Mad at work, busy at home, finally in for the night and catching up on Sky+ tellybox which somehow feels like more work. Washing up, then bed, but not before tidying my room, which is a hole due to it simply being my crashing ground for the last couple of weeks.
I miss the quiet of work...
Thursday, 7 May 2009
Monday, 27 April 2009
CHANGE IS GOOD - AS IS A REST (for broken boyfriends)
So, now I'm an event producer. Who knew?
I'm loving my new job, even if (or rather especially because) I've been thrown in the deep end. The client on my current projects is lovely, my colleagues are very sweet/funny/chatty/brilliant, and the only complaint I can possibly make is 'what the hell is wrong with the District line after 6pm?'.
All go here. Birmingham and Leeds last week. Birmingham Motorcycle Museum may not sound great, and is in fact a little dry, but you absolutely cannot fault the staff in any way - incredibly lovely, proactive people. Leeds Royal Armouries were not, as the rumours I'd heard would have it, difficult. In fact, they were very good at making little problems disappear. And the hall of steel is awesome, even if you do feel something is going to drop on your head any moment...
This week we're in Bristol and Peterborough. I'm looking forward to Bristol as, having been to university in Bath all those aeons ago, I always liked popping across to the place. It'll be nice to see it again. Peterborough... um, anyway, yes, Bristol will be fun.
More frivolous things - I had all my hair cut off on Saturday. 5 years of rock-wife hair, so it was time. After rushing there, sitting in the chair for 3 and a half hours, then bombing it over to Hampton from Spitalfields to get to the first part of a hen party, I got to drive a boat for a couple of hours. Which was fun. Then off to the restaurant/bar for a surprisingly tasty meal, though I got knackered very early on and left with two mum-friends of mine, who had better excuses than getting up too early to get their hair cut. Such as small children.
The next day, after crashing with my parents, I sauntered into Kingston for a quick bout of neccessary shopping. I was planning to meet Mike at the cinema later, but this got scrapped pretty quickly following a brief but hilarious call about the picnic he'd been on the day before.
Mike: 'I didn't sleep much - I only got in at 2am'
Me: 'Oh, did you have a nice time then...?!'
'Er, no. I was in hospital for 6 hours'
'What?!'
'I tore a ligament diving for a frisbee'
So, after a quick shop, I made my way to Mike's to look after my poor, broken soldier. We watched a couple of movies, I snoozed on him and bashed the wrong foot a couple of times by accident, then ordered sushi. Unfortunately, this took an age to arrive, so whilst we were eating at 8.45pm, immediately afterwards I got sleepy and figured, seeing as I still had my overnight bag from the night before, that I'd just kip over (and try not to snuggle for fear of leg bashing). It was only this morning, leaving his flat, that I remembered I had a client meeting - and a public sector one at that. My jeans weren't exactly appropriate, but I had no time to change. A quick bluff with a different jacket I'd fortunately purchased the day before did the trick, though when my colleague asked 'Do you have a different pair of trousers in the bag too?' I had to answer 'I don't think that black-leather-look cotton jeans will be any better, to be honest'.
The meeting went well, I had no choice but to thunder through the points to get stuff done and dusted to finish off the afternoon eeks (on site from tomorrow, and a physio appointment first thing - perfect combo) - but it's all good. Got back in half an hour ago, and still trying to decide what to eat. An whether to bother doing hte washingup for my flatmates, seeing as all I contributed to it is one cup, and haven't been in the flat for a week otherwise whilst they've let it stack up. (Though I know for one of them it's a protest against the other not doing it EVER).
Hey ho. On with the dance. Or not, in Mike's case. Awwwwwww.
I'm loving my new job, even if (or rather especially because) I've been thrown in the deep end. The client on my current projects is lovely, my colleagues are very sweet/funny/chatty/brilliant, and the only complaint I can possibly make is 'what the hell is wrong with the District line after 6pm?'.
All go here. Birmingham and Leeds last week. Birmingham Motorcycle Museum may not sound great, and is in fact a little dry, but you absolutely cannot fault the staff in any way - incredibly lovely, proactive people. Leeds Royal Armouries were not, as the rumours I'd heard would have it, difficult. In fact, they were very good at making little problems disappear. And the hall of steel is awesome, even if you do feel something is going to drop on your head any moment...
This week we're in Bristol and Peterborough. I'm looking forward to Bristol as, having been to university in Bath all those aeons ago, I always liked popping across to the place. It'll be nice to see it again. Peterborough... um, anyway, yes, Bristol will be fun.
More frivolous things - I had all my hair cut off on Saturday. 5 years of rock-wife hair, so it was time. After rushing there, sitting in the chair for 3 and a half hours, then bombing it over to Hampton from Spitalfields to get to the first part of a hen party, I got to drive a boat for a couple of hours. Which was fun. Then off to the restaurant/bar for a surprisingly tasty meal, though I got knackered very early on and left with two mum-friends of mine, who had better excuses than getting up too early to get their hair cut. Such as small children.
The next day, after crashing with my parents, I sauntered into Kingston for a quick bout of neccessary shopping. I was planning to meet Mike at the cinema later, but this got scrapped pretty quickly following a brief but hilarious call about the picnic he'd been on the day before.
Mike: 'I didn't sleep much - I only got in at 2am'
Me: 'Oh, did you have a nice time then...?!'
'Er, no. I was in hospital for 6 hours'
'What?!'
'I tore a ligament diving for a frisbee'
So, after a quick shop, I made my way to Mike's to look after my poor, broken soldier. We watched a couple of movies, I snoozed on him and bashed the wrong foot a couple of times by accident, then ordered sushi. Unfortunately, this took an age to arrive, so whilst we were eating at 8.45pm, immediately afterwards I got sleepy and figured, seeing as I still had my overnight bag from the night before, that I'd just kip over (and try not to snuggle for fear of leg bashing). It was only this morning, leaving his flat, that I remembered I had a client meeting - and a public sector one at that. My jeans weren't exactly appropriate, but I had no time to change. A quick bluff with a different jacket I'd fortunately purchased the day before did the trick, though when my colleague asked 'Do you have a different pair of trousers in the bag too?' I had to answer 'I don't think that black-leather-look cotton jeans will be any better, to be honest'.
The meeting went well, I had no choice but to thunder through the points to get stuff done and dusted to finish off the afternoon eeks (on site from tomorrow, and a physio appointment first thing - perfect combo) - but it's all good. Got back in half an hour ago, and still trying to decide what to eat. An whether to bother doing hte washingup for my flatmates, seeing as all I contributed to it is one cup, and haven't been in the flat for a week otherwise whilst they've let it stack up. (Though I know for one of them it's a protest against the other not doing it EVER).
Hey ho. On with the dance. Or not, in Mike's case. Awwwwwww.
Wednesday, 8 April 2009
Boston
I'll be updating this as and when I remember what I did. Right now it's a bit of a daze...
Thursday
Get up early for the airport from my parents', and get stuck in the most almighty traffic. Get to the airport with just enough time for check in and a rushed breakfast at Wagamama (their kedgeree is great, and the breakfast soba noodles scrummy, by the way). Mike nips to the loo, and en route notices the board stating our flight is now boarding, and it's supposed to take 15 mins to get there. Eek. We run the rest of the way, and are about to get on the plane when Mike gets stopped and is searched. Just because, apparently.
During the flight, our TVs flicker and pause constantly. It's maddening, and gives me a headache.
On the plane, I fill in the green form and the customs form. Something about a visa waiver is mentioned on the tannoy. I assume, fairly, this means the green form, as per usual. We touch down in Boston, and I get the usual hot flushes and nausea after stepping off a plane, which I think is some kind of reverse motion sickness - and exactly the state I want to be in when seeing immigration.
Mike swans through easily, only I'm in another queue. My lady takes forever, and starts asking me a pile of odd questions.
'Have you been to the US before?'. Er, yes, hence the three previous stamps. I came more on my old passport.
'What was the purpose of those visits?'. Holiday.
'What is the purpose of your current visit?'. Holiday. It's my birthday tomorrow, you see.
'Why didn't you fill in Esther?'. Sorry? Who?
'I'll ask again, m'aam. Why did you not fill in the visa waiver online?' (surprised) I, er, what? Do you mean this green form here?
'No. Are you travelling alone?' No, I'm with my boyfriend.
'Where is he?' He's already through, and standing over there (points)
'Call him over please.' Er, alright... (wave to Mike to bring him over)
'So you didn't fill in the ESTA - Electronic System for Travel Authorization?' There were some details my partner filled in on the BA website, do you mean that? But that's just the usual passport stuff, I don't think that's what you mean...
'M'aam, your partner is not permitted to fill in anything on your behalf, that is a clear violation of US immigration law. Remain here please.' (she goes off and speak to another booth operator)
Mike: 'What's going on?' Me: 'I'm not sure, but I don't think I'm going to be let in, for some reason.' Mike: 'Shit.' (lady comes back)
'M'aam, the US operates since the 12th January 2009 an online visa waiver application system that you have clearly not filled in.' (I'm beginning to panic a litle now, the motion sickness not helping)
'Under these circumstances...' (oh god no, it's my fucking birthday, for fuck's sake)
'...we have decided to allow you to enter the US regardless, as we are currently not sure how this system is being advertised outside the US since its implication (yup, I'm pretty sure that's the word she used. I blame Bush). It has nothing to do with immigration, and yet comes under our banner though we are not the implimentors, so we have no way to track it's awareness globally. Next time you wish to enter the US, please fill in the form online. You can go now.'
I've missed out the bit with her freaking out over my hat being on her desk. Mike also later pointed out you can't break US law from the UK, and that she said that to scare me. Which worked.
So immigration finally sorted. We go to pick up our bags. Mike makes a passing 'hilarious' comment about customs and their rubber gloves. So of course we get stopped. Guy asks to see our passport whilst we open our bags for him, and whilst doing so asks the purpose of our visit. I say, slightly miffed but trying to stay cheerful, 'it's my 30th birthday tomorrow, and today ain't my day - immigration were funny with me too. My face must have suddenly gotten ragged and suspicious'. He looks at my passport and sees I'm not lying, and bless him, his search of our bags suddenly becomes very cursory and brief, and with not some small amount of embrassment. He apologises and says he hopes we have a good time in Boston.
We get the T to the hotel, dump bags and shower, then head out for a brief wander before going to Dick's Last Resort to cheer Mike up. He has ribs, I have a bucket of king crab claws and herby melted butter, which is nom (if very painful to get into - those spikey legs are sharp).
Thursday
Get up early for the airport from my parents', and get stuck in the most almighty traffic. Get to the airport with just enough time for check in and a rushed breakfast at Wagamama (their kedgeree is great, and the breakfast soba noodles scrummy, by the way). Mike nips to the loo, and en route notices the board stating our flight is now boarding, and it's supposed to take 15 mins to get there. Eek. We run the rest of the way, and are about to get on the plane when Mike gets stopped and is searched. Just because, apparently.
During the flight, our TVs flicker and pause constantly. It's maddening, and gives me a headache.
On the plane, I fill in the green form and the customs form. Something about a visa waiver is mentioned on the tannoy. I assume, fairly, this means the green form, as per usual. We touch down in Boston, and I get the usual hot flushes and nausea after stepping off a plane, which I think is some kind of reverse motion sickness - and exactly the state I want to be in when seeing immigration.
Mike swans through easily, only I'm in another queue. My lady takes forever, and starts asking me a pile of odd questions.
'Have you been to the US before?'. Er, yes, hence the three previous stamps. I came more on my old passport.
'What was the purpose of those visits?'. Holiday.
'What is the purpose of your current visit?'. Holiday. It's my birthday tomorrow, you see.
'Why didn't you fill in Esther?'. Sorry? Who?
'I'll ask again, m'aam. Why did you not fill in the visa waiver online?' (surprised) I, er, what? Do you mean this green form here?
'No. Are you travelling alone?' No, I'm with my boyfriend.
'Where is he?' He's already through, and standing over there (points)
'Call him over please.' Er, alright... (wave to Mike to bring him over)
'So you didn't fill in the ESTA - Electronic System for Travel Authorization?' There were some details my partner filled in on the BA website, do you mean that? But that's just the usual passport stuff, I don't think that's what you mean...
'M'aam, your partner is not permitted to fill in anything on your behalf, that is a clear violation of US immigration law. Remain here please.' (she goes off and speak to another booth operator)
Mike: 'What's going on?' Me: 'I'm not sure, but I don't think I'm going to be let in, for some reason.' Mike: 'Shit.' (lady comes back)
'M'aam, the US operates since the 12th January 2009 an online visa waiver application system that you have clearly not filled in.' (I'm beginning to panic a litle now, the motion sickness not helping)
'Under these circumstances...' (oh god no, it's my fucking birthday, for fuck's sake)
'...we have decided to allow you to enter the US regardless, as we are currently not sure how this system is being advertised outside the US since its implication (yup, I'm pretty sure that's the word she used. I blame Bush). It has nothing to do with immigration, and yet comes under our banner though we are not the implimentors, so we have no way to track it's awareness globally. Next time you wish to enter the US, please fill in the form online. You can go now.'
I've missed out the bit with her freaking out over my hat being on her desk. Mike also later pointed out you can't break US law from the UK, and that she said that to scare me. Which worked.
So immigration finally sorted. We go to pick up our bags. Mike makes a passing 'hilarious' comment about customs and their rubber gloves. So of course we get stopped. Guy asks to see our passport whilst we open our bags for him, and whilst doing so asks the purpose of our visit. I say, slightly miffed but trying to stay cheerful, 'it's my 30th birthday tomorrow, and today ain't my day - immigration were funny with me too. My face must have suddenly gotten ragged and suspicious'. He looks at my passport and sees I'm not lying, and bless him, his search of our bags suddenly becomes very cursory and brief, and with not some small amount of embrassment. He apologises and says he hopes we have a good time in Boston.
We get the T to the hotel, dump bags and shower, then head out for a brief wander before going to Dick's Last Resort to cheer Mike up. He has ribs, I have a bucket of king crab claws and herby melted butter, which is nom (if very painful to get into - those spikey legs are sharp).
Wednesday, 1 April 2009
I'ts all go here...
So in the last week, I've worked about four (or was it five?) 20hr rigging shifts. My brain is addled and stupid, even now - this after Monday night when, immediately after being fed at 7pm, the boyfriend watched me crash out - dead to the world - until 8am the next day. Man, I was tired.
I've also (references pending) been given a job. Kudos to the company that has hired me for seeing a freelancer as an advantage to a permanent team, rather than a hindrance or risk. Once I'm happily ensconced I'll write more on this, but it seems unpolitic to do so for now. I'm extremely happy, let's leave it at that.
Also, I am going to Boston for a holiday tomorrow. Just a short one to celebrate my birthday, but a well-deserved holiday nonetheless, where I'll probably come back fat from all the chowder. I am really looking forward to it... A bucket of crab claws. Life doesn't get much better.
So, all change here. And hopefully all for the best. I'll update this blog when I'm back, but until then enjoy the g20 summit... I dunno. There's not much else about, and I'm enjoying the crowd-baiting even the BBC have been doing...
Laters! x
I've also (references pending) been given a job. Kudos to the company that has hired me for seeing a freelancer as an advantage to a permanent team, rather than a hindrance or risk. Once I'm happily ensconced I'll write more on this, but it seems unpolitic to do so for now. I'm extremely happy, let's leave it at that.
Also, I am going to Boston for a holiday tomorrow. Just a short one to celebrate my birthday, but a well-deserved holiday nonetheless, where I'll probably come back fat from all the chowder. I am really looking forward to it... A bucket of crab claws. Life doesn't get much better.
So, all change here. And hopefully all for the best. I'll update this blog when I'm back, but until then enjoy the g20 summit... I dunno. There's not much else about, and I'm enjoying the crowd-baiting even the BBC have been doing...
