there was a time when the words 'expect 10 inches overnight' had a certain Carry On style frisson. These days it means wheel spin, fishtailing up the hill outside of the house and a slow crawl towards the office.
In a way I miss the old JMZ over the Williamsburg bridge. But then again as I crank the heating up and turn the satellite radio to Chris Moyles and radio one it all starts to feel pretty good. I think I even heard a barely grammatical text from my brother read out on the Scott Mills show yesterday. It was from a Gary, it was from my hometown, it was about football and it had the syntax of a low grunt - so I'm assuming it was him.
Superbowl Sunday this weekend - so off to the neighbor's house for beer, chips and much booing at the quality of the ads.
Tonight Ypsilanti, Depot Town, a few drinks and fish and chips at a bar I know. Hurrah!
Friday, February 01, 2008
Thursday, January 31, 2008
A story worth telling....
My friend Gareth is sometimes a little too like me for comfort.
Here's what happened to him when he tried to return a pair of Gap jeans thatsplit across the knee after only 5 days
In his own words
I brought a pair of jeans from the GAP: low-rise bootcut and dark blue, to be precise. I wore them for 5 days. On the fifth day I sat down and the jeans split in 3 places across the left knee leaving a whopping fat gaping hole. I was not happy. I decided to take them back and change them.
“There’s nothing I can do,” said the store manager of the GAP branch on Broadway. “You’ll have to ring customer services on Monday. They are open 8am to 8pm, Monday to Friday.”
“But I brought them in this store?”
“Like I said you have to ring customer services.”
“But it’s Saturday – I want my jeans replaced”
“Call customer services.”
“Errrrrr errrrr – well, I’ll just stay here ‘til 8am Monday then.”
“If you do that I’ll call the police,” said the manager. With that he was gone - never to resurface during the following 2 hour ‘ordeal’.
The manager left me fuming. I felt like Michael Douglas in ‘Falling Down.’ Something in me snapped. I asked the shop assistant if I could borrow a paper and pen.
At the top of the paper - which happened to be a piece of GAP till paper - I wrote… ‘WE THE UNDERSIGNED, WOULD LIKE ‘GAP’ TO ACCEPT THEIR RESPONSIBILITY FOR THE POOR WORKMANSHIP ON THE JEANS THAT GARETH BROUGHT AND REPLACE THEM.’
I then proceeded to ask every shopper in the store to sign-it which they did happily wishing me good luck with my campaign.
I had managed to get 4 signatures until the fifth person I asked turned out to be an off duty GAP security guard. Doh.
I was told to stop harassing the customers. “When did I stop being a customer?” I asked. Good question, I thought. The security guard was stumped.
He told me that I wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone in the store. So I came up with a new protest plan – I wrote the following on my knobbly knee that was poking out the hole…
‘I BROUGHT THESE JEANS AT GAP AND THEY ARE A BIT RUBBISH.’
I then proceeded to point my knee at every shopper who walked in. It wasn’t as effective as talking to people but it got a few laughs.
I was frustrated. I wanted to steal something – another pair of jeans – but I just knew that was asking for trouble so instead I decided to steal their time. I spoke to every employee who would listen.
“I can’t talk to you.”
“Come on – this is fun - let’s debate, let’s argue.”
But no one would.
“Look I’m being nice about this I’m not getting angry - I’m smiling and being polite. Just think – this is a good story - when you get home tonight you’ll be able to tell your family about the eccentric English guy you met today who refused to leave the store.” The security guard wasn’t amused – in fact he called back-up security from another GAP store nearby. I was surrounded and still I refused to leave.
“This is not about money – the jeans only cost $60 – this is about the principle…. And people die for principles!” I was starting to get a little dramatic. I was on a Shopping Jihad.
Time passed. I’d now been there 90 minutes.
“Would you like to come and stand over here?” said one of the security guards, trying to move me away from the main bit of the store.
