I just spent the last five minutes of my life watching my hard drive defrag. You know, those lovely little blue, red, and white boxes on a great expanse of white; little blinkety-blinks as bits and pieces of red 'fragged' files are quietly, quickly and efficiently shuffled around, turning briefly orange and then fading to blue 'all in order' lines, one below the other.
Ah, the poetry of complete mindlessness, the marvellous escape in the complete suspension of coherent thought. I thought that was why I stopped watching TV. I actually don't have one at home, convinced as I have been about the existence of an elaborate and extremely convoluted plot that the great mother hens of media have hatched; the fiendish and unholy perpetration of deliberately doctored info-tainment, carefully designed to keep us all in a state of near-constant vegetable-mind, unable to read between the lines (defrag lines?), unable to truly use the gifts of reasoning that were finally ours after a hundred thousand years of evolution.
What is this compulsive desire to be entertained? This manic lust that even, in these troubled times, seems to outweigh the more primal ones of hunger, thirst, and sex (at least, sex with a person other that yourself)? Did it exist, say, even fifty years ago? Is it a bastard child of the Internet?
Can't think right now. Have to go watch iTunes rip a CD.
What crap.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Funn
Hoardings piss me off. Wrote Galacktiqua about them. I even wear a line from the chorus - "Even my body is advertising space" above the TAAQ logo - proudly on a white Tee. Ah, the subtle irony of that makes my gonads shiver at just how cool I am. How subversively brilliant. And so, with a sense of self that is beginning to look somewhat like a Puffer fish, here I go...
Planet M, in an incredibly dumbass, lame effort to revive flagging fortunes, has a new hoarding campaign. Central to this fresh round of stupidity is a banana-coloured insipid character called Yomo. Oh what a 'cool' name. And his coolness, of course, is underlined by the artful goatee he wears - you know, the kind you can grow only with diligent, time-eating application of various metro-sexual razors, hair-trimmers and goatee-o-matics. Yomo promises to 'Redefine Funn'. Once he learns to spell, perhaps he could show us all the way. In true scintillating fashion, Funn is now 'tapping your feet to the music' and 'behaving like a child when you win a game'. What crap. You want to sell me crappy mobile phones, crappy one-hit wonders and even crappier celluloid concoctions, bring on the cleavage, baby. You flash it just about everywhere else anyway. Didn't you guys invent the mantra that sex sells? Have you so desensitized yourselves through your obsession with titillation that you want to try and get 'clever' now? Didn't your dadimas ever tell you that such obsessions only lead to hairy palms, low IQ and so forth?
Of course, if I'm served the usual dish of tits-and-ass marketing, I'm going to scream bloody murder as well. Get used to it.
So, how would you really sell anything to me? Tell it like it is, idiots. If you're peddling crap, and not smart enough to realize that your audience knows how bad it smells, you may as well jump in, get warm and happy, and start singing. Sing about how crap can be cool too. Celebrate the transience of it all, glorify our petty urban obsession with meaningless entertainment. Cheer our lemming-like narrow-mindedness, applaud our feeble attempts at making life fun(n). In short, be honest. Tell the truth. In this crazy world of ours, you could be surprised how many takers you'll find. Including curious cats like me.
Sure, hoardings piss me off. But tell me tomorrow that you'll put together a massive tour for my band, with plenty of 'exposure' through mass media, hoardings etc., and watch me sit up and beg. There, you've found the button that works for me. Only makes me dislike you even more. That's the truth.
What crap.
Planet M, in an incredibly dumbass, lame effort to revive flagging fortunes, has a new hoarding campaign. Central to this fresh round of stupidity is a banana-coloured insipid character called Yomo. Oh what a 'cool' name. And his coolness, of course, is underlined by the artful goatee he wears - you know, the kind you can grow only with diligent, time-eating application of various metro-sexual razors, hair-trimmers and goatee-o-matics. Yomo promises to 'Redefine Funn'. Once he learns to spell, perhaps he could show us all the way. In true scintillating fashion, Funn is now 'tapping your feet to the music' and 'behaving like a child when you win a game'. What crap. You want to sell me crappy mobile phones, crappy one-hit wonders and even crappier celluloid concoctions, bring on the cleavage, baby. You flash it just about everywhere else anyway. Didn't you guys invent the mantra that sex sells? Have you so desensitized yourselves through your obsession with titillation that you want to try and get 'clever' now? Didn't your dadimas ever tell you that such obsessions only lead to hairy palms, low IQ and so forth?
Of course, if I'm served the usual dish of tits-and-ass marketing, I'm going to scream bloody murder as well. Get used to it.
So, how would you really sell anything to me? Tell it like it is, idiots. If you're peddling crap, and not smart enough to realize that your audience knows how bad it smells, you may as well jump in, get warm and happy, and start singing. Sing about how crap can be cool too. Celebrate the transience of it all, glorify our petty urban obsession with meaningless entertainment. Cheer our lemming-like narrow-mindedness, applaud our feeble attempts at making life fun(n). In short, be honest. Tell the truth. In this crazy world of ours, you could be surprised how many takers you'll find. Including curious cats like me.
Sure, hoardings piss me off. But tell me tomorrow that you'll put together a massive tour for my band, with plenty of 'exposure' through mass media, hoardings etc., and watch me sit up and beg. There, you've found the button that works for me. Only makes me dislike you even more. That's the truth.
What crap.
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