My big sister (movie producer, photographer, lover, lunatic) got me and the small brother onto Instagram when she visited our shores recently. I can't speak for the small one, but I love it. It's a photo sharing site thingy, but there's something very immediate and warm about it. My photos are rubbish, but you can put different filters on them and perk them up a bit. Both Big Sis and Small Bro are better photographers than what I am but I haven't given up hope.
In her case, Instagram serves as a daily diary. The dog features large (it must be a hereditary condition) but I can see where she's been and who she's seen, just by looking on Instagram. I like it. She's 3000 miles away, but no further than my pocket.
I recommend it highly. I think it costs a few pennies, but it's well worth it.
Wednesday, 22 February 2012
Friday, 17 February 2012
228. The Royal Tenenbaums
What I love the most about TRT is that it's a well-observed story about a dysfunctional family, with a lovely shiny layer of bonkers over the top. (Also I'm pretty certain that Gene Hackman was just playing himself, but that's another story.)
Many, many people have tried this kind of whimsical tomfoolery on film before and failed miserably. I think TRT succeeds because it's not a construct - it's very likely that Wes Anderson's interior world looks and sounds almost exactly like the world in the movie. I like Rushmore and The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (and I quite liked The Darjeeling Limited) but for me TRT is his best movie yet. There's something poignant and melancholy about TRT that is only just balanced by how funny it is - it's soulful.
Anyway, it holds up beautifully. A perfect movie for a rainy Sunday afternoon.
Many, many people have tried this kind of whimsical tomfoolery on film before and failed miserably. I think TRT succeeds because it's not a construct - it's very likely that Wes Anderson's interior world looks and sounds almost exactly like the world in the movie. I like Rushmore and The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (and I quite liked The Darjeeling Limited) but for me TRT is his best movie yet. There's something poignant and melancholy about TRT that is only just balanced by how funny it is - it's soulful.
Anyway, it holds up beautifully. A perfect movie for a rainy Sunday afternoon.
Tuesday, 7 February 2012
227. Westies in ads
It seems perfectly sensible – and logical – to me, when companies use Westie dogs to help sell their products. Well, duh. Westies are the cutest, shnarfliest, wuffliest, bestest dogs in the whole wide world, so it obviously makes sense to hitch your wagon to their gorgeous little haunches.
Sadly, not all marketeers have cottoned on to this remarkably efficient, simple, strategy. They persist in using cute (?) children, handsome (?) boys and pretty (?) girls, when they could just use a Westie. They fly to Connemara, Vancouver, Bordeaux - when they could just use a Westie. They spend thousands on ad agencies and cynical, world-weary copywriters like me, developing cynical world-weary slogans that sound all fresh and hopeful and bubbly, when they could just use a Westie. Why? Why do they bother?
I think I've made my point.
I will open the floor out to other small dogs (particularly terriers, obvs) and the occasional larger hound as long as the first thing that crosses your mind when you see the pooch isn't 'big dog, big poos.' This thinking may be unique to me. I'm not sure.
So if you're thinking of starting a small business, or other commercial enterprise, I have a Westie for hire. She's not very white any more and she's almost entirely unpredictable where consistent behaviour is concerned, but she's a Westie, ergo she will help you sell your products. No, no need to thank me. You're welcome.
PS - She is afraid of her own farts, so remind me not to give her any veggies before the shoot or you'll need a contingency for overtime.
Sadly, not all marketeers have cottoned on to this remarkably efficient, simple, strategy. They persist in using cute (?) children, handsome (?) boys and pretty (?) girls, when they could just use a Westie. They fly to Connemara, Vancouver, Bordeaux - when they could just use a Westie. They spend thousands on ad agencies and cynical, world-weary copywriters like me, developing cynical world-weary slogans that sound all fresh and hopeful and bubbly, when they could just use a Westie. Why? Why do they bother?
I think I've made my point.
I will open the floor out to other small dogs (particularly terriers, obvs) and the occasional larger hound as long as the first thing that crosses your mind when you see the pooch isn't 'big dog, big poos.' This thinking may be unique to me. I'm not sure.
So if you're thinking of starting a small business, or other commercial enterprise, I have a Westie for hire. She's not very white any more and she's almost entirely unpredictable where consistent behaviour is concerned, but she's a Westie, ergo she will help you sell your products. No, no need to thank me. You're welcome.
PS - She is afraid of her own farts, so remind me not to give her any veggies before the shoot or you'll need a contingency for overtime.
Monday, 6 February 2012
226. Echoes - Will Young
Another one for the list of my musical crimes - the new album by that nice Will Young. I've never owned any of his music before (the copy of his first album which is in my possession came from my rule of 'Finders Keepers, Losers Weepers at the beach. Just FYI.) Auntie Kim very sweetly bought this new one for me, for Christmas.
The first single, Jealousy, is like an earworm. And it turns out that the rest of the album is like that, too. My top three are Come On, Runaway and Personal Thunder. I am listening to this album on endless repeat and really struggling to get bored with it.
I always used to think that there was a grating chipmunk quality to the Young voice, but I've changed my mind. (Sidebar: I've changed my mind about Gary Oldman's Smiley, too. But that's a different blog.) And, frankly, there is something appealing about the fact that when Will Young's singing about his broken heart he's singing about a boy. Sorry, tiny bit of politics there. Won't do it again.
Herself can tune out my singing, and doesn't hear half the nonsense that comes out of my mouth, but she says that she likes this album, so you have a second opinion. She had to watch me dancing round the beach house to Thriller yesterday - wife and woofy sitting there staring at me with a mixture of affection and alarm. Ah, good times.
