The English Channel

In 2017, Buzzfeed writer Katie Notopoulos decided to try what she calls ‘emailing like a CEO’ – answering every message almost instantly, but with a very short response:

I opened my email, deleted a few purely mailing list items, and got to work. For all the PR pitches I wasn’t interested in, I fired off a quick, “Thanks, but this is a pass for me.” It felt empowering. That first Monday, as I fired off a bunch of not-super-important emails, something strange happened. I felt…extremely good.

The key to emailing like a CEO is to respond as quickly as possible and get straight to the point, with absolutely zero preamble. It could be just one or two words. ‘Thanks.’ ‘OK.’ ‘What’s the latest?’ Have you ever responded to emails in a similar way?

Here is my work-life balance in terms of unread emails

Жаль, статья The Wall Street Journal из предыдущего поста под пейволлом, но фотки оттуда видны в гугле.

Вот удивительно, но для меня Sabbath (даже Black Sabbath) не ассоциируется с шабашем — «шаббат» всё перекрывает. А вот Convention, наоборот, подходящее обозначение для мистической тусовки. Вспомним, comic book conventions (comic cons) — ну шабаш ведь 👻 Или другая, личная, ассоциация: как-то Wall Street Journal назвал нашу небольшую конференцию в селе Прямухино “the Anarchists’ Convention”. Вспоминаю фотки из того репортажа, и слово «шабаш» кажется подходящим.

Being skeptical of Halloween, I unexpectedly wrote about Moscow Gothic sites on my bigger channel https://t.me/moscowww/2426 🧙‍♀️

Creative writing teaches us to put the protagonist in increasingly difficult and uncomfortable situations. And this terrible short story by Vladimir Nabokov is a great example of how to do it: This was to be sung in chorus. Vasili Ivanovich, who not only could not sing, but could not even pronounce German words clearly, took advantage of the drowning roar of mingling voices and merely opened his mouth while swaying slightly, as if he were really singing—but the leader, at a sign from the subtle Schramm, suddenly stopped the general singing and, squinting askance at Vasili Ivanovich, demanded that he sing solo. Vasili Ivanovich cleared his throat, timidly began, and after a minute of solitary torment all joined in; but he did not dare thereafter to drop out. Cloud, Castle, Lake by V. Nabokov If it’s difficult to get through Nabokov’s amplitudinous words, I’ll share its Russian version in comments.

How I prepare procrastinate before the lecture on Byzantine culture. Which icon is the most obvious association with the implied movie (book)?

How reliable social media posts can be: The “Crushed Man” was, in fact, not crushed. Nicholas St. Fleur at the New York Times reports that further excavations revealed that the man’s intact skull was underneath the stone block. It’s likely that he died of asphyxiation from the erupting volcano. The stone block probably fell onto the body later during or after the eruption. (Updated: June 29, 2018) Nevertheless, it’s a great illustration of Roman construction advancements.

Very addictive and useful website with user-friendly interface that helps listen to radio stations around the world. Spin the globe, select a location, choose a radio station there, listen in real time. For those who are • looking for authentic content in L2 (far beyond English) • dealing with cultural studies • interested in extralinguistic background information to develop comprehension. http://radio.garden/

Yesterday I suddenly spent two hours in surgery, and I don't know which fact impressed me more: 1) Discharging from the hospital the day after major surgery: the same problem took two weeks 9 years ago. 2) Operating to music: I was listening to Linking Park’s NUMB being immobilised by spinal anaesthesia 🥶 And of course, the technological sophistication of today's operating rooms brings to mind this Monty-Python’s sketch.

This is a carefully selected photo and music dump that perfectly reflects the whole 4th decade of my life 🥳

If you ask me about the single most illuminating insight I‘ve had in 40 years, it would be the highlighted one: Ms. Geiss had never driven a bulldozer, never exploded dynamite, but there were manuals at the line shack, and books in the Carnegie Library. Ms. Geiss had always been amazed at people’s ignorance of how much knowledge and useful information there was in books. Taken from this award-winning zombie story 🧟‍♂️

Today, with my masters students, we decided that art could be a cool basis for an advanced English course for humanities majors. And then I remembered this picture. Tim Gardner. Untitled (Nick with Head in Hands), 1999. What else could be in the brackets? October in Moscow – ? How I spilled coffee before my job interview – ? Share your ideas in comments 👇🏻

Actually, for me byzy means busy+grand. Maybe capital B is even applicable here. “You know, I’m so Byzy today, I’m doing my project. Don’t disturb me, don’t ask your silly questions! Byzy. Period” 😑

Looked so byzy today during my lecture on Byzantium, and the students said I seemed very tired 😞

Olds here? Who’ll guess all these rock bands?

Totally agree with Carver here: I get a little nervous if I find myself within earshot of somber discussions about "formal innovation" in fiction writing. Too often "experimentation" is a license to be careless, silly or imitative in the writing. Even worse, a license to try to brutalize or alienate the reader. Too often such writing gives us no news of the world, or else describes a desert landscape and that's all a few dunes and lizards here and there, but no people; a place uninhabited by anything recognizably human, a place of interest only to a few scientific specialists. On Writing by R. Carver

Вся неделя прошла под впечатлением от Рэймонда Карвера. До того, как взяться за него посерьезнее, я знал только про «Собор» (“Cathedral”). Начал чтение, как оказалось, с жести в “So Much Water So Close to Home”: They saw the girl before they set up camp. Mel Dorn found her. No clothes on her at all. She was wedged into some branches that stuck out over the water. He called the others and they came to look. They talked about what to do. One of the men — my Stuart didn’t say which — said they should start back at once. The others stirred the sand with their shoes, said they didn’t feel inclined that way. They pleaded fatigue, the late hour, the fact that the girl wasn’t going anywhere.