I could be girl Jack Lemmon

I’ve been watching New Girl. I feel like I should hate it but I don’t.

Stuff like this means I don’t really stand a chance when it comes to hating:

Cece: Who did you tell me was your perfect man?
Jess: Walter Matthau in Grumpy Old Men. I could be girl Jack Lemmon.

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Sharp as a tack

Yesterday we caught the last day of the Edgar Martins exhibition at The Wapping Project. Afterwards we drank Guinness to calm our nerves. “The Time Machine: An Incomplete and Semi-Objective Survey of Hydropower Stations” is exquisite, hyperreal and collage-like, with an intricate and detailed beauty that leaves your eyes achey. IMAX screen style, you swivel your head trying to take it all in, but you can’t.

The majority of the images show us a future that fell all too quickly into the past, now a lumbering, beautiful beast lacking the compactness of what the future entails but, damn man, the forms themselves are immense, the symmetry evokes a familiarity that makes you want to climb inside but Martins won’t let us in – there’s no room for man here, it’s all about the machines that man made.

The image below doesn’t do the work justice. I swear, there’s something almost holy about it.

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