Laters! x
Wednesday, 25 March 2009
Right. Hmm.
Having one of those weeks. Everything I'm working on is embroiled in chaos and speed, which I dislike immensely. Probably because I'm not in control of any of my projects in the production end I'm used to, and that's grating. Hey ho.
Interview tomorrow, number two stage. Fingers crossed.
That's it from me, probably for the rest of the week. 2am starts are hard. Writing anything sensible afterwards is harder still...
Interview tomorrow, number two stage. Fingers crossed.
That's it from me, probably for the rest of the week. 2am starts are hard. Writing anything sensible afterwards is harder still...
Tuesday, 24 March 2009
Unlikely but true
I've just been to the premier of a Richard Curtis movie.
Busy week, so I'll fill this in better later in the week with a couple of proper rants once I actually have some free time. 4am start, so need the rest...
Busy week, so I'll fill this in better later in the week with a couple of proper rants once I actually have some free time. 4am start, so need the rest...
Thursday, 19 March 2009
Eek eek eek
Sorry. Total fail to update this blog, due to the most insane hours ever.
Saturday - Right now, I genuinely can't remember.
Sunday - got briefing for new bout of freelance work. Went for coffee with Mike's flatmate Dave and our friend Tim, who are writing a musical together. Did a bunch of work. Tried to sleep early for the next day. Failed.
Monday - 2am start to oversee rig after no sleep the night before. The day finally ended 8pm. I got to bed, though, at 11pm, due to completing some work stuff I was unable to do during the day. I did not sleep.
Tuesday - awoke with migraine. This is due to Friday's late night thanks to insane, noisy, partying, wailing-in-grief next door neighbours, Saturday's fretful sleep, and Sunday's total lack due to early start. Took major painkillers, set off to organise my employer's storage shed for the project I am currently working on. Not fun when, despite dropping the pain, the pills can't remove the symptoms. Try organising large equipment, not to say lifting it, with tunnel vision, back on fire and slurred speech. Joy. Day ends 8pm. Then at 10pm discover iPod Touch is missing. Much searching in flat and road yeilds nowt. Get colleague to check van, it's not there. Convinced I've stupidly dropped it in road and it's nicked. Speak to Mike, who scrambles through my migraine brain and helps me remember I did jump out the van before getting home. Order taxi for round trip, offering massive tip if it's there. (It is my PDA after all, basically) Go through gates, rummage with torch, it's not there. About to give up, tunr around, and spot something black on the floor - heart in mouth walk over, it's my iPod face down. Tentatively piack it up, hoping.... and it's fine. Not even scratched. Luckiest moment of my life, taxi driver gets tip, thank you universe. Get to bed 11pm.
Wednesday - 2am start, finishing 8.30pm. Go to Mike's for sleep.
Thursday - PUPPETS. 3pm, get too tired to move, head home, make quick calls, fall asleep at 5pm. Now forcing self back to sleep.
Proper blog will resume shortly.
Saturday - Right now, I genuinely can't remember.
Sunday - got briefing for new bout of freelance work. Went for coffee with Mike's flatmate Dave and our friend Tim, who are writing a musical together. Did a bunch of work. Tried to sleep early for the next day. Failed.
Monday - 2am start to oversee rig after no sleep the night before. The day finally ended 8pm. I got to bed, though, at 11pm, due to completing some work stuff I was unable to do during the day. I did not sleep.
Tuesday - awoke with migraine. This is due to Friday's late night thanks to insane, noisy, partying, wailing-in-grief next door neighbours, Saturday's fretful sleep, and Sunday's total lack due to early start. Took major painkillers, set off to organise my employer's storage shed for the project I am currently working on. Not fun when, despite dropping the pain, the pills can't remove the symptoms. Try organising large equipment, not to say lifting it, with tunnel vision, back on fire and slurred speech. Joy. Day ends 8pm. Then at 10pm discover iPod Touch is missing. Much searching in flat and road yeilds nowt. Get colleague to check van, it's not there. Convinced I've stupidly dropped it in road and it's nicked. Speak to Mike, who scrambles through my migraine brain and helps me remember I did jump out the van before getting home. Order taxi for round trip, offering massive tip if it's there. (It is my PDA after all, basically) Go through gates, rummage with torch, it's not there. About to give up, tunr around, and spot something black on the floor - heart in mouth walk over, it's my iPod face down. Tentatively piack it up, hoping.... and it's fine. Not even scratched. Luckiest moment of my life, taxi driver gets tip, thank you universe. Get to bed 11pm.
Wednesday - 2am start, finishing 8.30pm. Go to Mike's for sleep.
Thursday - PUPPETS. 3pm, get too tired to move, head home, make quick calls, fall asleep at 5pm. Now forcing self back to sleep.
Proper blog will resume shortly.
Friday, 13 March 2009
GIVE
Today I have noticed that there are an awful lot of posts out there relating to hiring interns for event roles. More than I've ever seen before. Is this some kind of sea change? Anyhoo...
Going to be busy today, so all I have to say is this: please give whatever you can afford today for Comic Relief. We're all tight for cash at the moment, but if you think you can do without that £3 DVD, or £4 carton of ice cream, or whatever your small little luxury spend may be for the week for just this once, then please hand over that cash to the charity that supports those for whom the 'credit crisis' is nothing more than some phrase overheard from passing cameramen in jeeps.
You can have a giggle and give via the twitter route thanks to Peter Serafinovicz
Or you can stroll into your nearest TK Maxx and grab a t-shirt, or Sainsbury's for red noses and other 'gear' should you want something tangible.
Or you can donate via the website http://rednoseday.com/
Or you can stay up tonight and watch the whole thing beginning to end on BBC1, and call the phonelines to make your contribution.
Have a lovely day. And my favourite joke (with apologies to Alan Davies, who tells it best):
Two bee keepers are chatting, and the first asks, "How many bees have you got?"
The second replies, "I've got 10,000 bees.”
"How many hives have you got?"
"I've got 20 hives"
The first says “20 hives; 10,000 bees?"
The second replies "Yeah, that's right. How may bees have you got?"
The first says, “I've got a million bees.”
“A million bees?!" Cries the second.
"Yeah." Says the first.
Gasping, the second asks, "How many hives have you got?"
"One."
"A million bees - one hive?”
"Yeah, f**k 'em; they're only bees.”
Going to be busy today, so all I have to say is this: please give whatever you can afford today for Comic Relief. We're all tight for cash at the moment, but if you think you can do without that £3 DVD, or £4 carton of ice cream, or whatever your small little luxury spend may be for the week for just this once, then please hand over that cash to the charity that supports those for whom the 'credit crisis' is nothing more than some phrase overheard from passing cameramen in jeeps.
You can have a giggle and give via the twitter route thanks to Peter Serafinovicz
Or you can stroll into your nearest TK Maxx and grab a t-shirt, or Sainsbury's for red noses and other 'gear' should you want something tangible.
Or you can donate via the website http://rednoseday.com/
Or you can stay up tonight and watch the whole thing beginning to end on BBC1, and call the phonelines to make your contribution.
Have a lovely day. And my favourite joke (with apologies to Alan Davies, who tells it best):
Two bee keepers are chatting, and the first asks, "How many bees have you got?"
The second replies, "I've got 10,000 bees.”
"How many hives have you got?"
"I've got 20 hives"
The first says “20 hives; 10,000 bees?"
The second replies "Yeah, that's right. How may bees have you got?"
The first says, “I've got a million bees.”
“A million bees?!" Cries the second.
"Yeah." Says the first.
Gasping, the second asks, "How many hives have you got?"
"One."
"A million bees - one hive?”
"Yeah, f**k 'em; they're only bees.”
Thursday, 12 March 2009
Back
Apologies for lack of posts - on Monday night, I did something a bit nasty to the muscle under my left shoulderblade. Tuesday I had some bits to finish and I'd promised to help a friend make her wedding favours in the afternoon. Once this was done, I got the train to Mike's and began to be aware that the nasty ache had become a sharp pain - by the time I arrived, I was really feeling it.
Waking Tuesday morning, I literally couldn't move or pick things up with the left arm. Shifting slightly to the left meant I screamed involuntarily, breathing itself was excruciating. I was in complete agony. Fortunately, I happened to have a physio appointment anyway, and she was kind enough to completely bail on the usual session to attack this particular problem. After seeing me cry after each mini-massage, she went off and came back with heavy surgical tape, and effectively gaffa'd my back into position so I couldn't do worse to it.
This morning I am again able to move, but can feel it pulling away on my deeper breaths and larger movements, but at least the complete agony has subsided. Last night I actually had to be maneuvered into position by Mike in order to sleep on my side...
Still, kudos to the boyfriend for his infinite patience and big, strong manliness, and also for cooking me dinner. Also thanks to m flatmate for kindly doing the washing up when I wasn't able to even pick up a fork without supporting it with the other arm, like an old woman.
Normal service resumes shortly. Until then, have this - I have begun to really dislike Ricky Gervais, but completely LOVE Elmo's puppeteer in this short video. Bring back Muppets Tonight, overlords.
VIDEO
Waking Tuesday morning, I literally couldn't move or pick things up with the left arm. Shifting slightly to the left meant I screamed involuntarily, breathing itself was excruciating. I was in complete agony. Fortunately, I happened to have a physio appointment anyway, and she was kind enough to completely bail on the usual session to attack this particular problem. After seeing me cry after each mini-massage, she went off and came back with heavy surgical tape, and effectively gaffa'd my back into position so I couldn't do worse to it.
This morning I am again able to move, but can feel it pulling away on my deeper breaths and larger movements, but at least the complete agony has subsided. Last night I actually had to be maneuvered into position by Mike in order to sleep on my side...
Still, kudos to the boyfriend for his infinite patience and big, strong manliness, and also for cooking me dinner. Also thanks to m flatmate for kindly doing the washing up when I wasn't able to even pick up a fork without supporting it with the other arm, like an old woman.
Normal service resumes shortly. Until then, have this - I have begun to really dislike Ricky Gervais, but completely LOVE Elmo's puppeteer in this short video. Bring back Muppets Tonight, overlords.
VIDEO
Monday, 9 March 2009
Monday
Purely out of curiosity, why has so much of my last two weeks been spent spotting problems with other people's websites? And being terribly nice about it, even when it's possibly to the detriment of my reputation by calling and pointing out they have messed up...
Still, have completed two job applications so far today, so fingers crossed. There's been no joy on the freelancing end, so guess I'll just keep on keeping on...
Still, have completed two job applications so far today, so fingers crossed. There's been no joy on the freelancing end, so guess I'll just keep on keeping on...
Watchmen - movie
As promised.
First of all, the opening gambit and credit sequence. If you're not sure what you're in for, these two things will lay it down for you, setting both the tone and the approach.
The first scene, likely to be remembered for a loooong time, is pretty much exactly as envisioned in the original comic. It's dark, violent, beautifully shot and often quite shocking. The audience, if the weren't cheering, were gasping or wincing, and I often found myself involuntarily squinting. An awful lot of glass gets broken (but then it looks great), and there's a lot more to say, but I don't really want to spoil it for anyone unfamiliar with the comic (and really, if this describes you, go and read it now, you won't ever regret it) or who hasn't seen it yet - suffice to say, they really, really nailed it.
And then, if that's not enough, Snyder does something with the opening credit sequence which is nothing short of genius.
With so much of the comic consisting of back-story in the format of press cuttings, autobiography excerpts, psych files etc, how do you cover off the basics of this alternate world without being bogged down with exposition? The answer is so simple you wonder how anyone ever bothered not to do it before. Consisting of only a select few images shot in a bullet-time-style shot but very slo-mo, a scene is introduced setting the time and attitude of the period, whilst sketching a history for the audience. These include: Sally Jupiter smiles for some press men on the steps of the court; the Comedian grins whilst chomping a cigar as his prisoner fires his gun; the orginal Minutemen photo being taken; the famous TIME cover of the V-day celebrations is neatly subverted with the Silhouette kissing the nurse as the expected sailor walks by. There's even a witty Last Supper reference. All very jolly. But then we see Mothman being taken by the men in white coats. And this signals the beginning of the mood change. The crime scene pictures being taken of Silhouette and her lover. A quick and scintillating look at Rorchach's home life. Dr Manhattan meeting JFK. I won't spoil the next bit, but it's a cute wink and lays down implications for how this reality and one particular character works. Sally Jupiter argues with her husband/manager as her daughter looks on. Bodies in the street are found with a scrap of paper marked with a strange symbol. We're shown Moscow proudly displaying its nuclear might, as hippies place flowers in guns that promptly go off once the flower is placed. There's Warhol and Truman discussing the costumed heroes at the factory, Dr Manhattan assisting the moon landing, Ozymandius at Studio 54, and Nite Owl setting up the new Minutemen photo. And then we're shown that Nixon has a third term, as riots hot the streets against the Watchmen, and in a huge explosion the movie can begin in earnest. Over the top of this has been a constant set of bold yellow letters which cast their own shadow in the scene they play over, which are meant to be the credits themselves but end up as mere accessories ot the shadow that's been played.
And, of course, what you're seeing isn't all of the story. Yes, for an uninitiated audience member, this is a perfect way to introduce the back story needed to understand what they're about to see. But what's actually happening is a lovingly crafted paean to the rich tapestry of the graphic novel itself, with added in-jokes and neat ideas, some images brought to life from stills in the original, others pure whimsy but which communicate more. It's unbelievably geeky and incredibly cheering all at once, but with the added bonus of being practical with it. No cack-handed exposition crap with a new character to ask the audience's questions - instead, a neat, witty run-through, beautifully and faithfully shot, bringing everyone up to speed with anything majorly outstanding covered off during the movie.
Which neatly leads to the movie. I really don't want to say too much here, but I was very pleased to learn that there were several scenes Snyder didn't want to lose and stood his ground over.
However, this does lead to the problem. Much like 300, it's, and I hate to say it, almost too faithful. That opening scene simply had to sit true, that's understood. But the real sparks of brilliance are those opening credits, where liberties with the structure are taken and we're shown something exhilarating and fresh. And yes, the ending is slightly different, and erases a big structural problem in bringing it to the screen,a nd is perhaps a lot neater then the book. Around those, it's a carbon copy, stunningly executed visually, but just a little soulless. But with all the winces and violence, and I'll get back to this I promise, it is still a darn sight better than a majority of the tosh that gets funded. So, stop for a moment, those of us with true love for the comic, and just allow yourself to think, shuddering as you do, what Hollywood could have done to this. League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, anyone?
Performances, then. The very best go to, fortunately for this film, my two favourite characters from the graphic novel.
Dan Dreiberg - Yes, I love Rorschach, but for some reason I always favoured Nite Owl that little bit more. His sense of failure and vulnerability along with sarcasm and intelligence just set the edge over Ol' Crazy Bastard, and I really had no idea who or how they would cast this. Patrick Wilson. Huh? But he's, like, buff. Although very creepy and convincing in Hard Candy. It's a bit left field, but ok. I went along. Dan's a guy who let himself get 'comfortable', being a little more chisled in his youth. I can run with Wilson, I guess. And I genuinely didn't recognise him. In fact, I forgot it was him altogether. Physically, the extra couple of stone helped, but really, I don't think anyone could've done that better. I can't remember if it was during the scene or on the way home, but Mike was very keen to point out that unlike some other cast members, he really was acting. Not in an obvious way, but the conflict on his face in the first sex scene particularly showed it wasn't just a De Niro-style 'weigh my acting chops by how I'll physically change' gambit. He was good. So good, I'm about to rent Little Children and Hard Candy again, just to check his whole acting lark isn't a fluke of one movie.
