Even though I was stuck in bed, Amoeba Music still got me through the aches of flu season

“Did you know Big Boi loves Kate Bush?”

By

Elyssa Goodman

Apr 10, 2025

By Elyssa Goodman

April 10, 2025

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Photo credit: live.staticflickr.com – Amoeba Records, Haight St., San Francisco | Stephen Kelly | Flickr

“Did you know Big Boi loves Kate Bush?” I croaked on the phone to my boyfriend Chris in between bouts of hacking up a lung.

By then I had been in bed for three days fighting some heinous respiratory/headache/fever combo sent up from the worst parts of hell or the airport at Thanksgiving, depending on which you think is worse. Of the things that got me through, besides lemon-mint cough drops and hot cereal, my favorite was my repeated trip to Amoeba Music’s YouTube Channel for their What’s in My Bag? series.

For the uninitiated, California’s legendary independent record store Amoeba Music—with locations in Berkeley, Hollywood, and San Francisco—has been producing what’s now a Webby Award-winning YouTube series called What’s in My Bag? for 18 seasons, starting some 16 years ago. In each video, which is usually less than 15 minutes, artists from across the cultural spectrum—musicians, actors, comedians, and directors among them—choose items from Amoeba to put into one of the store’s famed tote bags, then discuss their collections for the camera, thereby answering the series’ eponymous question. Amoeba then plays sound and video clips of everything so you can hear and see what’s going on, too.

Chris and I first stumbled upon What’s in My Bag? many years too late, (a few weeks ago to be exact), and I was instantly taken with it, making notes on my phone about all these different artists I liked anew, or for the first time. I remember a while ago Spotify sent some notification that people tend to stop listening to new music around age 33. While my first thought was, “Ugh, rude,” because that was probably an age I was approaching at the time, I took it to heart. Whenever I notice I’m stuck in my own modes I try to expand, at least a little. As Chris played different videos, I let Marc Maron recommend me Free and their guitarist Paul Kossoff; let Matt Berry recommend me Tennis; let Pom Pom Squad recommend me Sonic Youth’s Daydream Nation. I was hooked. When I ended up in a swirling sinus-and-body-ache tornado this week, I sat enraptured again, video after video. At my core I am still a curious little knowledge beast (read: journalist), even when I am coughing my chest into the next millennium. Because I could sit there and not only listen to great music but learn for pleasure, I was able to find some joy amidst all the throat lozenges.

In the same way that Architectural Digest’s home tours give us insight into who a person is, so too does What’s in My Bag? And in an age where all of us, whether we know it or not, are struggling for human connection, What’s in My Bag? offers this in a way that’s wholly accessible. While not all of us will be able to custom-design the mansion-on-the-lake of our dreams, for example, it may be significantly easier for us to visit Amoeba and go shopping, to even pick up one of the albums or books or movies or t-shirts we see in the series. It is a slightly more down-to-earth version of “aspirational.” It also humanizes these seemingly larger than life stars, asking both them and us to remember that for a few minutes everyone involved here is just a person with tastes formed by the lives we’ve lived.

A longtime music nerd, my education began in record stores not unlike Amoeba–RIP Fort Lauderdale’s All Books and Records and Radio-Active Records—and I’ve always held fast to the idea, as many have, that we can learn so much about people not just by looking at their taste in music, but listening to how they talk about it. One of the many things Amoeba’s series does so well is it lets these artists share kernels of themselves when they tell stories about how they came to a particular musician, book, or film–where they were when they heard it the first time, why they love it, who showed it to them, what they’ve shared with their families, and more.

