Oakfairy

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Pandora, den i USA populära tjänsten för att strömma musik, försökte förra året få kongressen att genomföra en ändring i hur mycket artister ska få i royaltys. Om de hade lyckats skulle Pandora sänka ersättningen till artisterna med 85 procent. Men det gick inte, så nu verkar de försöka i år igen.

Det här har naturligtvis orsakat rätt omfattande kritik från artister. Bland annat har Pink Floyd fått en artikel publicerad i USA Today där de berättar att gruppen, tillsammans med över 130 andra band, stoppade Pandoras önskemål förra året, och att Pandora i år försöker övertala – eller ”lura”, som Pink Floyd skriver – artister att gå med på ändringen.

Pink Floyd verkar överlag vara positiva till tjänster som strömmar musik. Relativt nyligen lanserades Pink Floyd på Spotify, och de finns uppenbart med på andra tjänster, däribland Pandora.

För oss konsumenter är den här typen av tjänster väldigt trevliga, eftersom de ger oss tillgång till massor av musik till ett lågt pris. Spotify har utan tvekan fått många att sluta med piratnedladdning. Tjänsterna finansieras till viss del av reklam, och till viss del av prenumerationsintäkter.

Däremot är artister inte lika positiva till tjänsterna. Framför allt är det mindre artister som kritiserat tjänsterna för att de tycker ersättningen är för låg. Pink Floyd skriver i sin artikel att närmare 90 procent av de artister som distribuerar sin musik hos strömmande tjänster får mindre än motsvarande 34000 kronor per år i ersättning.

Artisten David Clowery berättade igår på sajten The Trichordist att han haft en låt som spelats över en miljon gånger på Pandora, och att han för detta fick 115 kronor. Det kryllar av liknande historier.

Många av de här kritiska independent-musikerna är dock inte i närheten av en miljon lyssningar. En del verkar tycka att Pandora, Spotify och de övriga tjänsterna är skyldiga att finansiera en månadslön, trots att deras ofta extremt smala genre bara har en handfull lyssnare. Hade de varit i aktiva i vilken annan bransch som helst, hade avsaknaden av kunder varit ett tämligen tydligt tecken på att projektet inte lämpar sig som heltidsjobb…

Läs mer i ämnet:

• Strömmad musik en viktig inkomstkälla för artister
• Grooveshark, gratis alternativ till Spotify och WiMP
• Spotify skulden till dalande skivförsäljning?

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pigfarts-is-on-vulcan:

I forgot about this, but back during Christmas Break, I put Star Trek in front of my cat to see what he would do. To my surprise, he actually did watch it. However, he only seemed mildly entertained - that is, until Scotty started talking. Then my cat actually paused the episode and stared at him. He just stared at Scotty and wouldn’t let me press play for, like, four or five minutes. After that, he watched for a while, but gradually lost interest and started dozing, only looking up when he heard Scotty’s voice.

Can someone please explain to me why my cat loves Scotty so much? Was James Doohan secretly some sort of magical cat whisperer? What is this?

Today we’re saying hello to scifi author Orson Scott Card, by means of a giant flaming finger of fuck held aloft in his homophobic direction. Love the man’s writing but I can’t read it anymore without hating myself.

(via Scenes From A Multiverse - Bugger)

När min farfar dog lämnade han efter sig ett bibliotek som inte fick skingras.

Tänk på det lite.

Vi får inte ta bort några böcker. Ingen av farfars söner har plats hemma för hela det obrutna biblioteket. Inget av barnbarnen heller.

Jag är väldigt förtjust i tanken på att bläddra igenom min farfars boksamling, men i praktiken är det här verkligen att stjälpa ett problem i knät på sina efterlevande.

Just nu ligger alltihop travat från golv till tak i två garderober i släktens torp. Igen. För i höstas var det inbrottstjuvar där, och av någon märklig anledning trodde de kanske att det skulle finnas något kul eller värdefullt under travarna, och de hade slängt ut alltsammans på golvet. Kaos och katastrof.

Nu är alltihop återigen travat snyggt, så att det är omöjligt att se böckerna. När vi plockade igenom en del av högarna för att stuva in dem igen suckade jag gång på gång och försökte se var kryphålen finns. Kan vi åtminstone få rensa bort dubletter i pocketutgåva? Och hur är det med praktiska företagshandböcker, cirka 25 år gamla? Och dessa bokklubbsböcker, de borde väl inte räknas till den ”riktiga” boksamlingen.

Det finns ju fina böcker där, klassiker i snygga utgåvor, och en del rariteter. Synd att de ska behöva stuvas undan på det här viset.

Själva bokhyllorna, och resten av biblioteksinredningen, har vi också. Hylldelarna är uppskyfflade ovanpå takbalkarna i ett uthus.