Anyway, I'm wittering. Will Young's album Echoes. It's a good un.
PS - the dog lovers should watch this video...
The first single, Jealousy, is like an earworm. And it turns out that the rest of the album is like that, too. My top three are Come On, Runaway and Personal Thunder. I am listening to this album on endless repeat and really struggling to get bored with it.
I always used to think that there was a grating chipmunk quality to the Young voice, but I've changed my mind. (Sidebar: I've changed my mind about Gary Oldman's Smiley, too. But that's a different blog.) And, frankly, there is something appealing about the fact that when Will Young's singing about his broken heart he's singing about a boy. Sorry, tiny bit of politics there. Won't do it again.
Herself can tune out my singing, and doesn't hear half the nonsense that comes out of my mouth, but she says that she likes this album, so you have a second opinion. She had to watch me dancing round the beach house to Thriller yesterday - wife and woofy sitting there staring at me with a mixture of affection and alarm. Ah, good times.
Anyway, I'm wittering. Will Young's album Echoes. It's a good un.
PS - the dog lovers should watch this video...
Thursday, 2 February 2012
225. Thoughts for the Day
Work is being more than usually annoying at the moment, so we have taken to fortifying ourselves with bracing thoughts for the day. So far, they have centered on 'occupations which would be worse'.
I was working on a brief the other day for TENA incontinence pads, so my thought for the day became, 'I do not have to analyse the wet patches inside 350 adult all in one briefs.'
My friend Philippa, it turned out, is relatively untutored in the spectrum of revolting jobs, so her thought for the day became, "I do not have to hack the fat off the insides of the sewers."
Bizarre as it sounds, it works. And obviously my new goal is to find the most disgusting jobs undertaken by humans and tell Philippa what they are while she's eating (for maximum effect). Who says I'm not effective in the work-place?
I was working on a brief the other day for TENA incontinence pads, so my thought for the day became, 'I do not have to analyse the wet patches inside 350 adult all in one briefs.'
My friend Philippa, it turned out, is relatively untutored in the spectrum of revolting jobs, so her thought for the day became, "I do not have to hack the fat off the insides of the sewers."
Bizarre as it sounds, it works. And obviously my new goal is to find the most disgusting jobs undertaken by humans and tell Philippa what they are while she's eating (for maximum effect). Who says I'm not effective in the work-place?
Wednesday, 25 January 2012
224. Spiral
Spiral (or Engrenages in French France) is a French cop show. I luuuuurve it. It's violent and angry and sweary and makes Paris look ugly and everybody in it is morally compromised and it's GREAT.
Herself and I have watched 3 series on DVD and towards the end we had to ration our intake, to stave off the inevitable. Sadly for us, Season 4 has only just been made, so I'll have to wait a good few months before my addiction can be fed. Hm - I can feel a boxset coming on...
Herself and I have watched 3 series on DVD and towards the end we had to ration our intake, to stave off the inevitable. Sadly for us, Season 4 has only just been made, so I'll have to wait a good few months before my addiction can be fed. Hm - I can feel a boxset coming on...
Tuesday, 10 January 2012
223. The Night Sky
Happy 2012, bleaders!
(Sorry to be tardy posting, had a bit on.)
Anyway, in Suffolk between Christmas and early January, the skies above were fair twinkly with stars. I've witnessed a starry night before, of course, but the rich tapestry of the night sky unfurled itself in a way that was quite mesmerising this time. Don't know why - maybe it was the Stilton.
I could even see some Milky Way - it was THAT clear and bright. Lovely, I tell you. Lovely.
But it was like being a small child again, and not knowing how to read. Herself is no good to me - she can do the big saucepan (which I KNOW is called something sensible really, so don't write in) but that's about it. A kindly friend told me that the three stars in a line was Orion's Belt, which was very exciting news. As we walked along the seafront, me tripping over small dogs, bollards and bins full of chip wrappers, too busy studying the stars to bother looking where I was going, Herself said wearily, "There's probably an App for your phone, you know. You could probably just point the phone at the sky and it would tell you what you're looking at."
Bleader, she was correct! It's called Night Sky (original) and cost 69 of your British pence. So now I will become extremely au fait with celestial patterns and will wow people with my knowledge. I'm excited. But of course there isn't really a night sky in London because of all the pollution, so I'll have to wait until this weekend to try it out. Look out for further reports!
(Sorry to be tardy posting, had a bit on.)
Anyway, in Suffolk between Christmas and early January, the skies above were fair twinkly with stars. I've witnessed a starry night before, of course, but the rich tapestry of the night sky unfurled itself in a way that was quite mesmerising this time. Don't know why - maybe it was the Stilton.
I could even see some Milky Way - it was THAT clear and bright. Lovely, I tell you. Lovely.
But it was like being a small child again, and not knowing how to read. Herself is no good to me - she can do the big saucepan (which I KNOW is called something sensible really, so don't write in) but that's about it. A kindly friend told me that the three stars in a line was Orion's Belt, which was very exciting news. As we walked along the seafront, me tripping over small dogs, bollards and bins full of chip wrappers, too busy studying the stars to bother looking where I was going, Herself said wearily, "There's probably an App for your phone, you know. You could probably just point the phone at the sky and it would tell you what you're looking at."
Bleader, she was correct! It's called Night Sky (original) and cost 69 of your British pence. So now I will become extremely au fait with celestial patterns and will wow people with my knowledge. I'm excited. But of course there isn't really a night sky in London because of all the pollution, so I'll have to wait until this weekend to try it out. Look out for further reports!
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