Among my favorite moments in the videos I watched was Big Boi, of OutKast fame, waxing poetic about his love of British songstress Kate Bush. Praising her for her poetry and innovation, he also shared that he was introduced to her by his uncle. “Music supposed to evoke emotion and make people feel a certain way, whether it’s happy or sad or [it makes] you think, so I love Kate Bush,” he says, as the singer’s operatic voice plays behind him. Another was the lovely Flea in a video with writer and producer Amy-Jo Albany (daughter of jazz pianist Joe Albany) talking about a box set of music by the gifted, eccentric pianist Glenn Gould playing Bach orchestrations. After taking two years off of the Red Hot Chili Peppers to study music, Flea had discovered a love of Bach, he said, and found in Gould his favorite Bach pianist. I loved listening to Alice Bag talk about rad Xicano musicians and rock and roll gals she admired and got a great reminder from Orville Peck to listen to more Bobbie Gentry. And saints preserve us, what an education from Nick Waterhouse on jazz, R&B, and bebop from the 1950s and 1960s (plus, he talked about Jackie Shane, who I had just written about for this very site; the video was five years old, but still…exciting!).

I’m sure I’m not the only person who’s prone to feeling isolated when they’re sick. Watching What’s in My Bag? made me feel like I had company, maybe in the same parasocial way that podcasts make us feel like its hosts are our friends. I had headaches and backaches and coughing fits, but for a few minutes at a time they didn’t have to be the center of my universe. I was able to take a break from 101.8 degree-fever reality and instead imagine what I would look for at Amoeba, what treasures its vast spaces held in store for me. Maybe Chris and I could make What’s in My Bag? videos of our own there (do they have non-famouses like us doing that all the time now?) and cross our fingers they wouldn’t kick us out before we finished. One day I’ll have the tote bag in my sights. I’ve already started my list.

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Photo credit: Canva – A man with fast reflexes.

Culture, Internet

Italian man claims to be ‘human cheetah’ with lightning-fast reflexes

“I blinked and I missed it”

Mark Wales

4/29/2026

At first glance, this probably looks like a camera trick. Ken Lee, an Italian content creator, has built a massive online following by doing something that doesn’t quite feel real. Viewers refer to him as the “human cheetah” because it appears he has near-instant reflexes.

Grabbing objects out of the air with uncanny precision, flicking clothespins and lighters, and throwing a blur of punches and kicks at impossible speeds, it is easy to call him unbelievable. Half the audience thinks his viral speed videos are fake. The other half is just as convinced they are watching something incredibly rare.

Hands so fast they blur time

In the video above, a timer runs to confirm its authenticity. In what looks like half a second, he reaches out and snags the lighter from the table. To prove it is real, he does it twice.

Having amassed millions of followers on his TikTok page, the identity behind the mysterious influencer remains largely unknown. Active since around 2022, with almost 100 million accumulated likes, Lee has cultivated a fandom around his self-proclaimed “Superhero per Hobby!”

Do you believe it is real? Is this person the fastest human alive? Many followers cannot wait for the next video to be posted. Plenty of his fervent fans are Italian, so sifting through the remarks takes a bit of hunting. Here are some comments that sum up how much people enjoy the fun and the spectacle:

“Ken lee the fastest and the best”

“Most dangerous human”

“Is this what the lighter sees before my homie steals it”

“It was sped up during he grabbed the lighter, if u count up with the timer u would be off by like 0,5 seconds whenever he grabs the lighter.”

“If the flash were human”

“How is it possible to get such powers ?”

“I blinked and I missed it”

People love good entertainment

The awe of peak performance attracts people to watch elite athletes, musicians, or even dancers. There is something that deeply satisfies all of us when a human appears to push a skill to its limit. Whether it is real or fake seems to matter less than the opportunity to chime in on some good entertainment.

How far could any of us go by practicing and repeating a particular motion over and over until it is mastered? Beneath the flashy nickname and his viral speed videos, Lee’s content has a way of drawing people in. This is not a superpower. Just repetition. Focus. Obsession. And maybe some digital wizardry.

Testing the science of speed

If you wish to question the validity of Lee’s performances, maybe some basic science can help. Human reaction time is not just a reflex. A 2024 study found that the nervous system can fine-tune responses in real time. Practice can make movements appear almost automatic.

It has been well established in research that the gap between seeing something and responding has a limit. A 2025 study concluded that the most elite extremes allow for reaction times of 100 milliseconds. At that speed, the human brain can barely process that something has happened.

Science explains Lee is not necessarily moving as fast as we might perceive him to be. And therein lies all the fun of it. We cannot prove it is real, nor can we actually prove that it is fake.