“That’s very kind of you to be thinking about my welfare but I’m happy here.” I wasn’t moving anywhere. I was in a prime spot – every shopper who walked in the store could see something was happening and as long as I continued to speak loudly about my predicament to the security guards they all soon found out what was going on without me actually talking directly to anyone.
“I’m sure you have somewhere you need to be,” said one of the other guards.
“That’s very kind of you to be thinking about my welfare but I have nothing else to do today except change these jeans. I have plenty of time.” I lied. I had arranged to meet my friend Caroline and was now 60 minutes late. I’d been keeping her updated with texts.
3:15pm IN GAP HAVIN ARGUMENT MIGHT B L8
3:57pm SURROUNDED BY SECURITY
4:32pm POLICE COMING
That’s right. You read it correctly the police were coming. Security had had enough and they wanted me out the store, pronto. The conversation had gone like this…
“We’re going to call the police if you don’t leave.”
“Call them,” I said calling their bluff.
And they did.
Waiting the 20 minutes for the cops to show was a very long 20 minutes indeed. I could have runoff, but that would be like a suicide bomber leaving his special backpack at home - I was sticking to my guns/backpack and banished all thoughts of ‘oh no they’ll cancel my visa’ from my mind.
When confronted by two New York cops it is hard not to look at anything but their LOADED GUNS.
I tried to intimidate the officers with my finest colonial English.
“Good afternoooooonnnn officers. Pray tell, what are my options on this lovely Saturday afternoon.”
“You either leave or we’ll give you a summons.”
I was guessing that a ‘summons’ wasn’t some kind of American candy bar so I went with the first option and the police officers escorted me off the premises.
GAP had won… for that day at least but I vowed that I would have my revenge.
The officers told me not to go back in the store.
I said OK.
I asked them if they’d pose for a picture to commemorate this event.
They said OK.
“One last thing,” said one of the officers. “I can’t help but notice that you are wearing the jeans you wanted to change – what were you thinking? You don’t wear the clothes you want to change back to the store. Are you mental?”
“No, I’m an Inventor.”
And with that, I leapt onto my bike and cycled off into the sunset to meet Caroline in my jeans with a hole.
Here's what happened to him when he tried to return a pair of Gap jeans thatsplit across the knee after only 5 days
In his own words
I brought a pair of jeans from the GAP: low-rise bootcut and dark blue, to be precise. I wore them for 5 days. On the fifth day I sat down and the jeans split in 3 places across the left knee leaving a whopping fat gaping hole. I was not happy. I decided to take them back and change them.
“There’s nothing I can do,” said the store manager of the GAP branch on Broadway. “You’ll have to ring customer services on Monday. They are open 8am to 8pm, Monday to Friday.”
“But I brought them in this store?”
“Like I said you have to ring customer services.”
“But it’s Saturday – I want my jeans replaced”
“Call customer services.”
“Errrrrr errrrr – well, I’ll just stay here ‘til 8am Monday then.”
“If you do that I’ll call the police,” said the manager. With that he was gone - never to resurface during the following 2 hour ‘ordeal’.
The manager left me fuming. I felt like Michael Douglas in ‘Falling Down.’ Something in me snapped. I asked the shop assistant if I could borrow a paper and pen.
At the top of the paper - which happened to be a piece of GAP till paper - I wrote… ‘WE THE UNDERSIGNED, WOULD LIKE ‘GAP’ TO ACCEPT THEIR RESPONSIBILITY FOR THE POOR WORKMANSHIP ON THE JEANS THAT GARETH BROUGHT AND REPLACE THEM.’
I then proceeded to ask every shopper in the store to sign-it which they did happily wishing me good luck with my campaign.
I had managed to get 4 signatures until the fifth person I asked turned out to be an off duty GAP security guard. Doh.
I was told to stop harassing the customers. “When did I stop being a customer?” I asked. Good question, I thought. The security guard was stumped.
