A beautiful morning to you all, search from our other tentacled friends in the Mediterranean sea. They may not have brains but this one seems to have a heart on display.

A piece from Yoshitaka Amano‘s book “Hiten” serves as a reminder of seasons, while comrade Nadya and I are being scorched by heinous 80 degree November heat here in Angel City. Ah yes, I vaguely recall something about death and rebirth, changes in temperature, nature’s mystery and its cycles changing gears – that sort of thing. It’s fuzzy, like a long-lost dream, really. Until weather takes mercy on us I’ll indulge in all things that remind me of what Autumn and Winter are meant to feel like. At times like these I really miss Moscow. Here’s hoping that today few of us are frying like gutted fish on yellow California pavement and for a swift arrival of rain, too.

The Einstein Robot isn’t new – a creation of Hanson Robotics, he was revealed at the 2006 NextFest, has been on the cover of Wired, etc. He’s downright famous. While some might find this little guy creepy, I happen to love him. But not without a bittersweetness – it makes me sincerely sad to know that in Einstein’s time we didn’t have the technology to preserve his head [+ brain] and stick it on a robot. And maybe make him fly, while we’re at it. He’d be powerful, zoom around, invent, solve. It just isn’t fair!

Oh, irony.

Click below for a video of Einstein-bot in action.

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Rhythmic gymnastics, as I’ve suddenly come realize, are possibly the ultimate hotness in sports, though I’d prefer it without the ribbon. But that’s not all! I see club hit potential – just look at those dramatic flowing gestures, practically reaching for a smoky club ceiling, interspersed with industrial-ish angular sharp movements. I’d like to have seen Ukrainian gymnast Natalia break these moves out at Perversion back when it was still bumpin’ – she could have been an instant superstar.

Also see: Is Ukraine prime minister secretly a goth? 

“When I consider what Japanese culture is like, the answer is that it all is subculture. Therefore, art is unnecessary.” – Takashi Murakami

It’s easy to discount Takashi Murakami’s work as pure design – the explosion in his popularity has led him to work with rapper Kanye West and the Luis Vuitton label, both pinnacles of pop-consumer culture in their right. However, even five minutes within the (c)Murakami exhibit at MOCA will put an end any such assumption.

Seeing this art full-scale in all its Technicolor glory, hundreds of manga eyes, dripping fangs and rainbow vomit exploding from fields of flat color made me actually wish I were under the influence of psychedelics, yet grateful I was not. Video projections, massive acrylic sculptures and canvases with deranged cartoon bears ballooning into grotesque monsters, surrounded by grinning daises that look almost exactly like digital prints because of precision with which they’re painted. This is undoubtedly the work of an artist, despite the fact that Takashi Murakami rarely paints these works himself. While he remains in charge of all his art and products, the actual work is done by other artists in his Warhol-style factory.

Some of us occasionally think we should rid ourselves of anything non-black or grey and wear only things resembling a uniform. It happens – I’ve had this conversation with friends, even – usually they’re just fashionable people tired of thinking about getting dressed.

We fantasize about the ease with which we’d face each day, choosing only between a pant suit and a skirt suit with plain heels or boots, abandoning all other options in favor of utilitarian ease. Reading about Cayce Pollard’s minimal wardrobe in Gibson’s Pattern Recognition cemented this secret desire some years ago. Though here I shamefully failed to comply with the Cayce Pollard Unit code and forgot to remove the annoying red tag on the outside of my coat.

The possibility of such simplicity is endlessly appealing, but, every time I feel resolved and seriously consider executing this, I find socks and things that match these socks. Then I remember why dressing up is fun and how I actually love the way 4+ inch platform sneakers make me look. Unfortunate, perhaps, but true.

© Eric Lafforgue

I’ve been following Eric Lafforgue and his ingenious eye on flickr since I joined. This portrait is part of his latest trip’s effort. I can’t stop looking at her black-painted fingers, almost resembling negative space gloves, the kohl-lined eyes, mismatched powder and layered veils. The warm glow behind her, presumably candles and something light green just out of frame almost create a familiarity but her outbound gaze signals otherwise.More no less impressive images beyond the jump.

The Internet does bear strange fruit. While trying to find some of my favorite works by Otto Dix for you, I came across a fake Otto Dix diary. Presented as a work of fiction by the author, it begins with a disclaimer which is immediately followed by a note from a fictional translator, intended to immerse the reader. I was curious but as I read uncertainty set in.

You’ve probably heard of Molly Crabapple – this statuesque damsel is a muse, cheeky illustrator, and mastermind behind the Doctor Sketchy’s cabaret life drawing phenomenon. After conquering audiences with her wit, drive and various artistic endeavors in addition to her Rainy Day Coloring book, Miss Molly has spawned another creation! A brave mercenary ever-expanding her field of practice, she’s ventured into the webcomics realm with author and co-conspirator John Leavitt. Behold, Backstage – the adventures of gossip-mongers/failed vaudevillians, Johnny Panama And Elizabeth Delancy. As reporters for the yellow tabloid “Backstage” Johnny and Elizabeth report on Anarchist dance hall numbers, debauched uptown parties, and where to find the cheapest liquor in town..I’m looking forward to watching the story unfold on Act-i-vate, especially since it’s promised to “romp through sex, drugs, and murder”. With Molly’s drawing style and filthy humor on board, it’s sure to be fantastic. Let the seedy fun begin!

I’m lucky to have not one but two Russian grandmas. Every so often I crawl out of my home, cursing and half-blinded by unwelcome sunlight, shedding the paint-stained jumpsuit in exchange for something nice to pay a visit. Ever since the first drop of dye touched my hair maybe 13 years ago, I’ve been given the business. This, I imagine, is something many of us share, the nagging question, the hovering “When”. When will you go back to your natural hair color? When will you take out that lip ring? When will that ink wash off your skin? WHEN WHEN WHEN. I’ve tried asking myself too but the answer always comes back the same – quite possibly never.

Age is slowly decreasing in importance even now. Research, life extension, better cosmetic surgery – our options are evolving. I’m not inspired by the plastic buffoons of Hollywood, instead I look to people I’ve actually met – take inventor, writer and wearer of many hats Tom Jennings for instance; a brilliant ageless creature, tattooed, pierced and stylish, striped socks and all. And what about Marchesa Luisa Cassati or Betsey Johnson or other people who overflow with creativity and, sequentially, vitality and remain outside the tired norm despite their age?

So how do we explain “never” and “there’s no reason to”? I can hardly explain the Internet, in fact most of my life is led in what seems to them like another plane of existence. Not a new question by any means, but how do we explain an entire culture, developed and thriving entirely outside of the elderly’s frame of reference? As a possible solution, I’m entertaining an idea of a full presentation with a laptop and a projector. A crash course on alternative culture. Will grandmas approve?