Many Seattle residents revere Cliff Mass as the Yoda of weather in the Northwest. On his blog and through spots in local media, this professor of atmospheric sciences at the University of Washington helps us process our snowpocalypses and measure out Lexapro for 10 months of the year. Now he’s turning his big-weather brain to something regularly on our minds here at Grist: “As global warming takes hold later in the century, where will be the best place in the lower 48 states to escape its worst effects?”

Here’s the short answer from Cliff:

On his blog entry, Mass goes into much more scientific detail on climate effects for the Lower 48 (complete with loads more charts). But even from this map, we can glean a few key takeaways.

  • You’ll notice Mass highlighted most of the Eastern seaboard, the Gulf of Mexico, and sections of California in bright red. Areas of sea-level rise? Ohnonononono. You misunderstand completely. Those are spots where candy will grow on trees — because adaptation! Florida’s famous orange groves will evolve into chocolate orange groves and just work their way up the coast to Connecticut. Delicious!
  • Take a look at all that yellow in the Southwest. Any guesses? Correct: That is precisely where state and local governments are likely to enforce three-day workweeks. And if you worry that moving to Phoenix, Los Angeles, or Austin means you’ll spend every extra-long weekend wearing spikes and riding in a rusty dune buggy on your way to bludgeon the neighbors to death over water resources, here’s a tip: Don’t!...more at Grist 

Noel Fielding on Fame and Luxury Comedy

Do ducks know that they taste nice?” Noel Fielding, comedic space oddity, hedonistic clothes-horse, merman with a vagina, considers my opening question. “Poor ducks. I’ve got this rep as a party boy, but the only show I’ve ever missed was when I had food poisoning from an Australian duck curry. I was puking buckets. The doc injected me with something, and I turned blue and started convulsing.” Did anyone think you were just in character? “They thought I was hungover.”

I meet Noel in a connoisseurs’ coffee bar staffed by serious bean geeks. We’re offered a choice of any coffee on Earth. It turns out neither of us are particularly into coffee. So why are we here? “Because my new show is set in a coffee shop.” Fine, let’s just do this, I grumble. Fielding squawks with laughter.

The new show is Luxury Comedy, Fielding’s divisive, neon hallucination of a sitcom, about to return for a second series. Following the stratospheric success of The Mighty Boosh and his Never Mind The Buzzcocks tenure, the frenetic sugar rush of Luxury Comedy challenged even his most ardent fans. It was like a paintbomb thrown at a circus.

“I wanted to create the weirdest show ever made on television – a punky, prog-rock nightmare of lurid colours. People said, ‘You must be mad, or on drugs,’ which I found a bit disappointing. What about imagination? It reflects our time that people sooner assume you’re on drugs or mad, rather than free. I was listening to a lot of Hawkwind.”

I tell him I loved watching it third time around; the first time felt a bit like an assault. “Haha! There’s not enough bravery on TV. If someone makes something we don’t understand immediately from a YouTube clip we get really angry. Someone referred to the show as ‘The Second 9/11’ the other day! I wanted to put that on the DVD cover. It’s outsider art, it’s how I felt. At the time we were doing hundred-date tours, playing the O2, Wembley, we were on Jonathan Ross, the cover of Time Out, talking to America about doing a film… I was pretty fractured, I was partying a bit too much. I felt extreme and needed to make something extreme. I saw it recently, and found it quite difficult to watch too. But there were shards of nice ideas.”..more at The Guardian  

MUSIC: Tom Misch - South East

MUSIC: KATE BOY - Self Control

MUSIC: Pablo Nouvelle - Finding You (Ft. Lulu James)


You feel no stress. You are the Dalai Lama. This is how you survive air travel.

How to survive air travel
by Craig Mod

This is how you survive the airport:

Arrive early. Arrive early? Sounds simple. It is — let me show you.

Arrive so early that a friend will text you, What R U sixty years old? No, you’re not sixty, you’re much older, because the wisdom of the early arrival seems to have eluded even most sixty-year-old travelers.

Authorities recommend arriving two hours before international flights. I say four. Get there four hours before your flight. You are a hundred and fifty years old. Your friends laugh at you. Have patience.

