While tech and “the internet” is totally my jam the role of producer of a certain show has fallen to me. This show is called “THE CUTE SHOW” and it comprises 3 – 5 minutes of #cuteporn.
Here is a new episode, to be honest I think the host is wayyyy cuter then the animals but hey, there is no accounting for taste.
See all the fun at – http://www.vice.com/the-cute-show/sugar-gliders
See the rest of the Cute Show eps here and if you have any suggestions send them to me at erin at vice dot com.
x
“…as our area of knowledge grows, so does the perimeter of our ignorance.” via @neil degrasse tyson.
It’s not everyday that a link gets sent your way that makes your crack up and shriek like hyena amongst your aggro coworkers, but luckily today was that day. For laughs a-plenty check out this vid.
via Laura Willcox / Emily Axford
For more visit Captain Hippo
Greetings!
I am currently producing a short film entitled “PICNIC TABLE.” I am in charge of makin’ some dollar bills for the film and I decided that doing a Kickstarter would be the best best.
The film is super indie/quirky/weirdo land and I am in love with it. I’m posting this on my website to try and notify people about the project and how and where to donate.
I can send you the script if you would like.
Here is the link: http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/679242610/picnic-table (watch the vid)
Any amount helps and I would be super super appreciative!
Sending around via Facebook or Twitter also help.
Are you a Black Keys fan? Lonely Boy is raging in my headphones, what a barn burner.
Email me erinleecarr at gmail dot com if you have any questions.
Yesterday MOTHERBOARD and Co had a screening for the long awaited Thorium Documentary (out tomorrow on Motherboard and next week on Vice.com). Shout out to Hugo Perez, Alex Pasternack and Sean Yeaton. What-a-team!
Originally written for Motherboard.tv
Internally and externally monitoring yourself is something we should all attempt, but rarely do.
I would not describe myself as a paranoid person, especially regarding the internet. I discuss drugs and sex at length on Gchat, have shamelessly used the word “score” in texts to many of my friends and have determinedly scoured the web “researching” amputee prostitutes. I am long past worried if Google knows or cares if I am a deviant.
My fears have been placated because they haven’t physically manifested themselves into my daily life. My “real life” fears typically have to do with: money (or lack thereof), the possibility that a rat is living in my closet and that my autistic roommate drank an entire gallon of my milk in one day. Dude, how is that even possible?
The whole “monitoring oneself” thing came up recently when I was working at a party, and was given a headset to communicate(read: act like a secret service operative). At first I was into it. Who doesn’t like to say “copy,” “roger” and other such jargon associated with radio communication?
But then rationality set in. I quickly realized that each time I thought about saying something I had to censor myself and wonder if anyone was listening.
Part of the worry is unfounded—I had to press a button on the headset to activate the microphone. But weirdly enough, my heart was racing faster and faster with every hour that I wore the device. For every judgment, complaint and backhanded remark I made there was a microphone capable of picking it all up and sending it out to too many people who wouldn’t take kindly to my witticisms.
This all had me realizing how increasingly negative I’d become.
Non-mic’ed complaining, however, has been normalized. Off-the-record communication is acceptable in my generation. We commiserate by complaining. It’s a unifying force. But how did some measly microphone have me so mentally unhinged? All my first-world gadgets and social networks are all distinct microphones in their own right that duly record my every thought, hookup and drug deal. So how was this piece of plastic any different? It shouldn’t haven’t been, and yet it was.
Now, I know I am not alone in my fascination with the “hot mic” phenomenon. Throughout modern history, countless people have ruined their marriages, reputations and careers—hell, their entire lives—by simply forgetting that they were wearing a microphone.
Just ask Michael Duvall. This guy forgot he was mic’d when blabbing on about spanking and sleeping with a female lobbyist, all unbeknownst to his wife and congressional colleagues. He resigned a mere fifteen hours after the story broke.
Or Christian Bale. Remember his venomous on-set effenheimers thrown at the director of photography of Terminator Salvation? The English psycho lost credibility after an audio clip of his fucking explosion went viral.
And what about the Rev. Jesse Jackson? He must’ve been pretty embarrassed after a hot mic had the world knowing that the Civil Rights figure wanted to cut Barack Obama’s balls off.
My favorite mic mishap has got to be President Ronald Reagan addressing his fellow Americans one night at the height of the Cold War: “I’m pleased to tell you today that I’ve signed legislation that will outlaw Russia forever. We begin bombing in five minutes.” His comment was supposed to have been a soundcheck, but accidentally went live.
Do I still judge? Complain? Dish out back-handed remarks? Of course I do. But at least now I think twice about it. Thanks, technology!
Want a recipe for loneliness and jealousy, but in a good way? Booze not doing the trick anymore? In my current role as Associate Producer for Motherboard.tv I spend a lot of time on the internet, and when I say a lot I mean it—you’d think my ass would be permanently adhered to this miserable office chair by now. As such, my eyes sometimes glance upon a certain website that most of us simply cannot live without.
Facebook and Internet culture in general have drastically and lastingly changed the way we know, date, friend, poke and relate to each other. By the way, poking someone means you want to have sex with them right?
Wait. My crush isn’t listed on here. Poking me back. Poking me at all. Could this mean he/she/it doesn’t want me?
When you meet someone, what’s the first thing you do? Come on, you know you start stalking them on the Internet. Scoping out profile pictures, relationship status and if they have any of the Facebook red flags, which I’m wont to say are universal, but am willing to consider are not. Ubiquitous or otherwise, a glossary of relative principles seems essential to say the least. I’ve provided my own list as a guideline.
If you’re saying to yourself: “Jeez Erin, kind of judgmental, don’t you think?” Well, you can shut your hypocritical mouth. We all do this. It’s part of our depressing quest to find a mate. Facebook provides a reasonable platform from which we should all be screening potential partners. Welcome to the future or whatever. Where studies can prove how annoying you are to everyone; how jealous you are and how to rig your profile to attract people.
How has facebook helped my social communication? Well it hasn’t. Instead of calling or meeting face to face, we text or poke or some other such vapid form of “staying in touch.” I’ve wasted countless hours on this god forsaken website. But will I stop? Fuck no, my FB stalking skills are razor sharp, thank you.
One more thing: engagement photos. Jesus. I went to school at the University of Wisconsin and it looks like the goal for graduates is to get married as soon as humanly possible. These people were once smart, capable, and somewhat sane in my book. Now at 23 they’re throwing 40 large down the crapper and promising themselves to someone for eternity. Why? And don’t even get me started about the kissy pictures at sunset on a dock or whatever. Excuse me while I vomit all over my keyboard.
ERINLEECARR 