I always have a bit of trepidation about a new Wes Anderson movie, mainly because I love “Rushmore” and “Royal Tenenbaums” so much and many of Anderson’s later movies haven’t always quite hit me right. I saw “Moonrise Kingdom” yesterday to start the Memorial Day weekend, though, and the romantic and former scout in me couldn’t help but love it. I like the New Yorker review’s take on the film’s transcendent themes: What makes the film thrillingly different—in content and in affect, in emotional energy and in visual imagination—is its metaphysical and religious element. There’s an expressly transcendent theme in “Moonrise Kingdom” that raises the tender and joyous story of young lovers on the run to a spiritual adventure. The moral vision of the world, which was always implicit and latent in Anderson’s other films, here bursts out as a distinctive, ecstatic, visionary new cinematic dimension. Anderson has always been far more than just an exquisite stylist—his style is an essential part of a consistent spiritual vision. But in “Moonrise Kingdom,” his world view is projected beyond personal experience into a cosmic fantasy. It’s Anderson’s own counter-Scripture, a vision of a moral order, ordained from on high, that challenges the official version instilled by society at large—and he embodies it in images of an apt sublimity (as well as an aptly self-deprecating humor).
I always have a bit of trepidation about a new Wes Anderson movie, mainly because I love “Rushmore” and “Royal Tenenbaums” so much and many of Anderson’s later movies haven’t always quite hit me right. I saw “Moonrise Kingdom” yesterday to start the Memorial Day weekend, though, and the romantic and former scout in me couldn’t help but love it. I like the New Yorker review’s take on the film’s transcendent themes: What makes the film thrillingly different—in content and in affect, in emotional energy and in visual imagination—is its metaphysical and religious element. There’s an expressly transcendent theme in “Moonrise Kingdom” that raises the tender and joyous story of young lovers on the run to a spiritual adventure. The moral vision of the world, which was always implicit and latent in Anderson’s other films, here bursts out as a distinctive, ecstatic, visionary new cinematic dimension. Anderson has always been far more than just an exquisite stylist—his style is an essential part of a consistent spiritual vision. But in “Moonrise Kingdom,” his world view is projected beyond personal experience into a cosmic fantasy. It’s Anderson’s own counter-Scripture, a vision of a moral order, ordained from on high, that challenges the official version instilled by society at large—and he embodies it in images of an apt sublimity (as well as an aptly self-deprecating humor).
I always have a bit of trepidation about a new Wes Anderson movie, mainly because I love “Rushmore” and “Royal Tenenbaums” so much and many of Anderson’s later movies haven’t always quite hit me right. I saw “Moonrise Kingdom” yesterday to start the Memorial Day weekend, though, and the romantic and former scout in me couldn’t help but love it. I like the New Yorker review’s take on the film’s transcendent themes: What makes the film thrillingly different—in content and in affect, in emotional energy and in visual imagination—is its metaphysical and religious element. There’s an expressly transcendent theme in “Moonrise Kingdom” that raises the tender and joyous story of young lovers on the run to a spiritual adventure. The moral vision of the world, which was always implicit and latent in Anderson’s other films, here bursts out as a distinctive, ecstatic, visionary new cinematic dimension. Anderson has always been far more than just an exquisite stylist—his style is an essential part of a consistent spiritual vision. But in “Moonrise Kingdom,” his world view is projected beyond personal experience into a cosmic fantasy. It’s Anderson’s own counter-Scripture, a vision of a moral order, ordained from on high, that challenges the official version instilled by society at large—and he embodies it in images of an apt sublimity (as well as an aptly self-deprecating humor).