Arrive early and move through the airport like the Dalai Lama. You are in no rush. All obstacles are taken in stride, patiently, with a smile. Approach the nearly empty check-in counter. Walk up and say, I’m a bit early but I’m here to check in to … Marvel at their surprise and then their generosity. Suddenly you are always able to get an exit row or bulkhead seat. Suddenly, sure, they can slip you into Business. Suddenly tickets that are supposedly unchangeable, cannot be modified, are, after a few calls, some frowns, upbeat goodbyes, specially modifiable for you. This is what happens when there is no one behind you in line to check in.

Move then to security. Fear not the nonsensical theater. The half-gaze of those supposedly looking for murderers, jihadists. Transformers was CRAP, one yells. Fear not the bottle checks, dreaded liquid checks. Sorry, sir, 3.2 oz, finger wag, we cannot abide, checks. Fear not holding up those behind you in line as you unlace your shoes, remove your belt, disrobe various layers in the name of flight safety, in the name of keeping shoe bombs and belt bombs and baby milk bombs from dropping planes from the sky one after another. Fear none of this because the line is nearly empty. The queue sparse. The rush yet to hit.

Male opt-out. You know, sir, these machines are safe now. I know, but that’s what you told me last year with the old machines. You know, sir, you get more radiation on the flight. Oh, do I? Well, then, I better be sure to cut it down any chance I get.

Male opt-out. Take deep breaths as they yell or whisper the words into the air. Much like apps, there is no sense in opt-out delegation. You feel no stress. You are the Dalai Lama. You are hacking the airport by arriving early, knowing that all the work you could have done at home — the emails or writing or photo editing — can be done at the airport. Just a bit farther.

Male opt-out. Back of the hands on sensitive areas. Most sensitive part of the hands on the most sensitive areas? You don’t know if this makes you any more comfortable. Pat-downs sometimes fast, like gibberish. Anyone with explosives hidden about their testicles, below their giant breasts, would have made it through. Pat-downs slow. Extra long, uncomfortably long right buttocks check. Doesn’t matter. Time is on your side. Alright sir, no bomb residue, free to go, thank you.

Three hours or more until flight. Perfect. You find a bathroom. Your gait is soft, you pad gently, float across the carpeted terminal. You are in no hurry. You are the Dalai Lama. Urinate with a hitherto unknown calm. You made it. So much time to spare. You’ve survived the deceptive gauntlets between you and the plane. Zip....more at Medium.com 

Maison De Serge Gainsbourg

French singer, songwriter, actor, author, and all around iconoclast Serge Gainsbourg may have died in 1991, but the culture of decadence and poetic promiscuity he cultivated around himself lives on in the facade of the house he occupied from 1969 until his death.

Located in the heart of Paris's famous 7th arrondissement, Gainsbourg's maison stands out among the city's more well-known landmarks, such as the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame cathedral. The house itself is not currently accessible, but the front gate and facade feature an ever-changing tableau of street art honoring the late icon. Though many of the pieces consist simply of love letters from fans scribbled hastily on any available wall, some of the larger works are quite impressive, and fans of street art and graffiti will find this spot to their liking regardless of whether or not they are familiar with Gainsbourg's work.

The site reveals how deeply Gainsbourg is still venerated by the French, more than two decades after his death. Although the artist was deliberately provocative, penning a cheeky song about the joys of oral sex for a 16-year-old pop singer, sexually harassing a young Whitney Houston on national TV, and shooting a music video for his song "Lemon Incest" in bed with his daughter (actress Charlotte Gainsbourg), just to name a few - his legacy has become part of France's national artistic history, and it's rare to find a Parisian who does not harbor some affection for the late lothario. It's telling that many of the maison's visitors continue to be attractive young women, who still find something sexy about the works of a singer and writer born in 1928. Via Atlas Obscura 

PHOTOGRAPHY: Yutha Yamanaka

Photographer Yutha Yamanaka currently challenges himself with a 365 day project, creating one staggering image a day, uploading it to his Flickr. His photography is characterized by a surreal twist, often finding expressions in otherworldly self portraits. Yutha Yamanaka was born and raised in Tokyo, Japan, today he lives in Denpasar, Bali. Via IGNANT