Maybe Lee is the “fastest man alive” or the so-called “human cheetah.” Or maybe he is just a remarkable entertainer. Either way, he has clearly tapped into something strange and fascinating: a blend of human ability and fantasy that people do not want to miss.

To give context to Lee’s videos, watch this performance on Tú Sí Que Vales:

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Photo credit: LisaStrachan/iStock via Getty Images – Fear not: There isn’t anything that needs saving.

Culture, Media

Despite all the likes, literallys and dropped g’s, English isn’t decaying before our eyes

Why “bad” English is nothing new.

Good Partner

4/22/2026

Valerie M. Fridland

As a linguistics professor, I’m often asked why English is decaying before our eyes, whether it’s “like” being used promiscuously, t’s being dropped deleteriously or “literally” being deployed nonliterally.

While these common gripes point to eccentric speech patterns, they don’t point to grammatical annihilation. English has weathered far worse.

Let’s start with something we can all agree on: Old English, spoken from approximately A.D. 450 to 1100, is pretty unintelligible to us today. Anyone who’s had the pleasure of reading “Beowulf” in high school knows how different English back then used to sound. Word endings did a lot more grammatical work, and verbs followed more complicated patterns. Remnants of those rules fuel lingering debates today, such as when to use “whom” over “who,” and whether the past tense of “sneak” is “snuck” or “sneaked.”

The language went on to experience centuries of tumult: Viking invasions, which introduced Old Norse influence; Anglo-Norman French rule, which shifted the language of the elite to French; and 18th-Century grammarians, who dictated norms with their elocution and grammar guides.

In that time, English has lost almost all of the more complex linguistic trappings it was born with to become the language we know and – at least, sometimes – love today. And as I explain in my new book, “Why We Talk Funny: The Real Story Behind Our Accents,” it was all thanks to the way that language naturally evolves to meet the social needs of its speakers.

From dropping the ‘l’ to dropping the ‘g’

The things we tend to label as “bad” or sloppy English – for instance, the “g” that gets lost from our -ing endings or the deletion of a “t” when we say a word like “innernet” – actually reflect speech habits that are centuries old.

Take, for example, “often.” Originally spoken with the “t,” that pronunciation gradually became less favored around the 15th century, alongside that “l” in “talk” and the “k” in know. Meanwhile, the “s” now stuck on the back of verbs like “does” and “makes” began as a dialectal variant that only became popular in 16th-century London. It gradually replaced “th” whenever third persons were involved, as in “The lady doth protest too much.”

While dropping the “l” in talk may have been initially frowned upon, today it would be strange if you pronounced the letter. And the shift makes sense: It smoothed out some linguistic awkwardness for the sake of efficiency.

If people learned to look at language more like linguists, they might come around to seeing that there is more than one perspective on what good speech consists of.

And yes, that absolutely is a sentence ending with a preposition – something many modern grammar guides discourage, even though the idea only took hold after 18th-century grammarian Robert Lowth intimated it was a less elegant choice based on the model of Latin.

Though Lowth voiced no hard and fast rule against it, many a grammar maven later misconstrued his advice as an admonition. Just like that, a mere suggestion became grammatical law.

The rise of the grammar sticklers

Many of today’s ideas about what constitutes correct English are based on a singular – often mistaken – 19th-century view of the forces that govern our language.

In the late 18th century, the English-speaking world began experiencing class restructuring and higher literacy rates. As greater class mobility became possible, accent differences became class markers that separated new money from old money.

Emulation of upper-crust speech norms became popular among the nouveau riche. With literacy also on the rise, grammarians and elocutionists raced to dictate the terms of “proper” English on and off the page, which led to the rise of usage guides and dictionaries that were eager to sell a certain brand of speech.

Another example of grammarian angst reconfiguring the view of an otherwise perfectly fine form is the droppin’ of the “g.” It became so tied to slovenly speech that it was branded with an apostrophe in the 19th century to make sure no one missed its lackadaisical and nonstandard nature.

Up until the 19th century, however, no one seemed to care whether one pronounced it as “-in” or “-ing.”