Rorschach - I'd never heard of Jackie Earle Hayley. I have now. When this was first announced, most internet boards cried 'who he?', and concerns were raised. The crazy fools, no need to worry. In the mask, his movements are careful, monitored, quick. Once disrobed, whilst he moves the same, he is broken, crazy, perfectly deadpan yet witty and everyone is behind him, even more once we hear his story. I can't think of anyone who could have played him better. I'm glad no-one else tried.
Together, their scenes are touching, funny and brilliant, and make you wish for more.
And the rest.
Comedian -
Laurie - Malin Akerman looks stunning. And can do fight scenes. And looks stunning in latex also. Um. See, Laurie's a complicated character in some respects, but not terribly interesting. She's understandably brattish, and I always saw her as a bit of a pricktease, but again, understandable. But whilst Akerman does a great line in looking sultry, that's sort of it. Which is a damn shame as there's more to give, but as she looks the part, I don't suppose anyone will mind much.
Ozymandias - hm. When I heard it was Matthew Goode, I was concerned. I'd seen him in The Lookout, where he was unrecognisable and very good. I'd seen him in other stuff, where he tended to be fragile and earnest. I'm guessing Snyder was hoping to eke out some of the Lookout's brutal and mix it with earnest, but he ended up with a chap who looked as if he's part-timing between his Watchmen and Brideshead Revisted projects. I do not buy this as either the world's most intelligent man, or the greatest physical specimen of peak fitness. Nor do I buy him as the world's most charming bachelor mogul. (Though the audience loved the small gag on the floppy disk file names). No, he's just not strong enough, authoritative enough, charming enough or, frankly, American enough. Physically, you need a young Nick Nolte crossed with Paul Newman, and the authority of, well, Newman again, or possibly Brian Cox. Goode is good in other parts, but simply doesn't have the presence. There aren't many young actors out there capable. I kind of half-wish they'd managed to arrange Patrick Wilson in this role too... I'm now thinking Nathan Fillion on steroids. But this might just be my brain.
Dr Manhattan - First things first. A blue, CGI penis. Somewhere out there is a man, or woman (though let's be honest, it probably had to be a man on this one), in the world who had to calculate the physics for a freewheeling blue penis. As you do. I once had to spend two days dropping mic packs down Fearne Cotton's knickers. There are some strange jobs out there. That aside, it's... odd. Whilst his body moves right, his face, particularly his mouth, don't quite work. I remember messing around with a 3d programme at uni, and if you bent certain corners of the character face, it almost turned inside-out. And that seems to be what his mouth is on the cusp of constantly doing. It's distracting and irritating, and then infuriating following a line from Veidt towards the end of the movie. "Oh, you could, Mr Cleverpants? That's clever, 'coz from here it looked like he'd just had dental work, they'd hit the nerve and caused parasthesia." When he's not shiny and blue, Crudup's very good. But his speech on Mars isn't quite the same and ends up sounding cheesy rather than inspirational, and coming from a mouth about to sue his dental care plan, it doesn't quite sit right.
Going back to the penis, Mike felt compelled to point out it was too heavily weighted at the end and was being knocked around like a pull-cord end. So there, penis physics man.
I'll complete and edit this later. Bedtime.
First of all, the opening gambit and credit sequence. If you're not sure what you're in for, these two things will lay it down for you, setting both the tone and the approach.
The first scene, likely to be remembered for a loooong time, is pretty much exactly as envisioned in the original comic. It's dark, violent, beautifully shot and often quite shocking. The audience, if the weren't cheering, were gasping or wincing, and I often found myself involuntarily squinting. An awful lot of glass gets broken (but then it looks great), and there's a lot more to say, but I don't really want to spoil it for anyone unfamiliar with the comic (and really, if this describes you, go and read it now, you won't ever regret it) or who hasn't seen it yet - suffice to say, they really, really nailed it.
And then, if that's not enough, Snyder does something with the opening credit sequence which is nothing short of genius.
With so much of the comic consisting of back-story in the format of press cuttings, autobiography excerpts, psych files etc, how do you cover off the basics of this alternate world without being bogged down with exposition? The answer is so simple you wonder how anyone ever bothered not to do it before. Consisting of only a select few images shot in a bullet-time-style shot but very slo-mo, a scene is introduced setting the time and attitude of the period, whilst sketching a history for the audience. These include: Sally Jupiter smiles for some press men on the steps of the court; the Comedian grins whilst chomping a cigar as his prisoner fires his gun; the orginal Minutemen photo being taken; the famous TIME cover of the V-day celebrations is neatly subverted with the Silhouette kissing the nurse as the expected sailor walks by. There's even a witty Last Supper reference. All very jolly. But then we see Mothman being taken by the men in white coats. And this signals the beginning of the mood change. The crime scene pictures being taken of Silhouette and her lover. A quick and scintillating look at Rorchach's home life. Dr Manhattan meeting JFK. I won't spoil the next bit, but it's a cute wink and lays down implications for how this reality and one particular character works. Sally Jupiter argues with her husband/manager as her daughter looks on. Bodies in the street are found with a scrap of paper marked with a strange symbol. We're shown Moscow proudly displaying its nuclear might, as hippies place flowers in guns that promptly go off once the flower is placed. There's Warhol and Truman discussing the costumed heroes at the factory, Dr Manhattan assisting the moon landing, Ozymandius at Studio 54, and Nite Owl setting up the new Minutemen photo. And then we're shown that Nixon has a third term, as riots hot the streets against the Watchmen, and in a huge explosion the movie can begin in earnest. Over the top of this has been a constant set of bold yellow letters which cast their own shadow in the scene they play over, which are meant to be the credits themselves but end up as mere accessories ot the shadow that's been played.
And, of course, what you're seeing isn't all of the story. Yes, for an uninitiated audience member, this is a perfect way to introduce the back story needed to understand what they're about to see. But what's actually happening is a lovingly crafted paean to the rich tapestry of the graphic novel itself, with added in-jokes and neat ideas, some images brought to life from stills in the original, others pure whimsy but which communicate more. It's unbelievably geeky and incredibly cheering all at once, but with the added bonus of being practical with it. No cack-handed exposition crap with a new character to ask the audience's questions - instead, a neat, witty run-through, beautifully and faithfully shot, bringing everyone up to speed with anything majorly outstanding covered off during the movie.
Which neatly leads to the movie. I really don't want to say too much here, but I was very pleased to learn that there were several scenes Snyder didn't want to lose and stood his ground over.
However, this does lead to the problem. Much like 300, it's, and I hate to say it, almost too faithful. That opening scene simply had to sit true, that's understood. But the real sparks of brilliance are those opening credits, where liberties with the structure are taken and we're shown something exhilarating and fresh. And yes, the ending is slightly different, and erases a big structural problem in bringing it to the screen,a nd is perhaps a lot neater then the book. Around those, it's a carbon copy, stunningly executed visually, but just a little soulless. But with all the winces and violence, and I'll get back to this I promise, it is still a darn sight better than a majority of the tosh that gets funded. So, stop for a moment, those of us with true love for the comic, and just allow yourself to think, shuddering as you do, what Hollywood could have done to this. League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, anyone?
Performances, then. The very best go to, fortunately for this film, my two favourite characters from the graphic novel.
Dan Dreiberg - Yes, I love Rorschach, but for some reason I always favoured Nite Owl that little bit more. His sense of failure and vulnerability along with sarcasm and intelligence just set the edge over Ol' Crazy Bastard, and I really had no idea who or how they would cast this. Patrick Wilson. Huh? But he's, like, buff. Although very creepy and convincing in Hard Candy. It's a bit left field, but ok. I went along. Dan's a guy who let himself get 'comfortable', being a little more chisled in his youth. I can run with Wilson, I guess. And I genuinely didn't recognise him. In fact, I forgot it was him altogether. Physically, the extra couple of stone helped, but really, I don't think anyone could've done that better. I can't remember if it was during the scene or on the way home, but Mike was very keen to point out that unlike some other cast members, he really was acting. Not in an obvious way, but the conflict on his face in the first sex scene particularly showed it wasn't just a De Niro-style 'weigh my acting chops by how I'll physically change' gambit. He was good. So good, I'm about to rent Little Children and Hard Candy again, just to check his whole acting lark isn't a fluke of one movie.
Rorschach - I'd never heard of Jackie Earle Hayley. I have now. When this was first announced, most internet boards cried 'who he?', and concerns were raised. The crazy fools, no need to worry. In the mask, his movements are careful, monitored, quick. Once disrobed, whilst he moves the same, he is broken, crazy, perfectly deadpan yet witty and everyone is behind him, even more once we hear his story. I can't think of anyone who could have played him better. I'm glad no-one else tried.
Together, their scenes are touching, funny and brilliant, and make you wish for more.
And the rest.
Comedian -
Laurie - Malin Akerman looks stunning. And can do fight scenes. And looks stunning in latex also. Um. See, Laurie's a complicated character in some respects, but not terribly interesting. She's understandably brattish, and I always saw her as a bit of a pricktease, but again, understandable. But whilst Akerman does a great line in looking sultry, that's sort of it. Which is a damn shame as there's more to give, but as she looks the part, I don't suppose anyone will mind much.
Ozymandias - hm. When I heard it was Matthew Goode, I was concerned. I'd seen him in The Lookout, where he was unrecognisable and very good. I'd seen him in other stuff, where he tended to be fragile and earnest. I'm guessing Snyder was hoping to eke out some of the Lookout's brutal and mix it with earnest, but he ended up with a chap who looked as if he's part-timing between his Watchmen and Brideshead Revisted projects. I do not buy this as either the world's most intelligent man, or the greatest physical specimen of peak fitness. Nor do I buy him as the world's most charming bachelor mogul. (Though the audience loved the small gag on the floppy disk file names). No, he's just not strong enough, authoritative enough, charming enough or, frankly, American enough. Physically, you need a young Nick Nolte crossed with Paul Newman, and the authority of, well, Newman again, or possibly Brian Cox. Goode is good in other parts, but simply doesn't have the presence. There aren't many young actors out there capable. I kind of half-wish they'd managed to arrange Patrick Wilson in this role too... I'm now thinking Nathan Fillion on steroids. But this might just be my brain.
Dr Manhattan - First things first. A blue, CGI penis. Somewhere out there is a man, or woman (though let's be honest, it probably had to be a man on this one), in the world who had to calculate the physics for a freewheeling blue penis. As you do. I once had to spend two days dropping mic packs down Fearne Cotton's knickers. There are some strange jobs out there. That aside, it's... odd. Whilst his body moves right, his face, particularly his mouth, don't quite work. I remember messing around with a 3d programme at uni, and if you bent certain corners of the character face, it almost turned inside-out. And that seems to be what his mouth is on the cusp of constantly doing. It's distracting and irritating, and then infuriating following a line from Veidt towards the end of the movie. "Oh, you could, Mr Cleverpants? That's clever, 'coz from here it looked like he'd just had dental work, they'd hit the nerve and caused parasthesia." When he's not shiny and blue, Crudup's very good. But his speech on Mars isn't quite the same and ends up sounding cheesy rather than inspirational, and coming from a mouth about to sue his dental care plan, it doesn't quite sit right.
Going back to the penis, Mike felt compelled to point out it was too heavily weighted at the end and was being knocked around like a pull-cord end. So there, penis physics man.
I'll complete and edit this later. Bedtime.
Sunday, 8 March 2009
Weekend slow cheer
So after beginning the Watchmen evening post below, I got a little down and a bit navel-gazey. After a bit of a cathartic cry over a pretty shoddy year so far in financial terms, Mike dragged me over to his and made me lie down. We watched The Burning (which is interesting in a historical sense as one of the first kids-in-the-woods slasher, but is totally bloody terrible - making it funny). Still not sleepy, we put Tron on as we'd just watched the Tron 2, or "TR2N", trailer, which I think looks bloody ace. From a prettiness point of view. I can't see a plot yet. Not that the original had one. Mike pointed out the Mickey-Mouse-sea so my geek credentials have been increased further.
Saturday, we got up, headed to the station, grabbed a hot mulled apple and a proper spanish chorizo egg tortilla for breakfast and made our way to Greenwich. Very tasty indeed. We dawdled around the market and shops for a few hours, had lunch, went to Staples for supplies then Tesco for more. We got back, made dinner, fancied pudding, and Mike just happened to know how to created sticky toffee pudding out of thin air and a microwave. Awesome. Then Muppets Tonight and to bed.
Today is Sunday, and so far we've had poached eggs and salmon, and I'm filling in forms whilst he edits footage from a play he directed.
All in all, a nicely distracting weekend from what was a pretty awful Friday afternoon. The sun is streaming in through the window, there is leftover pudding and fresh bagels on the side for lunch. I'm making courgette and Boursin cheat-soup for dinner, and all is right with the world, for today at least. Hooray.
Saturday, we got up, headed to the station, grabbed a hot mulled apple and a proper spanish chorizo egg tortilla for breakfast and made our way to Greenwich. Very tasty indeed. We dawdled around the market and shops for a few hours, had lunch, went to Staples for supplies then Tesco for more. We got back, made dinner, fancied pudding, and Mike just happened to know how to created sticky toffee pudding out of thin air and a microwave. Awesome. Then Muppets Tonight and to bed.
Today is Sunday, and so far we've had poached eggs and salmon, and I'm filling in forms whilst he edits footage from a play he directed.
All in all, a nicely distracting weekend from what was a pretty awful Friday afternoon. The sun is streaming in through the window, there is leftover pudding and fresh bagels on the side for lunch. I'm making courgette and Boursin cheat-soup for dinner, and all is right with the world, for today at least. Hooray.
Friday, 6 March 2009
WATCHMEN
I'll do the actual movie bit later.
Last night, I went to a private screening of the Watchmen movie organised by the same chaps who do Secret Cinema. It was billed as an interactive experience, something like theatre. I almost agree. It was more like theatre crossed with experiential marketing.
I got oddly lucky. After the single most annoying pre-event wrangling to get the times of stuff from various parties, I arr
ive at the SEOne club in London Bridge at about half five. There were plenty of folks with walkie talkies, and lots of "move that van NOW", but nobody else. So I leaned against the wall in an appropriate spot, and then was asked if I needed a ticket. Quite by chance, I found myself at the head of the queue. Literally. Mike joined me about 20mins later, feeling terrible as he strolled past the other 600 people to reach his girlfriend at the very front.
They'd taken over the tunnel on Weston Street, but not arranged to close the road. This was a bad idea, really. It's not a busy street, but it is a taxi and white van cut-through, and they're not the most famously patient sets of drivers in the world. Holding the street up whilst you park a wrecked Lexus for grafitti-ing and preventing a lorry from getting down with your US-style beacon tow-truck? Not wise. Particularly not when the only thing between the lorry and the general public are the hoarding barriers, which the lorry driver has no qualms about ploughing into...
Also, not sure of the wiseness of placing a bollard opposite a road narrowing bit. I'm sure it fed some purpose, but mainly it slowed any passing traffic to a standstill whilst it tried to negotiate the lorry, the hoarding, the cone and the performers running around. This somewhat made a sham of the hired vehicles that were meant to drive around the block again and again, who just got stuck in their own traffic a lot.
Anyhoo, as I said, they'd taken the whole street over. A small archway entrance had a 'live sex show' theme, with lingerie-clad girls calling to the queueing guests. A mocked-up Mason's garage entrance had tardis-like abilities to spout car after car, 50s tow trucks to modern (not 80s, I think) NY police cars. A group of protestors held signs against costumed adventurers, the End is Nigh sign held by a later-'arrested' Rorschach. A tiny little woman in a blue suit played a news reporter for CNN, yelping at performers and guests alike with her hilariously poorly executed cardboard mic-ident. I've added some shoddy pictures from my phone, but only to vaguely illustrate - better pictures w
ill be on flickr if you care to look.
