Any Austin on Creation, Reinventing the Newsroom, 100 of this Centuries' Best Films, etc.

In which I'm riding down your moonlight mile.

🧠 “The less you know about how you do what you do, the better.” Interesting thoughts from Youtuber Any Austin on creation.

“I think all I should have in my head is, ‘This video that I’m making right now is going to be the best video I could possibly make.’ And that’s all I should think. The less I understand about my own inner machinations, the better because I’m going to get it wrong.”

📰 “How we might rebuild journalism from the ground up by rethinking what a newsroom is.” A proposal for an “incubator newsroom,” a semi‑decentralized model that would pivot focus onto individual journalists and their audiences. “If we’re concerned about the societal value of journalism rather than preserving its existing institutions, the shift from traditional newsrooms to individual personalities on social media isn’t necessarily inherently bad. Much depends on whether these personalities can sustainably provide the same societal value.”

🎞️ The New York Times has declared the 100 best films of the 21st century, thus far… Lots I agree and disagree with, but I will say, I agree wholeheartedly with the top five, just not the order (move #1 to #5, pushing the rest down).

🎶 The world’s oldest instrument, dating back over 43,000 years.

🦈 Can’t wait to play Jaws.

🐻 In case ya missed it, The Bear’s fourth season premiered yesterday without promotion.

🎧 (21/50) The Rolling Stones, Sticky Fingers: Exile, sure, but this stone-cold classic is the embodiment of The Stones, however problematic. Sticky Fingers is a swaggering rock classic, fusing bluesy riffs with raw attitude. “Can’t You Hear Me Knocking” stretches into a hypnotic jam, “Bitch” delivers tight, brassy aggression, while ballads like “Wild Horses” and “Moonlight Mile” reveal surprising tenderness beneath the debauchery and bravado.

🌞 The turquoise pool rose up to meet us,

its slide a silver afterthought down which

we plunged, screaming, into a mirage of bubbles.

We did not exist beyond the gaze of a boy.

Shaking water off our limbs, we lifted

up from ladder rungs across the fern-cool

lip of rim. Afternoon. Oiled and sated,

we sunbathed, rose and paraded the concrete,

danced to the low beat of "Duke of Earl".

Past cherry colas, hot-dogs, Dreamsicles,

we came to the counter where bees staggered

into root beer cups and drowned. We gobbled

cotton candy torches, sweet as furtive kisses,

shared on benches beneath summer shadows.

Cherry. Elm. Sycamore. We spread our chenille

blankets across grass, pressed radios to our ears,

mouthing the old words, then loosened

thin bikini straps and rubbed baby oil with iodine

across sunburned shoulders, tossing a glance

through the chain link at an improbable world.

— Geraldine Connolly

❤️ Keep the Hoping Machine running, all summer long.

Love,

Luke