Who would have thought that Charles Darwin, the bearded Englishmen so universally admired and reviled, would make such a compelling figure for a hymn?  Of course, "Oh My God Charlie Darwin," the title track for The Low Anthem's second album, isn't a hymn per se.  You won't find this haunting tale nor it's companions on the album bound and hidden in a pew rack, though this hasn't stopped the New England band's fans from claiming their songs as irreligious spirituals.

Set the sails I feel the winds a'stirring
Toward the bright horizon set the way
Cast your wreckless dreams upon our Mayflower
Haven from the world and her decay

And who could heed the words of Charlie Darwin
Fighting for a system built to fail
Spooning water from their broken vessels
As far as I can see there is no land

There exists this tension within the band's lyrics: our desired salvation remains just out of reach.  The system itself, bound to decay, will ultimately betray our dreams of something more beautiful than what currently surrounds us.

What Apple product do you first remember seeing?  Or using?  Was it a MacBook?  An iPhone?  What is it about Apple that makes its products so appealing, so memorable, so desirable?  What is it about Apple's design that makes it, well, so good?

In the Documentary Objectified, the second part of a three-film "design trilogy" (read a write-up on the first film of the trilogy, Helvetica here), director Gary Huswit explores how manufacturing design and the objects we use every day without even thinking about them affect our lives and become a part of our stories.

This begins to make sense once you realize that from the moment we wake up almost everything that fills our world has been designed in one way or another.  From the post-it note on our fridge to the potato peeler we'll use to make mashed potatoes for Thanksgiving dinner to the digital camera that captures our favorite moments, it turns out that the objects we use every day come from someone who created them for a specific purpose in a very intentional way.  These objects not only greatly affect the practicalities and comfort of our lives, they also make a statement about who we are.

When my son loaded up in his cousin’s little powered Jeep and started driving around their lawn he declared to all listening, “We're cruising the dunes to Tiki Beach!”

No one knew what he was talking about. They just laughed and said something to the effect of “Where do kids come up with this stuff?”

I know where he got it. He got it from TV.

My son has a small obsession with a particular kids show. When he plays—when he turns on his imagination—it is often what comes pouring back out. His experiences are the fuel his imagination burns on.

Spike Jonze had a daunting task when he took on Where The Wild Things Are. He was making a film about one of America’s favorite children’s books, which happens to have a minimalist story line. How do you do not lose the simplicity of this story while stretching it to fit the screen of a feature length film?

If one is going to stand up to a God he has professed for most of his life, he better have a little swagger... and maybe even a little arrogance.  David Bazan's "When We Fell" carries just that, not only in its lyrical content but also in the blues-rock riff that makes this tune so damned catchy (pun intended?). "With the threat of hell hanging over my head like a halo I was made to believe in a couple of beautiful truths, that eventually had the effect of completely unraveling the powerful curse put on me by you." But after years of being told humanity's sinful nature is responsible for the damnation of the world, Bazan has seemingly tried to piece together a narrative that he feels doesn't add up. Bazan says he still believes in God, or a high power, but is uncertain of how the story of this high power matches up with all the brokenness in the world.

Because of this, there are those who have describe Curse Your Branches as Bazan's "break-up album with God." But Bazan refutes that to some degree. Bazan instead refers to his latest release as a "break-up album with a certain narrative of God." "When We Fell" seems to back up Bazan's comment. The bouncy blues-rock riff of this song echoes the old bitter break-up songs of the blues. But there's no "baby please come home" in this song. Bazan question's God's role in "the fall." If God is as powerful as we have been told over and over how is it that the world is in such shambles? And if it's not God's fault then it must be our fault? But if God made this all then what responsibility falls on God? Hmmm... good question David.