A little later, various other bits happened - a Comedian arrived on an armoured vehicle wearing a paper and sticky-tape smiley face badge. Oops. Some poor sod painted blue and wearing a blue net jockstrap walked through the freezing tunnel trying to look aloof and mystical, but mainly looked short. The costumed Rorschachs (and they actually wisely had a few of these so with the queue length everyone could see one) stood around appropriately suspiciously, but mutters from the crowd of 'they're far too tall' were heard often. They were all at least 5'10" if not massively taller, which seemed to annoy a lot of people, especially after Dr Manhattan arrived in his diddyness of height and underwear. Ozymandius arrived in a shockingly bad costume, and was also incredibly short. Being 5'2" myself, no objections, though again the muttering of purists continued on behind me. After some other flurries of movement, such as newpaper sellers, kids on skateboards, press men running around, more graffiti around, police arresting etc. the doors opened and Mike and myself walked in to see what other bits were within.
Oh crap, I early forgot the single most exciting thing of the evening. One of the guests to arrive was in a perfectly normal blacked-glass hire car. For a minute, I thought it was a particularly stubborn taxi driver wishing to lodge a complaint about the traffic. Instead, it held Dave Gibbons. I stood that close to him. That being about a foot away. Mike and the chap behind us were veritably splurging with joy. And he seemed very gracious and appropriately confused by the fuss and nonsense. Hurrah. Join the club Dave.
So, inside. Being under railway bridges, this consisted of several bricked tunnels leading from one into another, all painted black. Immediately on the left was a small gallery of some working sketches of the characters, including Rorschach's funky Disco Stu jumpsuit of the face fabric. Good call on losing that. On the right (shown here consusingly on the left in very poor quality) was a prison cell containing the too-tall but yes, ginger, Walter Kovacs, with matching decapitated hands at the cell doors.
Opposite was a bald fat bloke in a dressing gown on a chalk outline, w
ho I think was meant to be the Comedian. Except he was just a fat bloke. Similarities ended on the dressing gown and being dead. Still, the set was nice, from the street corner with the news kiosk to the TV shop bit with cops strolling past. And they'd gone all-out with the neon, which, I have to say, played.
Beyone that was the Comedian's apartment, with him on a reclining lounger watching the tv. There was also one of those intereactive touch screens, with a nice added 3d projection bit behind it, so as you played, things got more exciting as the counter on the right clocked up the field quota. Ah, you know what I mean. Osterman's death bit.
Just past this was a little section marked 'LIVE SEX SHOW GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS' which of course Mike had a wander into. I didn't, for the same reason I find it hard to go to gigs and especially hard to dance around - I just feel all the embarrassment on behalf of those who don't feel it, and a bunch of scantily-clad girls calling come-ons to my boyfriend just makes me cringe. Somehow, I have managed to convert inexplicably-inherited Mother's-lapsed-Catholic guilt into social embarrassment over anything where someone is being more brave than I'd be. I don't get it, but hey ho, they all seemed to be having a good time, and Mike came out with a big smile on his face. But not too big. The area itself was nicely done, with varying qualities of bottoms on display (it was quite a talking point between Mike and I later, but we'd both sound bitchy covering it here, so suffice to say there was one that perhaps should've been a little more discretely displayed...) and again, lots of neon.
Beyond this, there was a 'lab', with the poor little blue sod and a bloke in a lab coat fiddling with buttons. Not much more to say about it except for the LED floor chasers which are often a shorthand for 'ooh, futuristic'. Except it's the 80s. Go figure.
Opposite this was a very nicely put together Nite Owl's study, where a bloke in possibly the most unfortunate Nite Owl suit I've ever seen (truly, even in the low light, shockingly bad - they might've been better off going with the Dan persona) stood chatting to the 2nd Silk Spectre, whose costume was so infinitely better it caused Mike to stop and stare and have to be dragged off after it started to get a bit embarrassing. And creepy.
At the end of this room was the DJ stage (which would later become the punk band stage), and he won favours by playing quite a mixed set including possibly my favourite track of all time, Gut Feeling by Devo. Good for him.
Going into the last room before the screening room, they had created the Gunga Diner. Painted red and with a giant Sally Jupiter painted on the wall, they had made space for a checkerboard dancefloor where the 1940s Minutemen danced with other jiving girls and boys as an appropriate band played on. Hot dogs and popcorn were available, and I quickly redeemed my playing chips for a free drink of mystery origin. Realising that there was a subtle queue forming towards the viewing room, Mike and I sidled up ready to take position when the doors opened. Oddly, when the finally did, everyone did that weird thing where they suddenly filed to the back. Admittedly the screen was a bit high for comfort, but I much prefer being near the front, so we took our place in the third row and awaited the 'special guest'. Which, of course, was Dave Gibbons, somehow looking even more mystified as he appeared between four Rorschachs. After a quick 'I never expected this, but enjoy the movie' to thunderous applause, we waited for him to finish this same speech in the VIP room next door before simultaneous screenings began.
And then: ooh. But I'll get to that in another post.
Afterwards, reaslising my total exhaustion and terrible neckache from craning slightly up to view the screen, Mike and I wandered home again. Looking back, it was quite an interesting experience, and certainly different, and a fair whack of effort had gone in, but oddly the bits that worked best were when a bit of liberty had been taken. Some of it was, frankly, cringing (I'm looking at you, Nite Owl suit), but some of it was pretty good (the diner and the torn posters outside especially). Doing what I do for a living, I was picking apart bits by the seams and spotting logistics issues (ice trucks arriving before the show and blocking the road - ice being a basic for any licensed event, that should've happened a little better), and also mentally cueing when I'd bring some elements in and clocking missed opportunities. Which made it a bit of a busman's holiday, but was definitely good practice. And I did enjoy myself, as did Mike.
So there you go. There are now pictures up on flickr of the whole event, including a fuzzy one of Mike and I in the audience, but we're there, sure enough.
Next time, the movie itself...
Last night, I went to a private screening of the Watchmen movie organised by the same chaps who do Secret Cinema. It was billed as an interactive experience, something like theatre. I almost agree. It was more like theatre crossed with experiential marketing.
I got oddly lucky. After the single most annoying pre-event wrangling to get the times of stuff from various parties, I arr
ive at the SEOne club in London Bridge at about half five. There were plenty of folks with walkie talkies, and lots of "move that van NOW", but nobody else. So I leaned against the wall in an appropriate spot, and then was asked if I needed a ticket. Quite by chance, I found myself at the head of the queue. Literally. Mike joined me about 20mins later, feeling terrible as he strolled past the other 600 people to reach his girlfriend at the very front.
They'd taken over the tunnel on Weston Street, but not arranged to close the road. This was a bad idea, really. It's not a busy street, but it is a taxi and white van cut-through, and they're not the most famously patient sets of drivers in the world. Holding the street up whilst you park a wrecked Lexus for grafitti-ing and preventing a lorry from getting down with your US-style beacon tow-truck? Not wise. Particularly not when the only thing between the lorry and the general public are the hoarding barriers, which the lorry driver has no qualms about ploughing into...
Also, not sure of the wiseness of placing a bollard opposite a road narrowing bit. I'm sure it fed some purpose, but mainly it slowed any passing traffic to a standstill whilst it tried to negotiate the lorry, the hoarding, the cone and the performers running around. This somewhat made a sham of the hired vehicles that were meant to drive around the block again and again, who just got stuck in their own traffic a lot.Anyhoo, as I said, they'd taken the whole street over. A small archway entrance had a 'live sex show' theme, with lingerie-clad girls calling to the queueing guests. A mocked-up Mason's garage entrance had tardis-like abilities to spout car after car, 50s tow trucks to modern (not 80s, I think) NY police cars. A group of protestors held signs against costumed adventurers, the End is Nigh sign held by a later-'arrested' Rorschach. A tiny little woman in a blue suit played a news reporter for CNN, yelping at performers and guests alike with her hilariously poorly executed cardboard mic-ident. I've added some shoddy pictures from my phone, but only to vaguely illustrate - better pictures w
ill be on flickr if you care to look.A little later, various other bits happened - a Comedian arrived on an armoured vehicle wearing a paper and sticky-tape smiley face badge. Oops. Some poor sod painted blue and wearing a blue net jockstrap walked through the freezing tunnel trying to look aloof and mystical, but mainly looked short. The costumed Rorschachs (and they actually wisely had a few of these so with the queue length everyone could see one) stood around appropriately suspiciously, but mutters from the crowd of 'they're far too tall' were heard often. They were all at least 5'10" if not massively taller, which seemed to annoy a lot of people, especially after Dr Manhattan arrived in his diddyness of height and underwear. Ozymandius arrived in a shockingly bad costume, and was also incredibly short. Being 5'2" myself, no objections, though again the muttering of purists continued on behind me. After some other flurries of movement, such as newpaper sellers, kids on skateboards, press men running around, more graffiti around, police arresting etc. the doors opened and Mike and myself walked in to see what other bits were within.
Oh crap, I early forgot the single most exciting thing of the evening. One of the guests to arrive was in a perfectly normal blacked-glass hire car. For a minute, I thought it was a particularly stubborn taxi driver wishing to lodge a complaint about the traffic. Instead, it held Dave Gibbons. I stood that close to him. That being about a foot away. Mike and the chap behind us were veritably splurging with joy. And he seemed very gracious and appropriately confused by the fuss and nonsense. Hurrah. Join the club Dave.
So, inside. Being under railway bridges, this consisted of several bricked tunnels leading from one into another, all painted black. Immediately on the left was a small gallery of some working sketches of the characters, including Rorschach's funky Disco Stu jumpsuit of the face fabric. Good call on losing that. On the right (shown here consusingly on the left in very poor quality) was a prison cell containing the too-tall but yes, ginger, Walter Kovacs, with matching decapitated hands at the cell doors.
Opposite was a bald fat bloke in a dressing gown on a chalk outline, w
ho I think was meant to be the Comedian. Except he was just a fat bloke. Similarities ended on the dressing gown and being dead. Still, the set was nice, from the street corner with the news kiosk to the TV shop bit with cops strolling past. And they'd gone all-out with the neon, which, I have to say, played.Beyone that was the Comedian's apartment, with him on a reclining lounger watching the tv. There was also one of those intereactive touch screens, with a nice added 3d projection bit behind it, so as you played, things got more exciting as the counter on the right clocked up the field quota. Ah, you know what I mean. Osterman's death bit.
Just past this was a little section marked 'LIVE SEX SHOW GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS' which of course Mike had a wander into. I didn't, for the same reason I find it hard to go to gigs and especially hard to dance around - I just feel all the embarrassment on behalf of those who don't feel it, and a bunch of scantily-clad girls calling come-ons to my boyfriend just makes me cringe. Somehow, I have managed to convert inexplicably-inherited Mother's-lapsed-Catholic guilt into social embarrassment over anything where someone is being more brave than I'd be. I don't get it, but hey ho, they all seemed to be having a good time, and Mike came out with a big smile on his face. But not too big. The area itself was nicely done, with varying qualities of bottoms on display (it was quite a talking point between Mike and I later, but we'd both sound bitchy covering it here, so suffice to say there was one that perhaps should've been a little more discretely displayed...) and again, lots of neon.
Beyond this, there was a 'lab', with the poor little blue sod and a bloke in a lab coat fiddling with buttons. Not much more to say about it except for the LED floor chasers which are often a shorthand for 'ooh, futuristic'. Except it's the 80s. Go figure.
Opposite this was a very nicely put together Nite Owl's study, where a bloke in possibly the most unfortunate Nite Owl suit I've ever seen (truly, even in the low light, shockingly bad - they might've been better off going with the Dan persona) stood chatting to the 2nd Silk Spectre, whose costume was so infinitely better it caused Mike to stop and stare and have to be dragged off after it started to get a bit embarrassing. And creepy.
At the end of this room was the DJ stage (which would later become the punk band stage), and he won favours by playing quite a mixed set including possibly my favourite track of all time, Gut Feeling by Devo. Good for him.
Going into the last room before the screening room, they had created the Gunga Diner. Painted red and with a giant Sally Jupiter painted on the wall, they had made space for a checkerboard dancefloor where the 1940s Minutemen danced with other jiving girls and boys as an appropriate band played on. Hot dogs and popcorn were available, and I quickly redeemed my playing chips for a free drink of mystery origin. Realising that there was a subtle queue forming towards the viewing room, Mike and I sidled up ready to take position when the doors opened. Oddly, when the finally did, everyone did that weird thing where they suddenly filed to the back. Admittedly the screen was a bit high for comfort, but I much prefer being near the front, so we took our place in the third row and awaited the 'special guest'. Which, of course, was Dave Gibbons, somehow looking even more mystified as he appeared between four Rorschachs. After a quick 'I never expected this, but enjoy the movie' to thunderous applause, we waited for him to finish this same speech in the VIP room next door before simultaneous screenings began.
And then: ooh. But I'll get to that in another post.
Afterwards, reaslising my total exhaustion and terrible neckache from craning slightly up to view the screen, Mike and I wandered home again. Looking back, it was quite an interesting experience, and certainly different, and a fair whack of effort had gone in, but oddly the bits that worked best were when a bit of liberty had been taken. Some of it was, frankly, cringing (I'm looking at you, Nite Owl suit), but some of it was pretty good (the diner and the torn posters outside especially). Doing what I do for a living, I was picking apart bits by the seams and spotting logistics issues (ice trucks arriving before the show and blocking the road - ice being a basic for any licensed event, that should've happened a little better), and also mentally cueing when I'd bring some elements in and clocking missed opportunities. Which made it a bit of a busman's holiday, but was definitely good practice. And I did enjoy myself, as did Mike.
So there you go. There are now pictures up on flickr of the whole event, including a fuzzy one of Mike and I in the audience, but we're there, sure enough.
Next time, the movie itself...
Pettiness
Before I get onto my main subject in a different post for the day, I just need to say this.
As a kid and a teenager, and even a student, I was a pretty messy bod. When living with my ex, I was much the same. When we broke up, I briefly lived with my parents, and was also a slob. But when I got m own quarters again in a shared flat, something changed. I was entirely responsible for my own space, and I like to keep it tidy. Bit of a shock to most people who've known me a long time, but I'm now a bit of a neat freak.
I also like the kitchen to be tidy, but I hate rotas. I prefer a system where you just do it when you figure it's your turn. Things don't usually get bad as the system functions well, seeing as if you haven't done the washing up in a while, you can instead mop the floor, hoover, clean the bathroom etc. Everyone's balanced and happy. Personally, I hate hoovering. But I find cleaning bathrooms oddly satisfactory. All is well. Usually.
I love my flatmates to bits. But lately one has been a bit down and quite ill, and is living off of sausages and chips. Fair enough. But sheesh, just the words 'I'm really sorry I haven't done much lately, when I'm feeling better I'll muck right in' would fix everything. But every single kitchen and dining has been used. It's a huge pile I've just come back to. I did the washing up twice on Wednesday. I even cracked and mopped the kitchen floor, something said housemate has been swearing blind he'd do for a fortnight. And I can't see myself making lunch when there's no plates, pans, cutlery or anything. So I'm back to doing the washing up, again. Or else I can't physically EAT.
I feel like a right bitch, but christ, this has started getting to me.
As a kid and a teenager, and even a student, I was a pretty messy bod. When living with my ex, I was much the same. When we broke up, I briefly lived with my parents, and was also a slob. But when I got m own quarters again in a shared flat, something changed. I was entirely responsible for my own space, and I like to keep it tidy. Bit of a shock to most people who've known me a long time, but I'm now a bit of a neat freak.
I also like the kitchen to be tidy, but I hate rotas. I prefer a system where you just do it when you figure it's your turn. Things don't usually get bad as the system functions well, seeing as if you haven't done the washing up in a while, you can instead mop the floor, hoover, clean the bathroom etc. Everyone's balanced and happy. Personally, I hate hoovering. But I find cleaning bathrooms oddly satisfactory. All is well. Usually.
