Too close, too fast

This is not about a relationship. This is about a gallery piece I went to see and blog about. The piece was great, the private people featuring were great, I went online to hunt for some image material. I ended up in the private Flickr Homes of these people featuring. Confronted with partly appalling views, my Art Experience collapsed in itself, vanished. Lose a gallery piece, gain a conflict.

Takeaway Buddhism

No Starbucks-like Coffeechainconsumerism on my way to work: I wanted to be good today. The buddhist Gallery Cafe, Bethnal Green, then. I'm always late. They were later. 10.23 am, the appr. manpower of 4.5 over 4 mins fixes my takeaway coffee. The cup f'd up so badly I had to stop at Cambridge Heath/B'Green Road intersection, stand still and drink. Watch tube passengers passing by. Do not swear. Meditate.

luxury apartments with great views of the tower

Thank god for the current residents of Roman Road for keeping it real.
"Oh darling, just look - our new neighbour has forgotten to shave - do you think it will affect the value..?".

Busknobs...

Retail Detectives

Kids love to grab for things at the checkout till. Parents love to tell them off. (to Kid) "Don't touch that - that's not yours - we don't want that, that belongs to the lady, put it back! (to Lady) I'm really, really sorry!"

I hate it when that happens. Supermarkets IS grabbing! Where between shelves and tills did I mutate from credit-worthy customer to debt-laden owner? Please let your kid grab whatever it wants, I haven't purchased anything yet.

(Watched Dad entertain Kid the other day. Dad snacked from Pick'n'Mix quite openly. Kid didn't want a share, that much did it enjoy Dad nicking, playing against supermarket rules...)

Faulty Hardware

I've recently lost my voice. I could have seen it coming, the late nights the early mornings and the larges amounts of coffee and alcohol. I am pretty sensitive to the health of my body, the state of my mind. All the signs were not good, but I ignored them and I ignored them for a reason.

Maybe I'm perverse but there is something comforting about getting ill or getting hurt. I don't mean getting pneumnonia or breaking a leg, I wouldn't wish that on anyone. But losing your voice or getting a black eye is great for the sympathetic attention you get from your friends, neighbours, work colleagues and shopkeepers.

Instead of the dayin dayout 'how are you - I am fine' relationships shift and whole new scenarios open up. You get the advice, the tales of similar illnesses. People become curious about how it happened (no-one ever believes you can get a black eye from a surf board). You can amuse even the snottiest bartender, especially if your voice resembles a sealion.

But sometimes it does get to a point when you resent getting better. The black eye fades, the voice gets stronger and you wonder whether strangers will find you interesting anymore...

Nicely Parcelled Postbox

New news on the postbox situation in the East End. Apparently Royal Mail lost the keys.

All the keys.

All the keys to all the postboxes in the E2 area.

Lunch Break

Ha! We escaped to the Premises - we used to be regulars there - until a competitor overheard Felix and I discussing deals and nicked our job from right under our noses. We have forgiven the owners for encouraging such behaviour, and have reknewed our custom. Silence, and a bacon sandwich later and my ears are better. Walked back and saw a beard and spectacles. Turned out to be Ben who I hadn't seen for 4years. He came back to the studio. It was silent. It was beautiful. He was impressed.

Builders on the block

The beautification of this building is taking its toll. The block might look pretty but the residents are beginning to look ugly. My ears are bleeding from the earth crashing rumble of the concrete blasters - blasting non stop since 9 this morning. This transformation sure is painful.

Force Feedback. My self-employed Wednesday.

Tax Office. End of 1h-Session. Am tickboxing a feedback form. 'How competent was your Gegenüber? How competent are you, now?' Am doing it. My Gegenüber won't be paid if I don't.

Here's the feedback without a tick: Dear Inland Revenue - you send your clients dysfunctional mail. Can I feedback on that? NO. Dear Inland Revenue - you tell claustrophobics to get in a lift. Can I feedback on that? NO. Dear Inland Revenue - you don't supply your guests with a loo. Can I feedback on that? NO.

(My Gegenüber was very sweet and competent, btw)

V&A vs Science Museum. My self-employed Tuesday.

The V&A made us happy: Lots of Energy in the Deutschlandscape. Geoff McFetridge, later on, was very sweet as well. "All smiles have teeth"!

