy League degree con­fers remains the same.
  6. WORKPLACE HARASSMENT: In 1977, women who’d been sex­u­al­ly harassed in the work­place received con­fir­ma­tion in three sep­a­rate tri­als that they could sue their employ­ers under Title VII of the 1964 Civ­il Rights Act. In 1998, the Supreme Court ruled that same-sex harass­ment was also unlaw­ful. In between was the tele­vi­sion event of 1991, Ani­ta Hill’s shock­ing tes­ti­mo­ny against her for­mer boss, U.S. Supreme Court jus­tice (then nom­i­nee) Clarence Thomas.
  7. SPOUSAL CONSENT: In 1993, spousal rape was offi­cial­ly out­lawed in all 50 states. Not tonight hon­ey, or you’ll have a headache in the form of your wife’s legal back up.
  8. HEALTH INSURANCE: In 2010, the Patient Pro­tec­tion and Afford­able Care Act decreed that any health insur­ance plan estab­lished after March of that year could not charge women high­er pre­mi­ums than men for iden­ti­cal ben­e­fits. This was bad news for women who got their health insur­ance through their jobs, and whose employ­ers were grand­fa­thered into dis­crim­i­na­to­ry plans estab­lished pri­or to 2010. Of course, that’s all ancient his­to­ry now.
  9. CONTRACEPTIVES: In 1972, the Supreme Court made it legal for all cit­i­zens to pos­sess birth con­trol, irre­spec­tive of mar­i­tal sta­tus, stat­ing “if the right of pri­va­cy means any­thing, it is the right of the indi­vid­ual, mar­ried or sin­gle, to be free from unwar­rant­ed gov­ern­men­tal intru­sion into mat­ters so fun­da­men­tal­ly affect­ing a per­son as the deci­sion whether to bear or beget a child.” (It’s worth not­ing, how­ev­er, that in 1972, states could still con­sti­tu­tion­al­ly pro­hib­it and pun­ish sex out­side of mar­riage.)

Fem­i­nism is NOT just for oth­er women.

- Old Crone

Via Kot­tke

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Library of Con­gress Dig­i­tizes Over 16,000 Pages of Let­ters & Speech­es from the Women’s Suf­frage Move­ment, and You Can Help Tran­scribe Them

MAKERS Tells the Sto­ry of 50 Years of Progress for Women in the U.S.

Women’s Hid­den Con­tri­bu­tions to Mod­ern Genet­ics Get Revealed by New Study: No Longer Will They Be Buried in the Foot­notes

A Space of Their Own, a New Online Data­base, Will Fea­ture Works by 600+ Over­looked Female Artists from the 15th-19th Cen­turies

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inkyzine.  Join her in NYC on Mon­day, Octo­ber 7 when her month­ly book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domaincel­e­brates the art of Aubrey Beard­s­ley. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Why Time Seems to Fly By As You Get Older, and How to Slow It Down: A Scientific Explanation by Neuroscientist David Eagleman

The Bud­dha, it’s said, strug­gled might­i­ly with three specters of adulthood—aging, sick­ness, and death—when reflec­tions on mor­tal­i­ty harshed his hedo­nis­tic life as a prince. His “intox­i­ca­tion with life entire­ly dropped away,” the sto­ries say, when he reflect­ed on its pass­ing. Noth­ing cured his fatal unease until a mem­o­ry from child­hood arose unbid­den: of stop­ping time by qui­et­ly sit­ting under a rose-apple tree.

In anoth­er ver­sion of this sto­ry, Mar­cel Proust dis­cov­ered time­less­ness baked in a cook­ie. His potent mem­o­ries of madeleines also came from child­hood. As he recalled “the taste of tea and cake,” he writes, “at once the vicis­si­tudes of life had become indif­fer­ent to me, its dis­as­ters innocu­ous, its brevi­ty illu­so­ry …. I had ceased now to feel mediocre, acci­den­tal, mor­tal.”

Neu­ro­sci­en­tist David Eagle­man also invokes a child­hood mem­o­ry in his dis­cus­sion of time and aging, in the BBC video above. It is also a mem­o­ry res­o­nant with a remark­able phys­i­cal detail: red brick pave­ment hurtling toward him as he falls from the roof of a house, expe­ri­enc­ing what must have been a ter­ri­fy­ing descent in slow motion. Quite a dif­fer­ent expe­ri­ence from com­muning with trees and eat­ing tea cakes, but maybe the con­tent of a child­hood mem­o­ry is irrel­e­vant to its tem­po­ral dimen­sions.

What we can all remem­ber is that along with impa­tience and dis­tractibil­i­ty, child­hood seems rich with care­free, absorp­tive lan­guor (or moments of slow-motion pan­ic). Psy­chol­o­gists have indeed shown in sev­er­al stud­ies that adults, espe­cial­ly those over the age of 40, per­ceive time as mov­ing faster than it did when they were chil­dren. Why?

Because time is a “psy­cho­log­i­cal con­struct,” says Eagle­man, and can vary not just between ages and cul­tures, but also between indi­vid­ual con­scious­ness­es. “It can be dif­fer­ent in your head and my head,” he says. “Your brain is locked in silence and dark­ness inside the vault of your skull.” In order to “fig­ure out what’s going on out­side,” it’s got to do “a lot of edit­ing tricks.” One trick is to con­vince us that we’re liv­ing in the moment, when the moment hap­pened half a sec­ond in the past.

But we can notice that gap when we’re faced with nov­el­ty, because the brain has to work hard­er to process new infor­ma­tion, and it cre­ates thick­er descrip­tions in the mem­o­ry. All of this addi­tion­al pro­cess­ing, Eagle­man says, seems to take more time, so we per­ceive new expe­ri­ences as hap­pen­ing in a kind of slow motion (or remem­ber them that way). That includes so many expe­ri­ences in our child­hood as well as emer­gency sit­u­a­tions in which we have to nav­i­gate a chal­leng­ing new real­i­ty very quick­ly.

As writer Charles Bukows­ki once said, “as you live many years, things take on a repeat…. You keep see­ing the same thing over and over again.” The brain can coast on famil­iar­i­ty and expend lit­tle ener­gy gen­er­at­ing per­cep­tion. We retain few­er detailed mem­o­ries of recent events, and they seem to have flown by us. The rem­e­dy, says Eagle­man, is to seek nov­el­ty. (You thought he was going to say “mind­ful­ness”?) Wear your watch on a dif­fer­ent wrist, change the way you brush your teeth….

Mun­dane exam­ples, but the point remains: we need new and var­ied expe­ri­ences to slow our sense of time. Rou­tine lack of nov­el­ty in adult­hood may be the pri­ma­ry rea­son that “our ear­ly years,” write psy­chol­o­gists James Broad­way and Brit­taney San­doval write at Sci­en­tif­ic Amer­i­can,“tend to be rel­a­tive­ly over­rep­re­sent­ed in our auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal mem­o­ry and, on reflec­tion, seem to have last­ed longer.”

They can also, for that rea­son, seem all the sweet­er. But nos­tal­gia, how­ev­er tempt­ing, can’t take the place of going new places, meet­ing new peo­ple, read­ing new books, hear­ing new music, see­ing new films, and so on and so forth—and there­by effec­tive­ly slow­ing down time.

via Aeon

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Secret Pow­ers of Time

Why Time Seems to Speed Up as We Get Old­er: What the Research Says

How to Read Many More Books in a Year: Watch a Short Doc­u­men­tary Fea­tur­ing Some of the World’s Most Beau­ti­ful Book­stores

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

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