Artisanal, a word that fought early in his career to ensure recognition of craftsmen for their important contributions to society before later being drafted into the creation of a worldwide gourmet branding glut, died Wednesday at his brownstone in Brooklyn overlooking a small gourmet mayonnaise store. At best estimates, he was approximately 474 years old. Cause of death is unknown at this time, but it’s suspected that he simply stopped being artisanal, or, perhaps, people stopped being able to identify him as such because no one knows what that word means anymore.
The Hollow Crown full trailer for BBC
Literally every conversation Sam and I have had for, like, two months now has included a moment where we remind each other how awesome the Henriad is going to be.
So fucking awesome, in case you were wondering.
The 3-year-olds did some amazing chalk drawings this morning.
The musicians at Preservation Hall in New Orleans got so tired of playing it that the sign announcing the fee schedule ran $1 for standard requests, $2 for unusual requests, and $5 for “The Saints”. (This was in early 1960s dollars. By 2012 the price had gone up to $20.)
Let me just leave with you this observation. When art is successful, it unavoidably becomes a business. The question, then, is whether artists have an inherent right to control the limits of their business and how it relates to the growth of their art. The answer, I am convinced, is that artists do have a right to that control.
Oh, lookit, there’s a Grammy.
Our guy sings really fucking good, too.
I tried to sing it like it was 1943 and somebody had just come in and said, ‘Here’s a new song.’ I tried to sing it as if it were the first time.