Listen here or download from the link below:[audio:http://podcast.radionz.co.nz/ntn/ntn-20101027–1040-Book_Review_-_Our_Kind_of_Traitor-048.mp3]
This morning I sloped up to Radio New Zealand to review Richard Boock’s new biography of Bert Sutcliffe: “The Last Everyday Hero”. Kathryn’s a cricket fan so, even though she hadn’t got to reading the book, we had plenty to talk about. Including an unexpected diversion into the subject of Fleetwood Mac.
Listen here or download from the link below:[audio:http://podcast.radionz.co.nz/ntn/ntn-20100825–1040-Book_Review_with_Dan_Slevin-048.mp3]
“Writing is a deep-sea dive. You need hours just to get into it: down, down, down. If you’re called back to the surface every couple of minutes by an email, you can’t ever get back down. I have a great friend who became a Twitterer and he says he hasn’t written anything for a year.”
This is a great interview. Eggers is a real hero of mine.
If I could have another life to live, simultaneous with my own, I would probably spend most of it playing Sports Interactive’s Football Manager (aka Championship Manager). While I tend to scoff at those who get excited at Beatles Rock Bands and am baffled but impressed by those who take games seriously, I cannot deny my achilles heel and so every year I download the demo of the latest version and then force myself to not buy the full game in order to stay sane.
The 2009 version introduced half-time and full-time team talks, allowing you to gee-up or dress-down your team depending on your psychology, theirs, and the state of the match. Motivational options included “Show your disappointment at the team” or “Tell your players to do this for the supporters” and you could single players out for criticism or praise (“Tell Cole that you are delighted with him”).
A strange, awful and yet wonderful paragraph from a New York Times article on the death of an artist I had never heard of:
A Hamster’s Nest is what it sounds like, but with humans in the rodent roles: You shred a few hundred phone books, paint the walls, then ingest enough intoxicants so that every scrap of sentience disappears. “It was really intense,” recalled Ms. Snow, whose divorce from Dash was finalized this summer, though she remained close to him to the end. “We were all really high, and there were concerts. It was like a whole other world, an intense moment, all these people with paper, piles of Yellow Pages, no air or ventilation and fumes everywhere. We were already so drunk. The iPods kept getting lost in the paper.” Three days later — with no clue how it happened — she woke up in Berlin.
Full pathetic story, written by Alan Feuer and Allen Salkin, here. It also contains a sentence you don’t expect to find in a newspaper: “Being alone, of course, is not the same as being free.”