He told me that I wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone in the store. So I came up with a new protest plan – I wrote the following on my knobbly knee that was poking out the hole…
‘I BROUGHT THESE JEANS AT GAP AND THEY ARE A BIT RUBBISH.’
I then proceeded to point my knee at every shopper who walked in. It wasn’t as effective as talking to people but it got a few laughs.
I was frustrated. I wanted to steal something – another pair of jeans – but I just knew that was asking for trouble so instead I decided to steal their time. I spoke to every employee who would listen.
“I can’t talk to you.”
“Come on – this is fun - let’s debate, let’s argue.”
But no one would.
“Look I’m being nice about this I’m not getting angry - I’m smiling and being polite. Just think – this is a good story - when you get home tonight you’ll be able to tell your family about the eccentric English guy you met today who refused to leave the store.” The security guard wasn’t amused – in fact he called back-up security from another GAP store nearby. I was surrounded and still I refused to leave.
“This is not about money – the jeans only cost $60 – this is about the principle…. And people die for principles!” I was starting to get a little dramatic. I was on a Shopping Jihad.
Time passed. I’d now been there 90 minutes.
“Would you like to come and stand over here?” said one of the security guards, trying to move me away from the main bit of the store.
“That’s very kind of you to be thinking about my welfare but I’m happy here.” I wasn’t moving anywhere. I was in a prime spot – every shopper who walked in the store could see something was happening and as long as I continued to speak loudly about my predicament to the security guards they all soon found out what was going on without me actually talking directly to anyone.
“I’m sure you have somewhere you need to be,” said one of the other guards.
“That’s very kind of you to be thinking about my welfare but I have nothing else to do today except change these jeans. I have plenty of time.” I lied. I had arranged to meet my friend Caroline and was now 60 minutes late. I’d been keeping her updated with texts.
3:15pm IN GAP HAVIN ARGUMENT MIGHT B L8
3:57pm SURROUNDED BY SECURITY
4:32pm POLICE COMING
That’s right. You read it correctly the police were coming. Security had had enough and they wanted me out the store, pronto. The conversation had gone like this…
“We’re going to call the police if you don’t leave.”
“Call them,” I said calling their bluff.
And they did.
Waiting the 20 minutes for the cops to show was a very long 20 minutes indeed. I could have runoff, but that would be like a suicide bomber leaving his special backpack at home - I was sticking to my guns/backpack and banished all thoughts of ‘oh no they’ll cancel my visa’ from my mind.
When confronted by two New York cops it is hard not to look at anything but their LOADED GUNS.
I tried to intimidate the officers with my finest colonial English.
“Good afternoooooonnnn officers. Pray tell, what are my options on this lovely Saturday afternoon.”
“You either leave or we’ll give you a summons.”
I was guessing that a ‘summons’ wasn’t some kind of American candy bar so I went with the first option and the police officers escorted me off the premises.
GAP had won… for that day at least but I vowed that I would have my revenge.
The officers told me not to go back in the store.
I said OK.
I asked them if they’d pose for a picture to commemorate this event.
They said OK.
“One last thing,” said one of the officers. “I can’t help but notice that you are wearing the jeans you wanted to change – what were you thinking? You don’t wear the clothes you want to change back to the store. Are you mental?”
“No, I’m an Inventor.”
And with that, I leapt onto my bike and cycled off into the sunset to meet Caroline in my jeans with a hole.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
American High Schools
I'd never been in an American highschool until last night. And it was weird. Huge and impersonal. With huge gyms and lots of stadium seating. And janitors who walked wordlessly and unwilling to make eye contact alongside you as you moved towards your destination. It all felt very Carrie to me and I understand where a lot of the isolation you hear about comes from. There was something chilly about the building that said 'facility' rather than school,
Photog' class was taught by a nervous Californian with the pallor of someone in their second Michigan winter. The class, motley. An old guy with a hypnotist's beard and a smart attitude that might have explained his being on crutches. An enthusiastic blonde trying to get in some lessons before her big trip to Africa. An old geezer with a film camera that looked to me as though it was a kodak instamatic that would need flash cubes before it would take a picture in the dark and a bunch of others with digi cams in expensive bags that they never got to open as the instructor rattled on about how exposure was like filling a bucket with water, a rare steak and the Golden Triangle of opiate producing countries (or something)
I loved it. Spotting f-stop patterns. Noting that his depth of field equivalent pics weren't (the sun had come out during the last) and generally loving the dissection of internal prisms. The rest spent their time fingering the zippers on their bags.