I love my flatmates to bits. But lately one has been a bit down and quite ill, and is living off of sausages and chips. Fair enough. But sheesh, just the words 'I'm really sorry I haven't done much lately, when I'm feeling better I'll muck right in' would fix everything. But every single kitchen and dining has been used. It's a huge pile I've just come back to. I did the washing up twice on Wednesday. I even cracked and mopped the kitchen floor, something said housemate has been swearing blind he'd do for a fortnight. And I can't see myself making lunch when there's no plates, pans, cutlery or anything. So I'm back to doing the washing up, again. Or else I can't physically EAT.
I feel like a right bitch, but christ, this has started getting to me.
Thursday, 5 March 2009
Moore Disappointment (badum-tish)
Last night, there was an 'event' on the Thames. According to reports:
But oh dear. I kind of figured this bit would happen.
I have some small experience of water and smoke projection, and I've got to say, it only ever looks good at close quarters. Otherwise, it's sort of wobbly and lame. It also appears to have been a static image. BAD IDEA. When projecting on water or smoke, particularly at long-distance viewing, it is so much more impressive to go with a moving image - you're at least giving the brain a chance to make stuff up in what it sees. However, admittedly that tends to fall flat on its arse if its windy at all. Have a look at this lovely link from IESB:
IESB Watchmen Thames coverage
One rather big problem is blue. Not a great colour for this sort of projection, as it fuzzes out an awful lot. Check out the crispness of the smiley badge compared to the Dr Manhattan image.
Everyone I know who saw it, and even those I don't know but have spoken to via the wonders of the interbobby, agree if was something of a damp squib. They waited in the cold. A boat sprayed up some water. Some blue light hit it. It stopped. Oh.
See, a few years ago I was freelancing at a company responsible for one of the big marketing activities for the Fantastic Four: Silver Surfer movie. They took the London Eye, placed a pretty darn big image of the Surfer in the centre, and let it spin. It looked pretty good, though looking at it you wish it was a bit bigger (though if I recall, it couldn't be due to H&S issues).
Silver Surfer
He rather spiffingly span as the wheel rotated. Neat idea. Niceley done. Here are some more shots of it:
Close Further Further away still Gosh
Same bit of town, same bit of river. Acheived with much less disappointment.
What might have been more effective visually for this Watchmen activity would have been to gauze the Eye and use a hugely strong projector on that to show Dr Manhattan's image. Or even guerilla it up the Thames, projecting him appearing, disappearing and reappearing on different sizes and types of buildings. Bigger coverage of area, too. He'd've been nice on a Tate chimney.
I guess the frustrating part is I'm really excited about the film, and this activity really let itself down. I'm a huge fan of the comic, and desperately hope that whilst keeping faithful to the look in spectacularly anal fashion, they will still have retained its soul in the film. This event didn't deliver. However, I'm going to the Future Cinema thing tonight, where there will be live-action events and activities, then a showing of the film followed by a punk band (? I guess it's on theme for the 80s at a stretch..). I'm sure that on a more intimate scale and with a smaller overall budget, this will end up being much more impressive. However, I'm not sure how much fun it will be to see some poor sod painted blue. It's cold out.
Will let you know how it is on both counts. There will be waiting in the cold on this one too, sadly.
EDIT: Forgot to show you this. Best over-hyping by a presenter ever: ITN
And here are the Daily Telegraph guys standing in EXACTLY the right spot for it to look good. Hence everyone else's massive disappointment. Telegraph Incidentally, they mention 'specially created footage' which no photos have shown. Hmm. Also, looks like the guys on the boat gave up and did the honorable thing by projecting on a building so others could see...!
Oh, and this: ha
This dramatic, one-off spectacle will be created using the world’s biggest water screen projector. The water screen, moored especially for this occasion in the middle of the Thames between the London Eye and The Shell Building, will create an enormous vertical screen of water that will extend to 72 feet in height and 100 feet across. Specially created, never to be seen again Watchmen footage, will be projected onto the screen to showcase Dr Manhattan’s translucent and shimmering form in dramatic and gigantic effect – this really will be an excellent and exciting medium to see Dr Manhattan in all his super human glory; and to watch him hover over the city in true Watchmen style!
IESB
IESB
But oh dear. I kind of figured this bit would happen.
I have some small experience of water and smoke projection, and I've got to say, it only ever looks good at close quarters. Otherwise, it's sort of wobbly and lame. It also appears to have been a static image. BAD IDEA. When projecting on water or smoke, particularly at long-distance viewing, it is so much more impressive to go with a moving image - you're at least giving the brain a chance to make stuff up in what it sees. However, admittedly that tends to fall flat on its arse if its windy at all. Have a look at this lovely link from IESB:
IESB Watchmen Thames coverage
One rather big problem is blue. Not a great colour for this sort of projection, as it fuzzes out an awful lot. Check out the crispness of the smiley badge compared to the Dr Manhattan image.
Everyone I know who saw it, and even those I don't know but have spoken to via the wonders of the interbobby, agree if was something of a damp squib. They waited in the cold. A boat sprayed up some water. Some blue light hit it. It stopped. Oh.
See, a few years ago I was freelancing at a company responsible for one of the big marketing activities for the Fantastic Four: Silver Surfer movie. They took the London Eye, placed a pretty darn big image of the Surfer in the centre, and let it spin. It looked pretty good, though looking at it you wish it was a bit bigger (though if I recall, it couldn't be due to H&S issues).
Silver Surfer
He rather spiffingly span as the wheel rotated. Neat idea. Niceley done. Here are some more shots of it:
Close Further Further away still Gosh
Same bit of town, same bit of river. Acheived with much less disappointment.
What might have been more effective visually for this Watchmen activity would have been to gauze the Eye and use a hugely strong projector on that to show Dr Manhattan's image. Or even guerilla it up the Thames, projecting him appearing, disappearing and reappearing on different sizes and types of buildings. Bigger coverage of area, too. He'd've been nice on a Tate chimney.
I guess the frustrating part is I'm really excited about the film, and this activity really let itself down. I'm a huge fan of the comic, and desperately hope that whilst keeping faithful to the look in spectacularly anal fashion, they will still have retained its soul in the film. This event didn't deliver. However, I'm going to the Future Cinema thing tonight, where there will be live-action events and activities, then a showing of the film followed by a punk band (? I guess it's on theme for the 80s at a stretch..). I'm sure that on a more intimate scale and with a smaller overall budget, this will end up being much more impressive. However, I'm not sure how much fun it will be to see some poor sod painted blue. It's cold out.
Will let you know how it is on both counts. There will be waiting in the cold on this one too, sadly.
EDIT: Forgot to show you this. Best over-hyping by a presenter ever: ITN
And here are the Daily Telegraph guys standing in EXACTLY the right spot for it to look good. Hence everyone else's massive disappointment. Telegraph Incidentally, they mention 'specially created footage' which no photos have shown. Hmm. Also, looks like the guys on the boat gave up and did the honorable thing by projecting on a building so others could see...!
Oh, and this: ha
Wednesday, 4 March 2009
Flumph
Last night I spent some time getting the projector to work off of my laptop for tonight's movie club with some friends. It took a bit longer than expected, to be honest, but it's all done now. So this evening there will be a showing of The Killer Shrews, followed by Leprechaun in Da Hood. It's more of a bad-movie club tonight, you see...
Anyway, as a result, I don't have many hours in today to be doing frivolous things like writing this blog. Which is a real shame, because I have a proper good rant in me. Oh well. Off to grab a new toothbrush and a list of shopping, including sponges and rubber gloves so I can do the washing up. Joy. Laters.
Anyway, as a result, I don't have many hours in today to be doing frivolous things like writing this blog. Which is a real shame, because I have a proper good rant in me. Oh well. Off to grab a new toothbrush and a list of shopping, including sponges and rubber gloves so I can do the washing up. Joy. Laters.
Tuesday, 3 March 2009
Head down
A night of incredibly odd dreams, including developing a new traveller concept for Eurostar where you're put in tiny, two person cabins with enough space for the two chairs and an entertainment screen and that's it, with a service window where the crew pass through your meal before you are allocated a leg-stretch break and then return to your cabin for the remainder of the journey.
Anyway, been cracking on all morning and am just beginnin to get my head around a few problems. Would still really appreciate some paid work, mind. Can't operate on wits forever.
So not much from me today. Sorry.
Anyway, been cracking on all morning and am just beginnin to get my head around a few problems. Would still really appreciate some paid work, mind. Can't operate on wits forever.
So not much from me today. Sorry.
Monday, 2 March 2009
Update
Sunday was more of the same. Just so it's known.
Today I've had the sort of news that would normally depress me enormously, but has perversely cheered me up. I won't go into details, but suffice to say an extremely unhelpful person whose job was to, well, help me, is no longer someone I have to deal with. I think I'm slightly pleased because this person on occasion got a bit personal with me, and not in an interactive, helpful way. I mean they were rude.
It's generally an awful thing to think in this current climate, but one thing I think we're all allowed to get behind is that those who put us down or behave abominably will get their comeuppance. Frequently they don't, but as we're going through a wheat-from-chaff time, perhaps we'll be left facing those remaining who are positive and proactive with great personal skills. And from that, those who fell by the wayside can only learn, and everyone pushes their game up a level.
Which is a long winded way of saying "bwahahahaha".
Today I've had the sort of news that would normally depress me enormously, but has perversely cheered me up. I won't go into details, but suffice to say an extremely unhelpful person whose job was to, well, help me, is no longer someone I have to deal with. I think I'm slightly pleased because this person on occasion got a bit personal with me, and not in an interactive, helpful way. I mean they were rude.
It's generally an awful thing to think in this current climate, but one thing I think we're all allowed to get behind is that those who put us down or behave abominably will get their comeuppance. Frequently they don't, but as we're going through a wheat-from-chaff time, perhaps we'll be left facing those remaining who are positive and proactive with great personal skills. And from that, those who fell by the wayside can only learn, and everyone pushes their game up a level.
Which is a long winded way of saying "bwahahahaha".
Sunday, 1 March 2009
Weekend
Friday night had a lovely evening out with a friend I hadn't hung out with in forever. I got back home and found Mike almost-asleep in the living room. Yesterday Mike and I woke up, had breakfast, then watched Southland Tales with a bed-picnic at lunchtime. Hmm. Interesting mess, indeed, on both counts. At 3pm we both got oddly sleepy, and woke up gone 7pm. We were tired. Then had a curry, then to bed again.
So, so far this weekend, I have eaten and slept. It's been quite nice.
So, so far this weekend, I have eaten and slept. It's been quite nice.
Friday, 27 February 2009
No words
Just giddily excited by this object/s.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JP0w9lZoLwU
I own a Hoberman sphere because I just find it brilliant and exciting every time I play with it. I collapse with joy every time I use my iPod Touch, and the moment on Wednesday afternoon when I thought I'd lost it was the worst moment of the year so far. I have a bunch of steel roses in a vase in my room. I have a tablespoon stamped with the original ODEON logo which my grandmother found over fifty years ago in an unknown location, and I've not found anything about cinema cutlery on the web, so I'm stumped but I love it.
All these things are object which excite me, both visually and interactively. I smile like a goon every time I measure out olive oil on my special spoon. The roses make a corner of my room feel like a Terry Gilliam set. The sphere confuses my brain, and I can climb inside it (which is the definition of cool). The iPod is just the iPod, and therefore brilliant in and of itself.
I desperately want a play with these little objects. They make me happy.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JP0w9lZoLwU
I own a Hoberman sphere because I just find it brilliant and exciting every time I play with it. I collapse with joy every time I use my iPod Touch, and the moment on Wednesday afternoon when I thought I'd lost it was the worst moment of the year so far. I have a bunch of steel roses in a vase in my room. I have a tablespoon stamped with the original ODEON logo which my grandmother found over fifty years ago in an unknown location, and I've not found anything about cinema cutlery on the web, so I'm stumped but I love it.
All these things are object which excite me, both visually and interactively. I smile like a goon every time I measure out olive oil on my special spoon. The roses make a corner of my room feel like a Terry Gilliam set. The sphere confuses my brain, and I can climb inside it (which is the definition of cool). The iPod is just the iPod, and therefore brilliant in and of itself.
I desperately want a play with these little objects. They make me happy.
Thursday, 26 February 2009
How to talk without saying anything short of obvious
Today I went back to Confex. I was thinking about doing so again, having been Tuesday, and a call from a colleague taking the day off work to do it swung it. We wandered around, got food, wandered more then attended two seminars. The second (on how to increase sales in the current climate, and using this quiet time to create new, more efficient processes) was genuinely useful if a bit obvious, but put together in an extremely accessible way. Fine. It's just the first seminar which we both came out of looking at each other going "huh?"... It was meant to be on 'How To Fire Your Client'.
Want to see my notes? Here they are:
Please, if you can, find something in there that isn't immediately and totally obvious to you as a working bod.
What it is, is a list of things that lead to pertinent questions.
How do you identify clients which will be a hindrance to resources/time/morale? At what stage? How can you not sound impertinent asking the establishing questions to work this out? How do you go about asking your workforce which clients are more trouble than they're worth? How do you create an atmosphere where that's a viable question to put to your workforce, that won't scare employees into thinking it's a trick? Is this something you can find a way to discuss with an identified problem client? How could this be done? How do you 'fire' your client without legal ramifications? Or, frankly, without damaging your reputation?
One thing, and one thing only was genuinely useful - creating a faff schedule, something as a freelancer I will put into action for obvious reasons. I just want to see what I do with my day.
I've always been a firm believer in notes. I listen and pick out important points, then phrase them on paper in my own voice as the discussion goes on. Usually they're rough, stuccato affairs, where I fill in the blanks later with what I didn't have time to note down. Above you'll notice this isn't the case. What's up there is almost exactly what he said (from the negotiating part down it's pretty much verbatim, above that works backwards into my initial sketch-style notes), but with less pointless waffling on. I had time to zone out and write the whole thing down out of boredom, whilst he continued on revising the same points again and again without moving onto the actual process he was discussing itself.
The notes also reveal I'm using Bento at the moment.
I can only say I was very, very bored. And that my mate and I came up with a puffickly her-YUGE list of questions which would have made a useful and interesting talk. More than what's above. The two of us on stools ranting about it would have had more impact and been more relevant. Even if I say so myself.
Anyway, time for bed. Loooooong day, and a longer one tomorrow. Joy. Night.
Want to see my notes? Here they are:
6-8 months recovery when wrong staff taken on
Not so clinical on client end
How big are they, how often do they want to work with you
Focus on clients that can be nurtured
Is that your best price
Apply to client when checking for chemistry with client
If chemistry is strong enough with client, silence game
shouldn't need to be played when negotiating
Lifetime value of a customer - will bringing in new clients
cause neglect to existing ones
Take time out for small session with client e.g. coffee and
sandwich
Target during quiet spending/buying cycles
Aim into three or four options on the methods of marketing
which suit your style
To grow business get closer to those that really matter
that it will have an impact with
Open and honest conversations with top clients
Specific timeframe on each area
Half hour slots
Schedule week specifically
Time sheet is for self only, use red for faffing about -
use bento for this mixed with calendar
Half hour windows and mark up once each half hour is
complete
Choose clients only that you want to work withWhat it is, is a list of things that lead to pertinent questions.
How do you identify clients which will be a hindrance to resources/time/morale? At what stage? How can you not sound impertinent asking the establishing questions to work this out? How do you go about asking your workforce which clients are more trouble than they're worth? How do you create an atmosphere where that's a viable question to put to your workforce, that won't scare employees into thinking it's a trick? Is this something you can find a way to discuss with an identified problem client? How could this be done? How do you 'fire' your client without legal ramifications? Or, frankly, without damaging your reputation?