Nu — till slut — finns det faktiskt en plan, som kanske till och med är realistisk, för att få till ett rum som det går att sätta upp bokhyllorna i. Men annars är det här ett eländes elände att stuva och hantera. Jag har väldigt blandade känslor för den här boksamlingen.

The SyFy Channel announced today that it would be releasing a film called Sharknado, about, yes, a tornado filled with sharks. Naturally enough, I had a comment about that on Twitter:

Sharknado. SHARKNADO, PEOPLE. @syfy is officially trying to bring about THE END OF DAYS. http://t.co/Nb6W9l7UPY

— John Scalzi (@scalzi) June 20, 2013

AND YET @Syfy told me that my "SNAILQUAKE" idea was garbage. COME ON SYFY. If you're doing Sharknado, YOU OWE ME SNAILQUAKE.

— John Scalzi (@scalzi) June 20, 2013

EVERYONE TAKE TO YOUR TWITTER FEED NOW AND TELL @SYFY TO HIRE ME TO WRITE "SNAILQUAKE." FINALLY A QUALITY MOVIE IDEA FOR THEM.

— John Scalzi (@scalzi) June 20, 2013

To which Syfy responded:

@scalzi Be careful what you wish for…

— Craig Engler (@Syfy) June 20, 2013

Yes, well. And while we are waiting around for SyFy to send money to my door for my brilliant, brilliant idea, folks on Twitter wasted no time getting to work on key art. Thus:

@scalzi @Syfy #snailquake concept art. pic.twitter.com/3J4GKJQDKj

— n8 (@NateSurber) June 20, 2013

And!

Dear @Syfy. Here's a head start for the production of SNAILQUAKE http://t.co/cEnzk1rAP9 @BadAstronomer @scalzi @Syfy @paulandstorm

— Scott Sigler (@scottsigler) June 20, 2013

And!

.@scalzi @SyFy In case you ever need SNAILQUAKE poster! pic.twitter.com/auDO7uZ7OY

— shari chankhamma (@sharihes) June 20, 2013

Honestly, I don’t know why SyFy hasn’t just given me all the monies already.

SnailQuake, people. It will happen. Oh yes. It will.

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A long time ago, a corgi was checking out the wonders of Sweden. He assembled some furniture, ate some red candy fish, and then had crazy sex with a wolf. 

Misty the Swedish Vallhund [website]

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joehillsthrills:

I was feeling a little blue and I was looking for something on the internet to cheer me up and Warren Ellis has a post on his tumblr pointing to a website, I Write Like, so I thought, oh, hey, why not? Warren got David Foster Wallace; I was thinking, huh, maybe it’ll tell me I write like John Steinbeck! Hell, maybe David Mitchell!!!

Sigh. Going to bed now.

PS - It’s funny. I admit it. Even I think it’s funny.

For the .0000000000001% of you who don’t know: Stephen King is Joe’s dad.

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thatbadadvice:

Dear Prudence, 3 June 2013:

Q. Heartbreak, USA: I am considering having a child with my married ex-boyfriend. We recently reconnected and have spent time together, without things going too far. I still love him and he claims he never stopped loving me. After our breakup I cut all ties, but knew of the marriage through mutual friends. After seven years, he sought me out. It was great catching up with him because I really missed our friendship. I don’t want to cause issues in his current relationship. However, my clock is ticking and he is the only man I’ve ever considered being a parent with. I’m getting older and I’m in a great place with my career and finances. I date, but no one seriously. I want to start a family, and I know my ex will be a great dad. If he agrees to start a family with me, I am even willing to keep the baby’s paternity a secret. I know this is inappropriate, but it doesn’t necessarily feel “wrong.” How out of line would it be to bring this up with him?

Dear Heartbreak USA,

What more could a child ask for than a mother so dedicated to parenting that she would be willing to generously sacrifice someone else’s relationship to bring a beautiful baby who can never be told who its father is into the world?

Would that all children could be raised by someone as selfless and thoughtful as you—after all, you don’t want to cause issues in your married ex-boyfriend’s relationship by having a secret baby with him, which means there’s no way you could cause any issues in your married ex-boyfriend’s relationship just by having a secret baby with him! Bam! It’s that easy. 

The reason this doesn’t feel “wrong” to you is that it isn’t—because it’s something you desire, and the things you desire can never be wrong, particularly since the only physically possible way for you to have the child you so clearly deserve is to have it with this married guy who called you up after seven years and claims to have loved you the whole time except he accidentally married someone else, because he is a super stand-up dude and a straight-shooter.

And hey, if getting pregnant by a man you’ve spent seven years secretly mooning over means he’s permanently yoked to you via a child, that’s just a silly fun little bonus! You totally just want a baby! Any baby! By any means necessary but specifically by the means of your married ex-boyfriend’s godsperm, you know, no big deal, it’s all about the baby!

Do this, because if you don’t, the world will never forgive you, the best candidate for motherhood of all time.