(good to smell some prints, btw)

Housewiving. My self-employed Monday.

When you're self-employed, you have to take care of your health. You have to take breaks, relax, cause you're your only asset. So I did some housewiving today, built a dreamweaver template, baked a fat little cake.

IKEA Day

Edward Norton blows up his living room in "Fight Club". What is he talking about, introducing himself and his home? IKEA.

I don't buy IKEA, but I keep returning. What does it? Ex-Colleagues used it as a canteen. Hop in the Auto, speed down the Autobahn, eat. I could spend hours glued to their restaurant's window, tuning into the pure sensation that the world is on hold. Same outskirts, same motorways, same half-empty skies - everything's the same, everywhere, for everybody.

Cut the location, cut the party room, and I won't come back. Party room? The very first room you enter, upstairs. Incredibly packed, sofas hanging from the walls, chairs dangling from the ceiling, and you'd love to find somebody sitting on all of them. (Last visit's Soundtrack: Whitney Houston, "I wanna dance with somebody...")

After the party room, it's all about leaving IKEA. Leaving IKEA is a stressful process. Quite brilliant.

Cash opportunities

Two stand alone, kiosk like cash machines have landed on the pavement outside my flat. They're actually telephone and cash machines, it says so brightly on their sleeves. One's by the chemist the other by the doctors.
By my latest count that makes a total of 6 cash machines with in a 2 minute and 30 second minute walk. It includes the one in the corner shop, the one in Costcutter across the road, the one in the pub round the back, plus the Natwest and the HSBC (but maybe the HSBC one doesn't count, as they lock that at night because it was a walk-in one and they decided they didn't want people with wheelchairs using it as a place to sleep at night).
Anyway I'm still trying to find somewhere to post my letters, all the post boxes are sealed, apparently because they're scared of the postmen getting mugged.

Noises from the kitchen.

For the past week I've been convinced that the hi-frequency squeak emitted from behind the fridge has come from mice that currently occupy our kitchen. The fridge arrived at the same time the mice decided to hold late night parties. Unfortunately 3 dead mice later, the squeaks continue.
I'm no kitchen psychologist, but... the fridge is a newcomer to the household and I have come to the conclusion that this pathetic 'pheeewp' is its way of trying to get some domestic attention.

The microwave, oven and washers, have been around our flat for a while, and I find their whurrs, pings and rumbles comforting. Through their noises they communicate. They say to me, hey I'm doing the job, I'm making your life easier, and in a few minutes it will all be done. But the fridge... well there's not much dynamism in the fridge. Yes it keeps things cool and it illuminates the kitchen at night. But it still lets the carrots go rotten, the milk curdle and hides the leftovers while they get mouldy.

Poor fridge maybe I am being harsh, I know its not the fridges fault. If there is someone to blame then its the makers for not developing its potential and instead allowing for this pathetic insecure noise. If only its makers had encouraged it to develop a decent digestive system, an effective way to deal with the rotting vegetables in its hidden chambers. Then, it could so easily compete with its dynamic kitchen neighbours.

I can hear it now, a short buzz into action then a great big gurgle and burp that says to me I'm disposing, I'm making your life easier and in a few minutes your mouldy old cabbage will soon be gone.

11:32. FreeHand MX.

Best Software Reading

"I want software developers to learn how to write things that people want to read, because communicating is one of the most overlooked skills in software development." (Blurb, Joel Spolsky, 'The Best of Software Writing 1'). "Great", I thought, "finally they will talk to ME!"

Would I be a Programmer? the guy at Foyles asked me when I was buying the book and I said No! I Am Not! I'm a Designer, interested in software, interested in the ways we can communicate about this most challenging design product ever. Now I want to figure out why I feel a bit disappointed.

The book has 29 articles (absurdities/comics/rants/real life dramas), the writing (laughing/drawing/shouting/crying) is great. It's '...write things that people WANT to read...' that has been bugging me. Who's this people, if not software developers? Hiring Hackers? I don't care! Incredibly exploitative working conditions? True, I can empathize, but please, would you talk to me now?

Adam Bosworth and Clay Shirky did. Their texts stand out to me as they are talking about Users, about tools and technologies that will revolutionize user behaviour. Nil article talks about the problems in workflow, the problems in communication between software developers and the people developing guidelines re product behaviour and face... Vers.2?