One thing, and one thing only was genuinely useful - creating a faff schedule, something as a freelancer I will put into action for obvious reasons. I just want to see what I do with my day.
I've always been a firm believer in notes. I listen and pick out important points, then phrase them on paper in my own voice as the discussion goes on. Usually they're rough, stuccato affairs, where I fill in the blanks later with what I didn't have time to note down. Above you'll notice this isn't the case. What's up there is almost exactly what he said (from the negotiating part down it's pretty much verbatim, above that works backwards into my initial sketch-style notes), but with less pointless waffling on. I had time to zone out and write the whole thing down out of boredom, whilst he continued on revising the same points again and again without moving onto the actual process he was discussing itself.
The notes also reveal I'm using Bento at the moment.
I can only say I was very, very bored. And that my mate and I came up with a puffickly her-YUGE list of questions which would have made a useful and interesting talk. More than what's above. The two of us on stools ranting about it would have had more impact and been more relevant. Even if I say so myself.
Anyway, time for bed. Loooooong day, and a longer one tomorrow. Joy. Night.
Mea Culpa
Tuesday
Insane day. No sleep the night before. Physio at 9am, always good to have your back twiddled, but it tends to make me quite drowsy. Then rush back to the flat, drowsily, get changed into day-to-evening outfit, then to Earls Court for Confex. Dawdle there, chat to people, meet mate for lunch, bump into Dad (in the same business, you see). Get knackered walking in heels, because I don't wear heels. Go into town to wander in H&M for kicks as I can't spend any money. Spend £3 anyway on a pair of 'statement' earrings that will change my outfits dramatically when needed. Go to Leon and have a ginger steeper and take ibuprofen, as carrying showbags on one shoulder is kicking off a migraine. Get on tube and head to Bank, and into Gaucho to meet events girl to show me their spaces before my friends arrive for dinner. Friends arrive, we have free wine tasting session after yummy cheese bread and chimmichurri. Free wine session good, we get two bottles. Food is awesome (though I can't eat meat, so have the fish dish, which is transporting), we all get very drunk, my mate's 2-month-old daughter is asleep through the whole thing. Back to Mike's for a stupid little niggly argument, all sorted, crash out...
Wednesday
PAIN. UNREASONABLE PAIN. I don't drink red wone because of the hangovers. Last night, that's all I drank. Feel like hell. So does Mike. And I only had two glasses. Try to nap but back in on fire. By lunchtime, realise I'm not going to make it out for Confex again. Order in sushi as it's the only thing I can think to eat that isn't spicy or greasy but will supply me with neccessary protein and carbs. It's a very good call. Think for an awful moment I've lost my iPod. Turns up in the loo. No idea why. Stop feeling sick, just a bit wrong, head into town for 6.30, meet Mike. Malaysian/thai place for light dinner of pad thai noodles and green papaya salad. Go to Avenue Q. Show is great. Say bye to Mike as frankly I need to get home and change out of two-day outfit. He looks all folorn as I do saying goodbye as we've had such a nice day, having jokingly decided over dinner that if we ever get married, Gaucho's free private rooms are the way to go, meat clearly being the answer to his heart. Get home, tidy room a bit, try to sleep, fail.
Thursday
I'm here. Typing. Should really be changing for Confex as have two colleagues-to-friends to meet there. So this is the last few days, and today might be interesting.
Have realised I've started grinding my teeth in the night. And absent mindedly during the day. Not good.
Laters.
Insane day. No sleep the night before. Physio at 9am, always good to have your back twiddled, but it tends to make me quite drowsy. Then rush back to the flat, drowsily, get changed into day-to-evening outfit, then to Earls Court for Confex. Dawdle there, chat to people, meet mate for lunch, bump into Dad (in the same business, you see). Get knackered walking in heels, because I don't wear heels. Go into town to wander in H&M for kicks as I can't spend any money. Spend £3 anyway on a pair of 'statement' earrings that will change my outfits dramatically when needed. Go to Leon and have a ginger steeper and take ibuprofen, as carrying showbags on one shoulder is kicking off a migraine. Get on tube and head to Bank, and into Gaucho to meet events girl to show me their spaces before my friends arrive for dinner. Friends arrive, we have free wine tasting session after yummy cheese bread and chimmichurri. Free wine session good, we get two bottles. Food is awesome (though I can't eat meat, so have the fish dish, which is transporting), we all get very drunk, my mate's 2-month-old daughter is asleep through the whole thing. Back to Mike's for a stupid little niggly argument, all sorted, crash out...
Wednesday
PAIN. UNREASONABLE PAIN. I don't drink red wone because of the hangovers. Last night, that's all I drank. Feel like hell. So does Mike. And I only had two glasses. Try to nap but back in on fire. By lunchtime, realise I'm not going to make it out for Confex again. Order in sushi as it's the only thing I can think to eat that isn't spicy or greasy but will supply me with neccessary protein and carbs. It's a very good call. Think for an awful moment I've lost my iPod. Turns up in the loo. No idea why. Stop feeling sick, just a bit wrong, head into town for 6.30, meet Mike. Malaysian/thai place for light dinner of pad thai noodles and green papaya salad. Go to Avenue Q. Show is great. Say bye to Mike as frankly I need to get home and change out of two-day outfit. He looks all folorn as I do saying goodbye as we've had such a nice day, having jokingly decided over dinner that if we ever get married, Gaucho's free private rooms are the way to go, meat clearly being the answer to his heart. Get home, tidy room a bit, try to sleep, fail.
Thursday
I'm here. Typing. Should really be changing for Confex as have two colleagues-to-friends to meet there. So this is the last few days, and today might be interesting.
Have realised I've started grinding my teeth in the night. And absent mindedly during the day. Not good.
Laters.
Monday, 23 February 2009
Oh, Monday
Monday heralds the beginning of the weekly pattern for me. For the permanently employed, this means sorting out what's outstanding over the weekend, planning the week and attending the weekly meeting. For me as a freelancer, this means going through my phone book, checking who I haven't nagged in a while, calling/emailing/sending stuff to them, checking/researching online, writing up a list of to-dos and any applications for interesting permanent roles, then having a cup of tea. Then doing all the above work in half a day. Then wondering what on earth I'm going to do over the rest of the week.
This week, however, I've made a new resolution. To be done after the weekly bout. With the shiny new CV, I'm going a bit left-field. I'm not going to say what, as I'm not at all sure how successful it will be, but I will post with any success (or, perhaps, failure - who knows).
I'm also writing imaginary proposals, because I'm a bit concerned I've forgotten how. Well, not forgotten, but practice makes perfect 'n' that.
Speaking of which, last week I played my scales in piano for the first time in about 18 years. I also realised I can still, sort of, read music. Bit if a surprise, really.
Anyway, old Joanna aside, I may be quiet this week getting on with stuff, so posts will be short. Which is a saving grace for anyone reading them, I'm sure. Cheerio for now.
This week, however, I've made a new resolution. To be done after the weekly bout. With the shiny new CV, I'm going a bit left-field. I'm not going to say what, as I'm not at all sure how successful it will be, but I will post with any success (or, perhaps, failure - who knows).
I'm also writing imaginary proposals, because I'm a bit concerned I've forgotten how. Well, not forgotten, but practice makes perfect 'n' that.
Speaking of which, last week I played my scales in piano for the first time in about 18 years. I also realised I can still, sort of, read music. Bit if a surprise, really.
Anyway, old Joanna aside, I may be quiet this week getting on with stuff, so posts will be short. Which is a saving grace for anyone reading them, I'm sure. Cheerio for now.
Sunday, 22 February 2009
Ouch
Slightly off topic, but I've had an odd weekend so far visiting my 98-year-old grandmother. She's no as bad as I thought she would be, but conversations tend to get stuck in a loop after a while. It's a bit sad, but she's not gone bonkers thank goodness, just tends to bluff the conversation a lot as she can't see or hear much anymore. Still, she looks like a slightly frail 85 year old, not someone turning 99 this year.
Today, feeling my mortality somewhat, I've decided to take a bit of action. I'm currently seeing s physiotherapist who does nice things to my back each week, but who points out, for me, my headaches and screaming-as-I-sleep shoulder issues all boil down to posture. My family is famous for back issues, and it seems that despite my best efforts to avoid it in my early 20s (LOTS of yoga), being lazy the last two or three years has completely reset the issue and I now have a problem. The seeds of one, but a problem nonetheless.
So, to today. Having been very buff at the beginning of my twenties and very flexible, I thought that not too much would have changed. I'm still, after all, the same size I was then, being of the petite scale, and just turning 30 in a few weeks. Not too much has changed, surely. So I dug out my old yoga dvd and stuck it on a few intermediate sessions.
Oh dear.
I was totally exhausted by the end of 30 mins, which is all I managed to do. I'm staring down at untoned legs and wobbly belly (HOW????), which is unbelievably disappointing if you know you're still a UK size 6 jeans. I may have maintained my weight and size whilst eating what I like, and am incredibly grateful to the God Of Metabolisms for mine. BUT. Nobody ever warns you that even if you manage to keep yourself the same size through ten years of no-longer-having-to-eat-student-scraps, you still HAVE to do REGULAR INTENSE EXERCISE to make it not just lumpy and unpleasant scrawn. Which is, in my humble, so much worse than the larger, womanly buxomness, which is at least quite sexy. I am now feeling hugely self-concious, food-aware (which I HATE being) and unhappy, not to mention old. Suddenly my wrinkles seem deeper, my legs slapping merrily together as I walk, and my chin saggy. None of which are true, I'm sure, but it feels that way. All this supposed exercise has made me feel even worse than when I started.
I hate yoga.
Today, feeling my mortality somewhat, I've decided to take a bit of action. I'm currently seeing s physiotherapist who does nice things to my back each week, but who points out, for me, my headaches and screaming-as-I-sleep shoulder issues all boil down to posture. My family is famous for back issues, and it seems that despite my best efforts to avoid it in my early 20s (LOTS of yoga), being lazy the last two or three years has completely reset the issue and I now have a problem. The seeds of one, but a problem nonetheless.
So, to today. Having been very buff at the beginning of my twenties and very flexible, I thought that not too much would have changed. I'm still, after all, the same size I was then, being of the petite scale, and just turning 30 in a few weeks. Not too much has changed, surely. So I dug out my old yoga dvd and stuck it on a few intermediate sessions.
Oh dear.
I was totally exhausted by the end of 30 mins, which is all I managed to do. I'm staring down at untoned legs and wobbly belly (HOW????), which is unbelievably disappointing if you know you're still a UK size 6 jeans. I may have maintained my weight and size whilst eating what I like, and am incredibly grateful to the God Of Metabolisms for mine. BUT. Nobody ever warns you that even if you manage to keep yourself the same size through ten years of no-longer-having-to-eat-student-scraps, you still HAVE to do REGULAR INTENSE EXERCISE to make it not just lumpy and unpleasant scrawn. Which is, in my humble, so much worse than the larger, womanly buxomness, which is at least quite sexy. I am now feeling hugely self-concious, food-aware (which I HATE being) and unhappy, not to mention old. Suddenly my wrinkles seem deeper, my legs slapping merrily together as I walk, and my chin saggy. None of which are true, I'm sure, but it feels that way. All this supposed exercise has made me feel even worse than when I started.
I hate yoga.
Thursday, 19 February 2009
Impressions
Was planning to talk about another subject, but want to cover something off quickly.
The other day, my other (and better) half made a comment about how, despite my having a very good eye for great design, I wasn't translating this into my own work. He was talking about both my CV and business cards, and the only answer I could give was that "this is why I didn't pursue graphic design after completing a degree in it". I was a bit upset, mind, but he had a fair point.
It's very hard to be objective about your own work. It's even harder when you're your own boss. Sure, it's easy enough after a project to say what went well and what didn't, but that's not the same thing - here I'm talking about having completed a degree in something genuinely useful to my chosen career, but it not coming across in the first thing a potential employer sees.
All the content is there, sure enough. And I'm frequently told it's fantastic for experience as I'm very broad-skilled in a field where that's an advantage, and yes, that's lovely to hear. But hearing someone else not trained as I am in the use of white space in design (for example) say "I don't get it" hit a raw nerve. Not because I felt insulted (well, ok, I did, though that's not the point), but because I suddenly realised that I could make my CV the most cutting-edge, beautiful, inter-dimensional, healing object in all reality, and some spod from HR might look at it and go 'hmmm, poncy', before binning my once-in-a-lifetime object expounding the joys of employing me.
It was a bit of a shock.
I should really know this. But it's taken a computer programmer who has never been out of work to point this out to me, and who has done what squillions of recruitment agents couldn't: tell me what the problem is and, more importantly, help me fix it.
So, moral of the story. If you're not getting anywhere, ask someone left-field of what you do for a living to look at your CV, and they might give you an insight you weren't expecting. That is all.
The other day, my other (and better) half made a comment about how, despite my having a very good eye for great design, I wasn't translating this into my own work. He was talking about both my CV and business cards, and the only answer I could give was that "this is why I didn't pursue graphic design after completing a degree in it". I was a bit upset, mind, but he had a fair point.
It's very hard to be objective about your own work. It's even harder when you're your own boss. Sure, it's easy enough after a project to say what went well and what didn't, but that's not the same thing - here I'm talking about having completed a degree in something genuinely useful to my chosen career, but it not coming across in the first thing a potential employer sees.
All the content is there, sure enough. And I'm frequently told it's fantastic for experience as I'm very broad-skilled in a field where that's an advantage, and yes, that's lovely to hear. But hearing someone else not trained as I am in the use of white space in design (for example) say "I don't get it" hit a raw nerve. Not because I felt insulted (well, ok, I did, though that's not the point), but because I suddenly realised that I could make my CV the most cutting-edge, beautiful, inter-dimensional, healing object in all reality, and some spod from HR might look at it and go 'hmmm, poncy', before binning my once-in-a-lifetime object expounding the joys of employing me.
It was a bit of a shock.
I should really know this. But it's taken a computer programmer who has never been out of work to point this out to me, and who has done what squillions of recruitment agents couldn't: tell me what the problem is and, more importantly, help me fix it.
So, moral of the story. If you're not getting anywhere, ask someone left-field of what you do for a living to look at your CV, and they might give you an insight you weren't expecting. That is all.
Wednesday, 18 February 2009
SLACK.
Sorry. I could make a series of pathetic excuses, like "I had to go and eat pizza for Valentines Day because I hate it", or "I had to see the Blue Man Group in my first visit to the O2", or "I went shopping in town for sushi and came back with Fopp in a bag", or "my gran might die", but then only the last one is a valid excuse and is the only thing that's really stopped me getting on with things, as facing your mortality isn't much fun.
Brighter things then. Or at least more interesting.
I went for a meal with an old friend and colleague last night. We had a great time (can heartily recommend the Viet Garden near Angel for a £5 dinner) and chatted about all manner of serious and silly issues. This particular friend I met whilst working at an unnamed-here agency which specialised in brand marketing. Both my mate and I had never met and were put forward for the same role. We both ended up getting it (which then becomes a fable in and of itself, as we were both heartily conned, but that's not for here). Oddly, we had the same design background and the same production experience with the same passion for involving 'customers' (put in inverted commas as I'm using it to abbreviate delegates, colleagues, businesses, etc.) in a way that makes them understand it better and make informed choices on how they feel about the 'product' (god I hate these commas - but here I mean the sales pitch, idea, seasonal haircut etc.). We both ended up leaving this company, and took this away with us:
WORK WITH PEOPLE YOU TRUST. TRUST THE PEOPLE YOU WORK WITH.