[video]

johnrossbowie:

 I wake up in London, here working on a couple of episodes of Episodes. Have the day off and its my birthday. It’s my 42nd birthday. Who cares? Doesn’t end in a zero or a five. Isn’t a really significant birthday like your Jesus birthday (33) or your musician birthday (27). *

It’s just … 42. The only thing that number has going for it … is that according to the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, it’s the meaning of life the universe and everything. It’s a very silly, very British non-sequitur joke, but I’ve always taken it to mean: The deeper meaning is right in front of you. Enjoy it. Think about it, sure, but don’t drive yourself crazy trying to figure it out. It’s a very, well, a very middle-aged epiphany. Aw, man, Douglas Adams. What a mind. Gone too soon. Where is he … buried …

3 bus rides away, north part of London called Hampstead Heath. Jesus. What a trek. Guy died in Santa Barbara, why not just bury him, there, twho hour drive from my house. I don’t have a car in London. Then again, when am I going to have another 42nd birthday in London? Would be fun, right, take a picture at the grave, nice little message for my fellow geeks? Right? But man, three buses, it’s like 5 miles. BUT it’s actually less distance if you just walk in a straight line over there. 4.3 miles. And since you’re doing this incredibly nerdy thing, the least you can do is walk there, you fat piece of shit.

And we’re off - after a traditional English breakfast of eggs, sausage, a rasher of bacon, bread, beans and fried tomato because BALANCE IS EVERYTHING, PEOPLE. FOOD COMBINING FOR THE WIN.

It takes about an hour from where I’m staying, over near Kilborn High Street, to get to Highgate Cemetery. It’s a pretty walk, past very few historical landmarks, in a city filled with landmarks. I listen to the original Hitchhikers BBC Radio Play on my iPod, and, God, I’m reminded how smart it is, how special (Earth is destroyed to make space for a hyperdrive bypass. That’s the first chapter). I had also forgotten or never realized that Wil Wheaton gets his twitter bio from the book from the book, because of course he does. I arrive just past noon at Highgate Cemetery, and ask the polite volunteer working the welcome shack if this is indeed where Douglas Adams is buried.

“Where are you from?”

“The States.”

A long, mournful look. “Yes, I gathered. Where in the States?”

At this point, I might as well have barged in with a cowboy hat and a DON’T MESS WITH TEXAS T-shirt tucked in over my Stewie from Family Guy beltbuckle. There are ugly Americans, and then there’s me. But wait, gets worse. He hands me a brochure.

“Wow, Karl Marx is buried here?”

“Indeed.”

I decide to address the elephant: “Man, I feel like such a philistine. Asking about a science fiction author when Karl Marx is buried here.”

The silence is tangible. It’s an oil that has filled the room, and the volunteers polite smile is doing nothing to dissipate it. I have called out my ignorance and I have had it affirmed. I skulk out, head to the grave.

It’s small. Flat granite, one of the more recent graves in the cemetery, even at 12 years old. Stones (and a stray lego) are placed across the top. There’s a jar of pens right in front, in case you’re inspired while there, or just as tribute to such a prolific writer.

A few yards (sorry, gah, metres) down the lane is Karl Marx. For the completists among you:

I walk out of the cemetery, nodding at the volunteer. That was fun. But why? Why have I walked all the way up here in inclement weather? Why have I done anything this nerdy … look, see this guy running towards me? THAT’S what I should have done. I should have gone running. Would have taken less time, I should have gone … no. Is that? No. That’s too weird. You don’t just go to London and see … That’s impossible. It can’t be … How could it be … him?

As soon as I get back to wi-fi, I google “Christopher Eccleston Hampstead.” I quickly find the following quote from a Guardian article:

“After the uniformity of LA, I really fell for London again. The first couple of months were a trip. The variety, the seasons, the accessibility. If I’m not running on Hampstead Heath, I’m walking. I’m usually out and about; I’m quite a restless fella.”

It was him. How … It just … Here’s the thing: I’ve only watched the Eccleston Who’s. I haven’t watched the others because I’m so fond of the Eccleston episodes. And as an award for this stupidly futile and geeky gesture, the fucking ninth Doctor jogged past me.

God bless you Douglas Adams, wherever you are. Maybe you were onto something with 42 after all.

I got a lot of lovely birthday messages on Twitter and Facebook and some very sweet texts - sorry I didn’t text back, it’s expensive to do so from London. The kind wishes were so varied and numerous that I couldn’t thank you all, so seriously, from the bottom of my bacon-clogged heart, thank you all.

*named the Musician year as Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Kurt Cobain and Keith Richards all died in their 27th year, with varying degrees of success.

I’m lucky to call John my friend.

Den här gör segervarv i mina sociala medier just nu, den är helt underbar så jag förstår dem! Jag är själv Tilda-partisk och tycker att hon kunde göra vem som helst, men flera av de andra är också fullträffar! Jag skulle se den här filmen. Lätt.

Boromir eller Tilda eller Tilda som Boromir

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