Still in two weeks we have a critique session and next week the promise of shots outside if the weather breaks -10c. We shall see.
Photog' class was taught by a nervous Californian with the pallor of someone in their second Michigan winter. The class, motley. An old guy with a hypnotist's beard and a smart attitude that might have explained his being on crutches. An enthusiastic blonde trying to get in some lessons before her big trip to Africa. An old geezer with a film camera that looked to me as though it was a kodak instamatic that would need flash cubes before it would take a picture in the dark and a bunch of others with digi cams in expensive bags that they never got to open as the instructor rattled on about how exposure was like filling a bucket with water, a rare steak and the Golden Triangle of opiate producing countries (or something)
I loved it. Spotting f-stop patterns. Noting that his depth of field equivalent pics weren't (the sun had come out during the last) and generally loving the dissection of internal prisms. The rest spent their time fingering the zippers on their bags.
Still in two weeks we have a critique session and next week the promise of shots outside if the weather breaks -10c. We shall see.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
So here's a question for you
I'm looking to shoot something that I think is electric (photographically shoot that is). Something that acts as an emotional amplifier. Something that crackles with energy. That fizzes and buzzes like an old neon sign. Something that heightens and confuses the senses. That's synaesthetic - that has colors you can hear and a look that you can taste. It needs to be something that draws some people towards it whilst repelling others. Something that some people just have to touch.
(Guess who just started a photography class)
Thing is I know exactly the feel that I want but I don't have an object. I thought about the Van DeGraff kind of thing but that feels old. There was one in a bar that I loved in the shape of a naked woman but that too feels a little obvious. I need a mix of sharpness and saturation. And a hint of inspiration.
Anyone have any ideas? (I so wanna finish top of the class)
(Guess who just started a photography class)
Thing is I know exactly the feel that I want but I don't have an object. I thought about the Van DeGraff kind of thing but that feels old. There was one in a bar that I loved in the shape of a naked woman but that too feels a little obvious. I need a mix of sharpness and saturation. And a hint of inspiration.
Anyone have any ideas? (I so wanna finish top of the class)
Monday, January 28, 2008
Done with it
So - the great big meeting in the small white room is done with.
I now have the permission I need to go mad.
And the stick I need to drive people to madness.
This is a good thing.
We're about to set off to do something new. And of course people are terrified. Which again is a good thing.
It's make or break. Do or die. Blah de blah. And I have to say that I'm finding it all rather stimulating. Oh not the 7 day weeks or the 7am phone calls from clients. And not the 7 meetings each yielding 7 new points on the 77 things to be done before 7/7. But the thought that I've now positioned in a way that means we do new things or die. The sword of Damocles and all that.
Anyway - I have a call to make and the fear of wind to put up God
I now have the permission I need to go mad.
And the stick I need to drive people to madness.
This is a good thing.
We're about to set off to do something new. And of course people are terrified. Which again is a good thing.
It's make or break. Do or die. Blah de blah. And I have to say that I'm finding it all rather stimulating. Oh not the 7 day weeks or the 7am phone calls from clients. And not the 7 meetings each yielding 7 new points on the 77 things to be done before 7/7. But the thought that I've now positioned in a way that means we do new things or die. The sword of Damocles and all that.
Anyway - I have a call to make and the fear of wind to put up God
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