Both of us found in this particular agency, everything was analysed, scrutinised, picked apart then damned. It's fair enough to maintain a high standard in your output, but in an environment where putting your hand up and asking a stupid question (something I believe everyone has the right to do, as you'll only ask it the once) gets you disciplined, it's no wonder other agencies overtook it. Marketing can be brutal and, frankly, wanky at times, and though it's very important to ensure your output is stronger than your competitors, you should not do this to the detriment of your staff's morale or sense of community. If a team doesn't work, shift it, shake it, turn it upside down, and you'll either find the right combination or the weak spot. In the current climate, the main thing any company can offer its workforce is security. When you remove that, it adds fear, and since when did anyone do better in their work by expecting to fail?
Fortunately, my friend and I both got out and continued freelancing. Through our twenties, we gained broad and valuable experience, and got to see many different environments and how they function (and she's f***ing ACE at her job, FYI). I don't know if it's a trait exclusive to freelancers (I doubt it, though it's possibly honed better), but you can usually tell the ethic of a workplace seconds after walking in. You really can spot contentment and therefore drive, from a place that has a dog-eat-dog policy.
It's not the 80's. I'm not a banker. Hell, bankers aren't bankers anymore. It's time everyone had a bit of a navel-gaze. So, if you work for an agency, do you feel that your colleagues' input to your work is positive or negative? Or a balance of both? Nobody likes being mollycoddled or being put down, you know.
What about simple things? Have you been for a drink with your team? My boyfriend works in computing, has just joined a large company, and discovered that until he arrived, they had never spent any time with each other outside of the office floor. Not even a group lunch. He's begun to change this, with the full support of his seniors - perhaps unsurprisingly, the only person who didn't interact with the team, ever, is the one who got made redundant. This isn't to say OOH-RAH! OR DIE, but that sense of community isn't just helpful to making your overlords see you working together. And it doesn't have to involve drinks. It's more about getting that efficiency level hit, where you're much more likely to helpfully-point-out-a-problem-to-a-friend-and-get-something-done-about-it, than you are when some-twat-you-work-with-told-you-you-did-something-wrong-and-should-fix-it. Which system would you prefer?
So, cows. Case in point. Naming them has been scientifically proven (lordy) as a way to get a higher yield of milk. Cows aren't completely stupid. They're not thanking us for all the fish or anything, I'll grant you. But you don't refer to your cats/dogs/fish/conkers in nothing more than the definitive article or plurals of their genus, because then how would they know who you mean? They might not know the word, but they can recognise the sound as your call to them. And what does this mean?
I had another really, really, much better point to make here, but I've lost it. If it occurs to me again, I'll put it in. Right here.
I recently came off a contract where someone in-house took a dislike to me. Personality clashes happen, fair enough, but all I'd done was my job. Efficiently at that. I was looking shiny. She didn't like it, as she was a relatively new team member and had intended to prove her worth on this job, she embarked on a sabotage mission. Sadly for her, she put these signals out very publicly and extremely inappropriately, and whereas I came up smelling of roses when all was done, there was the distinct eau-de-behatch left on her. And, believe it or not, her boss apologised to myself and the other freelancer for her behaviour. And here's why: in behaving this way, she isolated herself from the group. Myself and the other freelancer got our jobs done, and had a good time doing it. Our enthusiasm was infectious, the in-house team loved it, and we got a hard job done well. *SMUGS*....
So, trust. It is cheesy, but it does go both ways. But more importantly, it can be created. Right now, speculating finances is more important than ever (which I think I'll talka bout in more detail tomorrow), and having teams that can allow this process to happen smoothly and efficiently by being (like the names suggests) teams, means it will be more productive, quick, efficient and economical.
I'm tired. I will finish this rant tomorrow morning when I'm better able to think straight.
Brighter things then. Or at least more interesting.
I went for a meal with an old friend and colleague last night. We had a great time (can heartily recommend the Viet Garden near Angel for a £5 dinner) and chatted about all manner of serious and silly issues. This particular friend I met whilst working at an unnamed-here agency which specialised in brand marketing. Both my mate and I had never met and were put forward for the same role. We both ended up getting it (which then becomes a fable in and of itself, as we were both heartily conned, but that's not for here). Oddly, we had the same design background and the same production experience with the same passion for involving 'customers' (put in inverted commas as I'm using it to abbreviate delegates, colleagues, businesses, etc.) in a way that makes them understand it better and make informed choices on how they feel about the 'product' (god I hate these commas - but here I mean the sales pitch, idea, seasonal haircut etc.). We both ended up leaving this company, and took this away with us:
WORK WITH PEOPLE YOU TRUST. TRUST THE PEOPLE YOU WORK WITH.
Both of us found in this particular agency, everything was analysed, scrutinised, picked apart then damned. It's fair enough to maintain a high standard in your output, but in an environment where putting your hand up and asking a stupid question (something I believe everyone has the right to do, as you'll only ask it the once) gets you disciplined, it's no wonder other agencies overtook it. Marketing can be brutal and, frankly, wanky at times, and though it's very important to ensure your output is stronger than your competitors, you should not do this to the detriment of your staff's morale or sense of community. If a team doesn't work, shift it, shake it, turn it upside down, and you'll either find the right combination or the weak spot. In the current climate, the main thing any company can offer its workforce is security. When you remove that, it adds fear, and since when did anyone do better in their work by expecting to fail?
Fortunately, my friend and I both got out and continued freelancing. Through our twenties, we gained broad and valuable experience, and got to see many different environments and how they function (and she's f***ing ACE at her job, FYI). I don't know if it's a trait exclusive to freelancers (I doubt it, though it's possibly honed better), but you can usually tell the ethic of a workplace seconds after walking in. You really can spot contentment and therefore drive, from a place that has a dog-eat-dog policy.
It's not the 80's. I'm not a banker. Hell, bankers aren't bankers anymore. It's time everyone had a bit of a navel-gaze. So, if you work for an agency, do you feel that your colleagues' input to your work is positive or negative? Or a balance of both? Nobody likes being mollycoddled or being put down, you know.
What about simple things? Have you been for a drink with your team? My boyfriend works in computing, has just joined a large company, and discovered that until he arrived, they had never spent any time with each other outside of the office floor. Not even a group lunch. He's begun to change this, with the full support of his seniors - perhaps unsurprisingly, the only person who didn't interact with the team, ever, is the one who got made redundant. This isn't to say OOH-RAH! OR DIE, but that sense of community isn't just helpful to making your overlords see you working together. And it doesn't have to involve drinks. It's more about getting that efficiency level hit, where you're much more likely to helpfully-point-out-a-problem-to-a-friend-and-get-something-done-about-it, than you are when some-twat-you-work-with-told-you-you-did-something-wrong-and-should-fix-it. Which system would you prefer?
So, cows. Case in point. Naming them has been scientifically proven (lordy) as a way to get a higher yield of milk. Cows aren't completely stupid. They're not thanking us for all the fish or anything, I'll grant you. But you don't refer to your cats/dogs/fish/conkers in nothing more than the definitive article or plurals of their genus, because then how would they know who you mean? They might not know the word, but they can recognise the sound as your call to them. And what does this mean?
"By placing more importance on the individual, such as calling a cow by her name or interacting with the animal more as it grows up, we can not only improve the animal's welfare and her perception of humans, but also increase milk production."
Dr Catherine Douglas of School of Agriculture, Food and Rural Development at Newcastle University
Jiggle that sentence around a bit, and it becomes even more obvious than is possibly neccessary for a scientific paper to be done on. Interacting with the individual, rather than a broad generalisation, makes things work better. It's something technology has just begun to touch on (another day, another rant), but has been intrinsic to the way human communities have operated for millenia. Treat your team as a group of individuals, who need to interact with one another on their own terms and gain the neccessary trust, and from that a partnership will grow. And look. I made the point with COWS. Fuckin' A.Dr Catherine Douglas of School of Agriculture, Food and Rural Development at Newcastle University
I had another really, really, much better point to make here, but I've lost it. If it occurs to me again, I'll put it in. Right here.
I recently came off a contract where someone in-house took a dislike to me. Personality clashes happen, fair enough, but all I'd done was my job. Efficiently at that. I was looking shiny. She didn't like it, as she was a relatively new team member and had intended to prove her worth on this job, she embarked on a sabotage mission. Sadly for her, she put these signals out very publicly and extremely inappropriately, and whereas I came up smelling of roses when all was done, there was the distinct eau-de-behatch left on her. And, believe it or not, her boss apologised to myself and the other freelancer for her behaviour. And here's why: in behaving this way, she isolated herself from the group. Myself and the other freelancer got our jobs done, and had a good time doing it. Our enthusiasm was infectious, the in-house team loved it, and we got a hard job done well. *SMUGS*....
So, trust. It is cheesy, but it does go both ways. But more importantly, it can be created. Right now, speculating finances is more important than ever (which I think I'll talka bout in more detail tomorrow), and having teams that can allow this process to happen smoothly and efficiently by being (like the names suggests) teams, means it will be more productive, quick, efficient and economical.
I'm tired. I will finish this rant tomorrow morning when I'm better able to think straight.
Friday, 13 February 2009
Sorry
Ended up eating a bad mushroom omlette yesterday and had to retire early. Consequently, I now have no time to complete a proper entry, either yesterday's or today's.
This weekend I will start making notes to start this side project in earnest. Next week will be, hopefully, a nice balance of work and personal posts, and sometimes an occasional combination of the two.
For now, I have some stuff I HAVE to complete by 7pm today. So have a great weekend. x
This weekend I will start making notes to start this side project in earnest. Next week will be, hopefully, a nice balance of work and personal posts, and sometimes an occasional combination of the two.
For now, I have some stuff I HAVE to complete by 7pm today. So have a great weekend. x
Thursday, 12 February 2009
Brains
Hi.
Yesterday I took a batch of ibuprofen and delicately tried avoiding the sticky threads of a migraine. Mostly failed.
Today I'm going to have to get my head down and focus on sorting the work I was doing veeeeery slooooowly yesterday. So no proper post until late tonight. Think I know what I'm going to talk about, as lists of subjects are stacking up in my mind. Laters.
Yesterday I took a batch of ibuprofen and delicately tried avoiding the sticky threads of a migraine. Mostly failed.
Today I'm going to have to get my head down and focus on sorting the work I was doing veeeeery slooooowly yesterday. So no proper post until late tonight. Think I know what I'm going to talk about, as lists of subjects are stacking up in my mind. Laters.
Wednesday, 11 February 2009
Sir Derek Jacobi's saliva
Totally off the topic I intended to talk about (which I might post later, so no clues here just yet), I have to mention my strangely cultural Tuesday...
At lunch I took a couple of hours out to unwind my beleaguered brain and watch Prick Up Your Ears again. I used to have a copy of it on video as a teenager recorded off the tellybox, except my mum had started recording it late in, so the version I remember watching (repeatedly) started in Vanessa Regrave's publisher's office. There was no opening gambit with the bodies being found in my 'cut'. I was a bit disappointed to learn it was even there, to be honest - although I always knew how it was going to end, it seems to detract from the horror when you get to see the murder scene before it unfolds, even if it does explain how the diaries got to be hidden. I don't know, maybe I'm just speaking as a creature of habit, but when I make my boyfriend watch it I'll probably start it from the scene I knew as the start. Just out of interest, you understand.
And if I'm honest, the real reason I watched it so often is, frankly, Gary Oldman. I'll follow him to the ends of the video rental bargain bin. Watching it back now, it's like a showreel for his talents, squandered these days. He convincingly plays from innocent teenager, to burgeoning thesp, to budding writer, to swaggering, wonderful, witty, selfish, blindly-self-assured Orton himself. It's actually pretty bloody brilliant. Poor Alfred Molina is stuck playing ever-the-same Halliwell, and though doing it brilliantly, there's a bit too much of his future performance of Tony Hancock in there. Which keeps making me laugh. Unfortunately. And Julie Walters' scene with the teeth is fantastic. In fact, all the cast is brilliant (watch carefully, there's an awful lot of future luminaries in there), but Oldman is just great.
Moving on, last night I went with the other half to see Twelfth Night in town. Somehow, he managed to get front row seats. This sounds amazing in theory, except whereas my boyfriend is a smidge under 6ft, I'm 5'2". I wasn't totally certain I'd be able to see over the stage edge - even less so when I saw they'd layered driftwood-style boards to stick over the stage as the flooring, meaning there was extra stuff to see over. My poor man suddenly felt very bad about these fabulous tickets, but, as I pointed out, unless the actors lay down in the middle of the stage, I'm see them fine. Um. I'll get back to that.
I realised within seconds of the play starting that this was the second time I'd seen Victoria Hamilton. Which is odd, as I tend to find her quite an annoying scren prescence, but great on stage (the other show being Day in the Death of Joe Egg, which was great). She was extremely good, their Orsino less so (my personal definitive version being Chiwetel Ejiofor's TV version - track it down, he's amazing); they had cast Sir Andrew brilliantly, with Guy Henry playing him (for want of a better description) as Gussie Fink-Nottle. But, of course, most of the audience were there to see Sir Derek Jacobi, and he didn't disappoint. Teetering on the edge of cartoony, but somehow keeping pathos there at all times, even at his most boastful and mad, Sir Derek (I just love the incongruousness of that title and that name) was excellent. I was chuffed to bits.
Having said all this, to stage the scene where the fool taunts Malvolio in his cell, they had chosen to use the trapdoor hinged up centrestage, so that his hands would grip the bars holding it up and it would appear he was hoisting himself up to show his face through them. Great staging idea. Lousy row to see it in. Especially when you're 5'2". I could see the corner of the hindged door, annoying immensely the woman behind me when I craned to see what on earth was going on.
Which brings us full circle. I mentioned I would watch anything with Gary Oldman in. Well, that icludes Friends. In that, he played himself giving Joey acting lessons by explaining you had to enunciate by spitting your 'p's. Last night, Sir Derek demonstrated this master-thespian skill by practically gobbing all over me and the others in the first row whenever he spoke.
Edit: I've just read this back and, judging by my grammar and unfinished points, I suspect I'm heading for a migraine. I will go back and edit this properly later. For now, sorry.
At lunch I took a couple of hours out to unwind my beleaguered brain and watch Prick Up Your Ears again. I used to have a copy of it on video as a teenager recorded off the tellybox, except my mum had started recording it late in, so the version I remember watching (repeatedly) started in Vanessa Regrave's publisher's office. There was no opening gambit with the bodies being found in my 'cut'. I was a bit disappointed to learn it was even there, to be honest - although I always knew how it was going to end, it seems to detract from the horror when you get to see the murder scene before it unfolds, even if it does explain how the diaries got to be hidden. I don't know, maybe I'm just speaking as a creature of habit, but when I make my boyfriend watch it I'll probably start it from the scene I knew as the start. Just out of interest, you understand.
And if I'm honest, the real reason I watched it so often is, frankly, Gary Oldman. I'll follow him to the ends of the video rental bargain bin. Watching it back now, it's like a showreel for his talents, squandered these days. He convincingly plays from innocent teenager, to burgeoning thesp, to budding writer, to swaggering, wonderful, witty, selfish, blindly-self-assured Orton himself. It's actually pretty bloody brilliant. Poor Alfred Molina is stuck playing ever-the-same Halliwell, and though doing it brilliantly, there's a bit too much of his future performance of Tony Hancock in there. Which keeps making me laugh. Unfortunately. And Julie Walters' scene with the teeth is fantastic. In fact, all the cast is brilliant (watch carefully, there's an awful lot of future luminaries in there), but Oldman is just great.