I always have a bit of trepidation about a new Wes Anderson movie, mainly because I love “Rushmore” and “Royal Tenenbaums” so much and many of Anderson’s later movies haven’t always quite hit me right. I saw “Moonrise Kingdom” yesterday to start the Memorial Day weekend, though, and the romantic and former scout in me couldn’t help but love it. I like the New Yorker review’s take on the film’s transcendent themes: What makes the film thrillingly different—in content and in affect, in emotional energy and in visual imagination—is its metaphysical and religious element. There’s an expressly transcendent theme in “Moonrise Kingdom” that raises the tender and joyous story of young lovers on the run to a spiritual adventure. The moral vision of the world, which was always implicit and latent in Anderson’s other films, here bursts out as a distinctive, ecstatic, visionary new cinematic dimension. Anderson has always been far more than just an exquisite stylist—his style is an essential part of a consistent spiritual vision. But in “Moonrise Kingdom,” his world view is projected beyond personal experience into a cosmic fantasy. It’s Anderson’s own counter-Scripture, a vision of a moral order, ordained from on high, that challenges the official version instilled by society at large—and he embodies it in images of an apt sublimity (as well as an aptly self-deprecating humor).
I always have a bit of trepidation about a new Wes Anderson movie, mainly because I love “Rushmore” and “Royal Tenenbaums” so much and many of Anderson’s later movies haven’t always quite hit me right. I saw “Moonrise Kingdom” yesterday to start the Memorial Day weekend, though, and the romantic and former scout in me couldn’t help but love it. I like the New Yorker review’s take on the film’s transcendent themes: What makes the film thrillingly different—in content and in affect, in emotional energy and in visual imagination—is its metaphysical and religious element. There’s an expressly transcendent theme in “Moonrise Kingdom” that raises the tender and joyous story of young lovers on the run to a spiritual adventure. The moral vision of the world, which was always implicit and latent in Anderson’s other films, here bursts out as a distinctive, ecstatic, visionary new cinematic dimension. Anderson has always been far more than just an exquisite stylist—his style is an essential part of a consistent spiritual vision. But in “Moonrise Kingdom,” his world view is projected beyond personal experience into a cosmic fantasy. It’s Anderson’s own counter-Scripture, a vision of a moral order, ordained from on high, that challenges the official version instilled by society at large—and he embodies it in images of an apt sublimity (as well as an aptly self-deprecating humor).
I always have a bit of trepidation about a new Wes Anderson movie, mainly because I love “Rushmore” and “Royal Tenenbaums” so much and many of Anderson’s later movies haven’t always quite hit me right. I saw “Moonrise Kingdom” yesterday to start the Memorial Day weekend, though, and the romantic and former scout in me couldn’t help but love it. I like the New Yorker review’s take on the film’s transcendent themes: What makes the film thrillingly different—in content and in affect, in emotional energy and in visual imagination—is its metaphysical and religious element. There’s an expressly transcendent theme in “Moonrise Kingdom” that raises the tender and joyous story of young lovers on the run to a spiritual adventure. The moral vision of the world, which was always implicit and latent in Anderson’s other films, here bursts out as a distinctive, ecstatic, visionary new cinematic dimension. Anderson has always been far more than just an exquisite stylist—his style is an essential part of a consistent spiritual vision. But in “Moonrise Kingdom,” his world view is projected beyond personal experience into a cosmic fantasy. It’s Anderson’s own counter-Scripture, a vision of a moral order, ordained from on high, that challenges the official version instilled by society at large—and he embodies it in images of an apt sublimity (as well as an aptly self-deprecating humor).