Evidence suggests that -ing wasn’t even heard as the correct form. Many elocution guides from the 18th century provide rhyming word pairs like “herring/heron,” “coughing/coffin” and “jerking/jerkin,” which suggest that “-in” may have been the preferred pronunciation of words ending with “-ing.” Even writer and satirist Jonathan Swift – a frequent lobbyist for “proper” English – rhymes “brewing” with “ruin” in his 1731 poem “Verses on the Death of Dr. Swift, D.S.P.D..”

Embrace the change

Language has always shifted and evolved. People often bristle at changes from what they’ve known to what is new. And maybe that’s because this process often begins with speakers that society usually looks less favorably on: the young, the female, the poor, the nonwhite.

But it’s important to remember that being disliked and bad are not the same thing – that today’s speech pariahs are driven by the same linguistic and social needs as the Londoners who started going with “does” instead of “doth” or dropped the “t” in often.

So if you think the speech that comes from your lips is the “correct” version, think again. Thou, like every other English speaker, art literally the product of centuries of linguistic reinvention.

This article originally appeared on The Conversation. You can read it here.

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Photo credit: Ian Taylor Photographer – Two young children play in the grass.

Culture, Media

10 boys and 10 girls were left alone in separate houses and the different results are just wild

The premise was simple but high stakes.

Adam Albright Hanna

GOOD Staff

4/19/2026

It sounds like the plot of William Golding’s Lord of the Flies. However, in the mid-2000s, it was a very real and very controversial reality television experiment.

Footage from the UK Channel 4 documentary Boys and Girls Alone is captivating audiences all over again. It offers a fascinating and chaotic look at what happens when you remove parents from the equation.

The premise was simple but high stakes. Twenty children, aged 11 and 12, were split into two groups by gender. Ten boys and ten girls were placed in separate houses and told to live without adult supervision for five days.

The Setup

While there were safety nets in place, the day-to-day living was entirely up to the kids. A camera crew was present but instructed not to intervene unless safety was at risk. The children could also ring a bell to speak to a nurse or psychiatrist.

The houses were fully stocked with food, cleaning supplies, toys, and paints. Everything they needed to survive was there. They just had to figure out how to use it.

The Boys: Instant Chaos

In the boys’ house, the unraveling was almost immediate. The newfound freedom triggered a rapid descent into high-energy anarchy.

They engaged in water pistol fights and threw cushions. In one memorable instance, a boy named Michael covered the carpet in sticky popcorn kernels just because he could.

The destruction eventually escalated to the walls. The boys covered the house in writing, drawing, and paint. But the euphoria of freedom eventually crashed into the reality of consequences.

“We never expected to be like this, but I’m really upset that we trashed it so badly,” one boy admitted in the footage. “We were trying to explore everything at once and got too carried away in ourselves.”

Their attempts to clean up were frantic and largely ineffective. Nutrition also took a hit. Despite having completed a cooking course, the boys survived mostly on cereal, sugar, and the occasional frozen pizza. By the end of the week, the house was trashed, and the group had fractured into opposing factions.

The Girls: Organized Society

The girls’ house looked like a different planet.

In stark contrast to the mayhem next door, the girls immediately established a functioning society. They organized a cooking roster, with a girl named Sherry preparing their first meal. They baked cakes. They put on a fashion show. They even drew up a scrupulous chores list to ensure the house stayed livable.

While their stay wasn’t devoid of interpersonal drama, the experiment highlighted a fascinating divergence in socialization. Left to their own devices, the girls prioritized community and maintenance. The boys tested the absolute limits of their environment until it broke.

The documentary was controversial when it aired, with critics questioning the ethics of placing children in unsupervised situations for entertainment. But what made it so enduring, and why footage keeps resurfacing years later, is what it reveals about how kids are socialized long before anyone puts them in a house together. The boys weren’t born anarchists and the girls weren’t born organizers. They arrived at those houses already shaped by years of being told, implicitly and explicitly, what boys do and what girls do. Whether that’s a nature story or a nurture story is the question the documentary keeps asking without quite answering, which is probably why people are still watching and arguing about it nearly two decades later.

This article originally appeared two years ago. It has been updated.

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