Moving on, last night I went with the other half to see Twelfth Night in town. Somehow, he managed to get front row seats. This sounds amazing in theory, except whereas my boyfriend is a smidge under 6ft, I'm 5'2". I wasn't totally certain I'd be able to see over the stage edge - even less so when I saw they'd layered driftwood-style boards to stick over the stage as the flooring, meaning there was extra stuff to see over. My poor man suddenly felt very bad about these fabulous tickets, but, as I pointed out, unless the actors lay down in the middle of the stage, I'm see them fine. Um. I'll get back to that.
I realised within seconds of the play starting that this was the second time I'd seen Victoria Hamilton. Which is odd, as I tend to find her quite an annoying scren prescence, but great on stage (the other show being Day in the Death of Joe Egg, which was great). She was extremely good, their Orsino less so (my personal definitive version being Chiwetel Ejiofor's TV version - track it down, he's amazing); they had cast Sir Andrew brilliantly, with Guy Henry playing him (for want of a better description) as Gussie Fink-Nottle. But, of course, most of the audience were there to see Sir Derek Jacobi, and he didn't disappoint. Teetering on the edge of cartoony, but somehow keeping pathos there at all times, even at his most boastful and mad, Sir Derek (I just love the incongruousness of that title and that name) was excellent. I was chuffed to bits.
Having said all this, to stage the scene where the fool taunts Malvolio in his cell, they had chosen to use the trapdoor hinged up centrestage, so that his hands would grip the bars holding it up and it would appear he was hoisting himself up to show his face through them. Great staging idea. Lousy row to see it in. Especially when you're 5'2". I could see the corner of the hindged door, annoying immensely the woman behind me when I craned to see what on earth was going on.
Which brings us full circle. I mentioned I would watch anything with Gary Oldman in. Well, that icludes Friends. In that, he played himself giving Joey acting lessons by explaining you had to enunciate by spitting your 'p's. Last night, Sir Derek demonstrated this master-thespian skill by practically gobbing all over me and the others in the first row whenever he spoke.
Edit: I've just read this back and, judging by my grammar and unfinished points, I suspect I'm heading for a migraine. I will go back and edit this properly later. For now, sorry.
Tuesday, 10 February 2009
Case in point
Article saying exactly what I've been ranting about after a few drinks for the last few weeks, which annoyingly hasn't quite caught on yet. Originally tweeted by allenmireles
http://denver.bizjournals.com/denver/stories/2009/02/02/smallb4.html?surround=etf&b=1233550800^1770052
http://denver.bizjournals.com/denver/stories/2009/02/02/smallb4.html?surround=etf&b=1233550800^1770052
Another short one
Today is more manic than usual due to fighting total physical exhaustion (for which I can find no reason). Have so much to do and so little time, so I'm keeping my promise to myself by writing here today, but not going to post anything more interesting than this:
http://www.badscience.net/2009/02/legal-chill-from-lbc-973-over-jeni-barnetts-mmr-scaremongering/
Some people are just unbelievable. One of my friends refuses to tell her mother-in-law whether or not she had her son MMR-vaccinated because the m-i-l believes it gives you autism and cancer, and my mate doesn't want to get involved in the stupid, stupid row AGAIN. The theory is, if she doesn't know either way, she can't assume either way. But to have to even be in that position... Go Ben Goldacre, behind you all the way. And I don't think LBC have a leg to stand on as criticism is not criminal.
Off to get stuff done now. Laters.
http://www.badscience.net/2009/02/legal-chill-from-lbc-973-over-jeni-barnetts-mmr-scaremongering/
Some people are just unbelievable. One of my friends refuses to tell her mother-in-law whether or not she had her son MMR-vaccinated because the m-i-l believes it gives you autism and cancer, and my mate doesn't want to get involved in the stupid, stupid row AGAIN. The theory is, if she doesn't know either way, she can't assume either way. But to have to even be in that position... Go Ben Goldacre, behind you all the way. And I don't think LBC have a leg to stand on as criticism is not criminal.
Off to get stuff done now. Laters.
Monday, 9 February 2009
Short and sweet one
I'll never do a long post on a Monday, as I'm generally doing the admin and catch-up from the previous week, so that's that I'm afraid.
Things to take away from last night's fabulous meal (made fabulous by my table of lovely luvvies, I was quite literally the only person at the table not to have been put on a stage, being the behind-the-scenes (read: puppet master) type, really):
Chlamydia Dell'Arte
Unless we take the......Hardknott Pass
Vespa the air steward
Don't tease the other half after he's had a few
And a recipe for a tasty cocktail, the 1804:
1 part Coffee liqueur
1 part Cognac
Barely-whipped cream (still heavy but with some froth)
Shake with ice, strain into glass (works best in a martini glass as the angle gets both halves of cocktail as you drink). With back of spoon, pour over the cream about 1-2 cm thick so it sits on top like Guinness or a cappuccino. DRINK.*
*Yes, it's girly. And cocktails are wanky. But after a bottle of wine each, these things are less important...
Things to take away from last night's fabulous meal (made fabulous by my table of lovely luvvies, I was quite literally the only person at the table not to have been put on a stage, being the behind-the-scenes (read: puppet master) type, really):
Chlamydia Dell'Arte
Unless we take the......Hardknott Pass
Vespa the air steward
Don't tease the other half after he's had a few
And a recipe for a tasty cocktail, the 1804:
1 part Coffee liqueur
1 part Cognac
Barely-whipped cream (still heavy but with some froth)
Shake with ice, strain into glass (works best in a martini glass as the angle gets both halves of cocktail as you drink). With back of spoon, pour over the cream about 1-2 cm thick so it sits on top like Guinness or a cappuccino. DRINK.*
*Yes, it's girly. And cocktails are wanky. But after a bottle of wine each, these things are less important...
Sunday, 8 February 2009
Looooong weekend
Spent it cooking a meal for 8 on Sunday. Only nipping in to add this, as currently terribly tipsy (deservedly). Hope yours was as much fun - more tomorrow.
Laters....
Laters....
Friday, 6 February 2009
Department store joy
I've just been reading this:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/business/2009/feb/04/retail-shopping-department-stores
I used to live near Bentalls in Kingston, and have distinct and vivid memories of the old incarnation. These days I understand it's owned by the same group who run Selfridges (Fenwick, I think) and is all Carluccio's and Max Mara concessions. I do have quite a soft spot for it, mind, even now. Everything is still under one roof, and, even though I can't afford half of it, and it's a bit WAG these days, it's still a pretty pleasant experience. I don' think I agree with her comment about these stores being being "balm to the soul", mind. More like "soul numbing caverns of capitalism". Not that that's a bad thing.
But the old store - that was brilliant. You entered though a fairly dingy row of arched doorways, where there was a lobby with a florist and a row of those smoked-glass-plastic pod-like telephone booths (which seem to remind me of Space 1999 or UFO - I don't know why). But you stepped to the right through another set of doors and an entirely new world beckoned.
It was a tiered store in the Liberty mould (right down to the heavy, dark wood staircases). The first section you were met with was the beauty section, gleaming bright white and a fair bit of neon, if my brain doesn't deceive me. Lots of scary, bouffant women and strong, flowery smells my mother quite rightly avoided. But once you passed that area and you couldn't see the upper levels through the balconies built in, it stopped being glitzy, and suddenly morphed into Are You Being Served? Seriously. Heavy wooden shelves and austere staff, munty-looking mannequins in terrible ensembles, odd smells (I'm thinking mothballs, but that's not quite right), stained carpet (because here the lino ended and the carpet began), and a veritable maze of departments whose layouts made no sense to anyone.
Speaking of which, and slightly topical, it was in the bedding and towels department that I was taken to see Tony Hart do drawings on request (I think whilst promoting something). He wouldn't draw a frog for me. I remember being quite upset about this at the time.
My mum hated going in there. She particularly hated the escalators which had been hacked into the floors at some point in history, she being scared of them anyway, but there was something strangely dizzying about them - I think it was that they were so short as the ceilings were quite low (think Liberty's again), but positioned right next to the balconies. A sort of vertical travelmat sensation, if that makes sense. Elevators would've been more useful, but I guess they weren't modern enough.
Anyway, this strange old store was knocked down in 1987, when I was 7 or 8 years old. I remember it vividly, and just looking into it discovered that Eric Gill has a hand in the stonework, and that it was based on Wren's plans for Hampton Court Palace down the road. Which is news to me.
My memories of this odd-smelling, strangely laid-out store are still very strong, and it's always a bit odd to walk into the shiny new version. I still half-expect the manky carpet to be there, or the pod-booths to be in the atrium bit, with a shifty-looking bloke in a leather jacket making a call. It's always a bit of a shame when something so character-filled and strangely, fascinatingly awful gets so sanitised. But then I'd miss out on Cioccolata Fiorentina, and that wouldn't be fair, would it?
http://www.guardian.co.uk/business/2009/feb/04/retail-shopping-department-stores
I used to live near Bentalls in Kingston, and have distinct and vivid memories of the old incarnation. These days I understand it's owned by the same group who run Selfridges (Fenwick, I think) and is all Carluccio's and Max Mara concessions. I do have quite a soft spot for it, mind, even now. Everything is still under one roof, and, even though I can't afford half of it, and it's a bit WAG these days, it's still a pretty pleasant experience. I don' think I agree with her comment about these stores being being "balm to the soul", mind. More like "soul numbing caverns of capitalism". Not that that's a bad thing.
But the old store - that was brilliant. You entered though a fairly dingy row of arched doorways, where there was a lobby with a florist and a row of those smoked-glass-plastic pod-like telephone booths (which seem to remind me of Space 1999 or UFO - I don't know why). But you stepped to the right through another set of doors and an entirely new world beckoned.
It was a tiered store in the Liberty mould (right down to the heavy, dark wood staircases). The first section you were met with was the beauty section, gleaming bright white and a fair bit of neon, if my brain doesn't deceive me. Lots of scary, bouffant women and strong, flowery smells my mother quite rightly avoided. But once you passed that area and you couldn't see the upper levels through the balconies built in, it stopped being glitzy, and suddenly morphed into Are You Being Served? Seriously. Heavy wooden shelves and austere staff, munty-looking mannequins in terrible ensembles, odd smells (I'm thinking mothballs, but that's not quite right), stained carpet (because here the lino ended and the carpet began), and a veritable maze of departments whose layouts made no sense to anyone.
Speaking of which, and slightly topical, it was in the bedding and towels department that I was taken to see Tony Hart do drawings on request (I think whilst promoting something). He wouldn't draw a frog for me. I remember being quite upset about this at the time.
My mum hated going in there. She particularly hated the escalators which had been hacked into the floors at some point in history, she being scared of them anyway, but there was something strangely dizzying about them - I think it was that they were so short as the ceilings were quite low (think Liberty's again), but positioned right next to the balconies. A sort of vertical travelmat sensation, if that makes sense. Elevators would've been more useful, but I guess they weren't modern enough.
Anyway, this strange old store was knocked down in 1987, when I was 7 or 8 years old. I remember it vividly, and just looking into it discovered that Eric Gill has a hand in the stonework, and that it was based on Wren's plans for Hampton Court Palace down the road. Which is news to me.
My memories of this odd-smelling, strangely laid-out store are still very strong, and it's always a bit odd to walk into the shiny new version. I still half-expect the manky carpet to be there, or the pod-booths to be in the atrium bit, with a shifty-looking bloke in a leather jacket making a call. It's always a bit of a shame when something so character-filled and strangely, fascinatingly awful gets so sanitised. But then I'd miss out on Cioccolata Fiorentina, and that wouldn't be fair, would it?
Thursday, 5 February 2009
Gah, no fair
Just discovered my brother will be holidaying this year on a tiny island is the middle of the Pacific.
New goal for getting this year moving found, it seems.
I really need a holiday.
New goal for getting this year moving found, it seems.
I really need a holiday.
Proper post
Interview went well, just a recruitment agency intro thing, but still fairly relaxed and positive. They're the first agency I've spoken to this year who've said stuff is picking up again, which is news to me. Still, got a list of people to call and email tomorrow, so feeling a little more productive.
Walking back across Lambeth Bridge, looked out onto the river (I do love London at dusk when it gets all sparkly but the sky's still turned on) and saw that boat. I've been on that boat/restaurant thing a couple of times (though never through choice), and it still strikes me as unbelievably stupid. If I want to feel woozy and nauseous, the world rocking gently from side to side with clanging noises all around, I'll down 10 G&Ts and suffer the hangover.
Back in my bit of town, I had to nip into the massive supermarket 'round the back of me, that serves as a supply warehouse for all the curry houses round my way. It's pretty spectacular by any standards, and a foodie heaven if you're into finding/trying incredibly random food. Spices and pulses and instant goods and all manner of unknown fruits. Buying a huge pack of cinnamon for 59p never felt so satisfying. I still managed to forget the vanilla, though. But I came back with a veritable horde for just over a tenner, buying stuff that in Sainsbury's would set me back a good £25. Take that, Sainsbury's: Making average food unreasonably expensive.
I'm now watching Edward Scissorhands on tellybox whilst sorting through emails, and then off to bed once I've completed my various tasks.
Speaking of multi tasks, just heard this. Flight recording of the downed plane in the Hudson.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/7872882.stm
I've worked on jobs with people who panic. It's rarely productive, usually the opposite, and you end up using up more time fixing it than you would have done just finding the solution straight off. What's great about this recording is how eerily calm everyone is. Sure, it's their job and lives are at risk (which they tend not to be in events, although I can think of one exception I won't mention), but the matter-of-fact pro-active attitude about it all is something I deeply admire. Though I love the slight wobble when one tower asks about 'Which engines???!". That bit is just precious...
Walking back across Lambeth Bridge, looked out onto the river (I do love London at dusk when it gets all sparkly but the sky's still turned on) and saw that boat. I've been on that boat/restaurant thing a couple of times (though never through choice), and it still strikes me as unbelievably stupid. If I want to feel woozy and nauseous, the world rocking gently from side to side with clanging noises all around, I'll down 10 G&Ts and suffer the hangover.
Back in my bit of town, I had to nip into the massive supermarket 'round the back of me, that serves as a supply warehouse for all the curry houses round my way. It's pretty spectacular by any standards, and a foodie heaven if you're into finding/trying incredibly random food. Spices and pulses and instant goods and all manner of unknown fruits. Buying a huge pack of cinnamon for 59p never felt so satisfying. I still managed to forget the vanilla, though. But I came back with a veritable horde for just over a tenner, buying stuff that in Sainsbury's would set me back a good £25. Take that, Sainsbury's: Making average food unreasonably expensive.
I'm now watching Edward Scissorhands on tellybox whilst sorting through emails, and then off to bed once I've completed my various tasks.
Speaking of multi tasks, just heard this. Flight recording of the downed plane in the Hudson.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/7872882.stm
I've worked on jobs with people who panic. It's rarely productive, usually the opposite, and you end up using up more time fixing it than you would have done just finding the solution straight off. What's great about this recording is how eerily calm everyone is. Sure, it's their job and lives are at risk (which they tend not to be in events, although I can think of one exception I won't mention), but the matter-of-fact pro-active attitude about it all is something I deeply admire. Though I love the slight wobble when one tower asks about 'Which engines???!". That bit is just precious...
Ooh, first post
First post of the new year - I promise to try to post every day if possible, and where I don't have time to write something, I will at least find a link for enjoyment.
Thank you for bothering. Nothing to see here just yet, but will post at the end of the day, after a meeting.
Hm. Something to think about - I'm not a great fan of suit-wearing at the best of times, but what I planned to wear for an informal interview in suit-style is not even remotely practical in this insane weather. Is wearing black jeans, boots and a smart jacket a bad thing?
Thank you for bothering. Nothing to see here just yet, but will post at the end of the day, after a meeting.
Hm. Something to think about - I'm not a great fan of suit-wearing at the best of times, but what I planned to wear for an informal interview in suit-style is not even remotely practical in this insane weather. Is wearing black jeans, boots and a smart jacket a bad thing?
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