I always have a bit of trepidation about a new Wes Anderson movie, mainly because I love “Rushmore” and “Royal Tenenbaums” so much and many of Anderson’s later movies haven’t always quite hit me right. I saw “Moonrise Kingdom” yesterday to start the Memorial Day weekend, though, and the romantic and former scout in me couldn’t help but love it. I like the New Yorker review’s take on the film’s transcendent themes: What makes the film thrillingly different—in content and in affect, in emotional energy and in visual imagination—is its metaphysical and religious element. There’s an expressly transcendent theme in “Moonrise Kingdom” that raises the tender and joyous story of young lovers on the run to a spiritual adventure. The moral vision of the world, which was always implicit and latent in Anderson’s other films, here bursts out as a distinctive, ecstatic, visionary new cinematic dimension. Anderson has always been far more than just an exquisite stylist—his style is an essential part of a consistent spiritual vision. But in “Moonrise Kingdom,” his world view is projected beyond personal experience into a cosmic fantasy. It’s Anderson’s own counter-Scripture, a vision of a moral order, ordained from on high, that challenges the official version instilled by society at large—and he embodies it in images of an apt sublimity (as well as an aptly self-deprecating humor).
I always have a bit of trepidation about a new Wes Anderson movie, mainly because I love “Rushmore” and “Royal Tenenbaums” so much and many of Anderson’s later movies haven’t always quite hit me right. I saw “Moonrise Kingdom” yesterday to start the Memorial Day weekend, though, and the romantic and former scout in me couldn’t help but love it. I like the New Yorker review’s take on the film’s transcendent themes: What makes the film thrillingly different—in content and in affect, in emotional energy and in visual imagination—is its metaphysical and religious element. There’s an expressly transcendent theme in “Moonrise Kingdom” that raises the tender and joyous story of young lovers on the run to a spiritual adventure. The moral vision of the world, which was always implicit and latent in Anderson’s other films, here bursts out as a distinctive, ecstatic, visionary new cinematic dimension. Anderson has always been far more than just an exquisite stylist—his style is an essential part of a consistent spiritual vision. But in “Moonrise Kingdom,” his world view is projected beyond personal experience into a cosmic fantasy. It’s Anderson’s own counter-Scripture, a vision of a moral order, ordained from on high, that challenges the official version instilled by society at large—and he embodies it in images of an apt sublimity (as well as an aptly self-deprecating humor).
I always have a bit of trepidation about a new Wes Anderson movie, mainly because I love “Rushmore” and “Royal Tenenbaums” so much and many of Anderson’s later movies haven’t always quite hit me right. I saw “Moonrise Kingdom” yesterday to start the Memorial Day weekend, though, and the romantic and former scout in me couldn’t help but love it. I like the New Yorker review’s take on the film’s transcendent themes: What makes the film thrillingly different—in content and in affect, in emotional energy and in visual imagination—is its metaphysical and religious element. There’s an expressly transcendent theme in “Moonrise Kingdom” that raises the tender and joyous story of young lovers on the run to a spiritual adventure. The moral vision of the world, which was always implicit and latent in Anderson’s other films, here bursts out as a distinctive, ecstatic, visionary new cinematic dimension. Anderson has always been far more than just an exquisite stylist—his style is an essential part of a consistent spiritual vision. But in “Moonrise Kingdom,” his world view is projected beyond personal experience into a cosmic fantasy. It’s Anderson’s own counter-Scripture, a vision of a moral order, ordained from on high, that challenges the official version instilled by society at large—and he embodies it in images of an apt sublimity (as well as an aptly self-deprecating humor).