PS. Lovely: "Award for the Silliest User Interface: Windows Search"

I want to be a sexist!

God, this image is evil. God, this image is BORING! Even criticising it is boring. What's the point? We've been there, throwing Farbbomben at such crap with 14, giving up on it with 18 (after all, colours and air balloons are expensive, and everybody agrees adverts are shit anyway). Still. This motive is plastered all over London, and whenever I cycle past it, my brain hurts. So: I want to have some fun now, I want to be a sexist now, hand me the coke that keeps me going! Saying sexist, thinking breasts. What are the breasts of men, then, how shall I replace the cups? About men - I like good hair. Good taste in shoes, that's hard to find, too. Heads and toes, and you can pretty much forget everything else inbetween. Please bear with me now while we hold a minute of silence.

Ok, we're back, and I think I got it all wrong! Men, you've got a point - women are much nicer to look at, and nobody would wish for partly dressed men distributed widely in public. It's not the breasts that have to disappear from the posters - it's the products!

Think about it - when would you ever drink a cup of Nescafe? I can think of only one possible scenario. You're camping, with your Young Love partner, of course. Everything is dirty smelly, and the tent is tiny, so sex has been really bad recently. You didn't get enough sleep as a bunch of nazis were driving their four wheel tank around your tent, partying to some straight edge hardcore sound all night. You've been woken up by the sound of rain - actual buckets of water, travelling straight from heaven to hell, with your tent marking the way. Now that's when Nescafe kicks in. How can you prove you can take it? You could drink a cup of Nescafe. You're tougher than this.

NB. My 13.5 good male friends, please feel excluded from my sexism. a.

Beautiful.

I've got a girlfriend in Asia. She's tiny. Should she be made taller? Longer Legs by Operation aren't only hip and happening. According to my girlfriend, they have become an entrance requirement for a career in Hong Kong (and I don't mean: a marriage scenario...). 'What's your height? Sorry, tall calls only, please...'

1 out of 45 flatmates was studying to become a priest. He was good fun, he was homophobic, he was conservative to the bone. He had these bones broken in hospital - twice - as he was born with x-shaped legs. Without straight legs, he believed, he wouldn't find the woman to love. I've always regretted moving away from Hamburg, I never found out: did he meet her? Maybe in hospital, two believers having their legs broken in neighbouring beds, coming together finally? What could he possibly preach at his parish, somewhere up there towards Kiel? I cannot imagine, it's all odd.

14.09.2005, page 3 of a recently redesigned magazine: Special Report.
40% of page in total: sexy close-up of woman's mouth, syringe.
20% of text in total: everything you ever wanted to know about collagen. The Guardian thinks you're thinking about it - are you? "The beauty products from the skin of executed Chinese prisoners." - don't be fooled, that's only a headline, not a title... Shoot me, should I ever buy the Guardian again.

Squirrels?

"Prototype for Red Squirrels"
"Squirrel helps with mobile calls"
"KSquirrel - image viewer for KDE"

Corporate Piracy

thought-thieves.org hijacked and skinned a Microsoft competition on intellectual property theft, calling for films on corporate piracy. "How would you feel if your saw your cultural traditions, collective creativity, thousand-year-old seed strains, indigenous medicinal knowledge, or even your very genetic code being passed off as the property of some multinational corporation? What would you do?"

Apple Care

On my way to the Apple Store I kind of bumped into Ali G. He was standing in front of Hamley's Toy Store, being annoyingly yellow, shooting soap bubbles at the stars. Hitting only Regent Street, though. They were amazing to cycle through. I enjoyed them. I laughed. Should have warned me, though. Never enter an Apple Store disarmed and relaxed!

My all-smiles, all-energetic sales guy ('Hello! I am XX, and I'll be your personal mugger today!') broke the stunning news to me that not only I could actually BUY something in that place (keepin' it real, Ali). I was also in the lucky position to purchase TWO items for the price of one. Oh, yes, the object in question being a replacement power supply for my laptop, with, starring item no1: the cable going into my laptop, and, starring item no2: the cable going into the wall socket. huh? what the f***? (Well, Apple is hiring sales personnel, so maybe you are gone by now? But, to be fair, the guy on the sales till was worse, talking porn and telling me not to nick the Apple pen.) Please! Out there! Don't let them become Apple Geniusses! And, btw, I want other equipment!