I always have a bit of trepidation about a new Wes Anderson movie, mainly because I love “Rushmore” and “Royal Tenenbaums” so much and many of Anderson’s later movies haven’t always quite hit me right. I saw “Moonrise Kingdom” yesterday to start the Memorial Day weekend, though, and the romantic and former scout in me couldn’t help but love it. I like the New Yorker review’s take on the film’s transcendent themes:

What makes the film thrillingly different—in content and in affect, in emotional energy and in visual imagination—is its metaphysical and religious element. There’s an expressly transcendent theme in “Moonrise Kingdom” that raises the tender and joyous story of young lovers on the run to a spiritual adventure. The moral vision of the world, which was always implicit and latent in Anderson’s other films, here bursts out as a distinctive, ecstatic, visionary new cinematic dimension. Anderson has always been far more than just an exquisite stylist—his style is an essential part of a consistent spiritual vision. But in “Moonrise Kingdom,” his world view is projected beyond personal experience into a cosmic fantasy. It’s Anderson’s own counter-Scripture, a vision of a moral order, ordained from on high, that challenges the official version instilled by society at large—and he embodies it in images of an apt sublimity (as well as an aptly self-deprecating humor).

(via branduponthebrain)

“Founders tend to pride themselves on being action-oriented and optimistic—necessary traits, indeed. A founder’s passion is essential to launching a startup, but it can become deadly at almost every step. Likewise, founders’ natural biases—toward optimism over realism, toward instinct over systematic planning, toward strong attachment to their ideas, their startups, and their employees over dispassionate reasoning—often turn on them.

Noam Wasserman: The Founder’s Dilemmas: Anticipating and Avoiding the Pitfalls That Can Sink a Startup (via Findings.com)

I think everyone who is thinking about even working for a startup should read this book.

iOS UI Proportions (from Principia Arbiter: New Visual Proportions for the iOS User Interface, via Timoni West) One thing I’ve noticed in a lot of custom iOS UIs (particularly ones designed by engineers) is a lack of attention to proportions. As this diagram demonstrates, the standard iOS UI has a visual rhythm—a major rhythm of 44 pixels and a minor rhythm of 11 pixels to be exact. If you work within this system for your sizing, spacing, and padding, your app will generally look and feel harmoniously iOS-like, even if the UI is heavily custom. If you don’t, your app will feel subtly off (as in the iPod playlist screen example given in the article).

iOS UI Proportions (from Principia Arbiter: New Visual Proportions for the iOS User Interface, via Timoni West)

One thing I’ve noticed in a lot of custom iOS UIs (particularly ones designed by engineers) is a lack of attention to proportions. As this diagram demonstrates, the standard iOS UI has a visual rhythm—a major rhythm of 44 pixels and a minor rhythm of 11 pixels to be exact. If you work within this system for your sizing, spacing, and padding, your app will generally look and feel harmoniously iOS-like, even if the UI is heavily custom. If you don’t, your app will feel subtly off (as in the iPod playlist screen example given in the article).

“When I made Dune, I didn’t have final cut. It was a huge, huge sadness, because I felt I had sold out, and on top of that, the film was a failure at the box office. If you do what you believe in and have a failure, that’s one thing: you can still live with yourself. But if you don’t, it’s like dying twice. It’s very, very painful.
David Lynch in Catching the Big Fish
“Look, I love programming. I also believe programming is important … in the right context, for some people. But so are a lot of skills. I would no more urge everyone to learn programming than I would urge everyone to learn plumbing.

Jeff Atwood, “Please Don’t Learn To Code” (via evan)

I’ve been a bit reluctant to write about it for fear of sounding like an elitist spoilsport, but something has always rubbed me just slightly the wrong way about the current “everyone should learn to program!” meme. One one hand, I absolutely agree with Whitney McNamara that a certain amount of programming savvy is essential for managers in the tech industry. And I’ve long been of the opinion that schools should teach all kids some form of programming because, as Steve Jobs observed, programming teaches you how to think. So of course I would never discourage anyone who sincerely wants to learn how to program.

I guess the problem for me is that I perceive a slight flipness to a lot of people’s “I’m learning to code!” declarations—as if it’s just another entrepreneurial skill you can pick up on the fly, like learning to pitch VCs or read term sheets. I’ve been programming since I was in high school (well, really since I was a kid if you count C64 BASIC), I studied programming as a CS student in college, learned at the feet of some true masters at Apple, and I can tell you with some certainty that it’s only been in the last three or four years that I’ve been really, truly good at it. My worry is that a lot of startup types will learn enough through “code school” initiatives to think they “know” programming, but not enough to really appreciate the difference between programming and engineering (a difference I think is already a bit under appreciated in startupland).

By all means, learn enough programming to put together a prototype and have a better perspective on hiring and managing engineers. Just don’t mistake a foothold in the world of coding for true engineering expertise.

“Aphorisms are essentially an aristocratic genre of writing. The aphorist does not argue or explain, he asserts; and implicit in his assertion is a conviction that he is wiser and more intelligent than his readers.

W.H. Auden (via brysonian)

It’s as if Auden anticipated the genre of “glib startup advice” blogging.

(via rickwebb)