Archive for the 'Me!' Category

04
Dec
09

New site, new style, new stuff.

As you may have notice I’m not really posting here anymore. That’s ’cause I’m over at yoghurtspasm.com nowadays, blogging up a storm. Or some such. Feel free to check it out. It’s nice and bright.

25
Jun
09

From Cyprus with Love.

While out driving a hot summer’s day on the mediterranean island (and country) of Cyprus I started craving something cool and quenching. As one is inclined to do. What better than a carbonated beverage of some sort and the tastiest of tasty ice creams? Nothing, that’s what, my good fellow – Is my answer to that self-posed question.

Ponder this scenario. We pull over at a camping ground/cafeteria/grilling-zone/national park information area. Bounding out of the cars, me and my girlfriend and her family, immediately zoom in on a small kiosk offering such delights as mentioned above. I don’t trust anyone who does not enjoy a delicious piece of iced cream. And I was pleasantly surprised to find that my in-laws, through my beloved common law wife, were also hungering for such a snack. This could be the start of a beautiful relationship, by proxy.

Jump to approximately three minutes later when everyone had purchased their guilty pleasures of choice and moved on to the picnic-tables to commence with the consumption. The children were snacking, the adults were guffawing, the flies buzzing and I was in for an unpleasant surprise. I had picked what seemed like the ultimate combination. A Kit Kat ice cream. As I devour both Kit Kat and ice cream with great relish the thought of these two in sequence almost blew my fucking mind. I shit you not! Or maybe just a little.

Unwrapping the paper quicker than a speed freak on uppers during an early Christmas morning I soon gazed upon it. The biggest lie in marketing since X-ray spectacles.

icecream

This my friends is not a “Kit Kat Ice Cream”. What it is however is a God damn Kit Kat mushed into some vanilla ice cream. Now I may have been the only one thinking there would be some amalgamation between the two. It would seem logical. To put it another way: Why in holy hell didn’t they mix them? Two things residing beside one another does not constitute a fusion of deliciously huge proportions. Like I said, this is just a single piece of Kit Kat jammed into an otherwise mediocre ice cream.

Shitty and disappointing, would be my conclusion. Thanks for ruining my day Nestlé, you confectionary whores.

22
May
09

Facebook, and the amazing destruction of images.

I’ve been uploading some of my Photoshop/Illustrator work to Facebook lately. I find it to be the most efficient way to get people I know to see the stuff I’ve fashioned together, using only my inferior skills and less than acute sense of style. Getting people to pop on over to a blog every time I leave another brain dropping is not exactly easy. By plopping these things into an album on the FB (that’s what the cool kids are calling it, the FB. Or so I have been informed) I’m sort of forcing them to notice it. They can’t not see it. Cruel, I know.

Facebook does not seem to appreciate my artistic endeavors and chooses to utterly obliterate the image quality. Escalating what would have been a mild assault on the visual senses into a full scale ocular genocide. Is it not enough that I’m hampered by the cruel luck of the genetic draw? I have to get repeatedly molested by Facebook as well? Feast your eyes on this digital atrocity.

faceProbably not my best work ever.

Now, to some this might not seem like such an intrusive reduction in image quality. “Hey, that’s only slightly more artifacts.” a person might say. That person also doesn’t notice any difference between SD and HD television and will be wondering what all the hubbub is about. He is also 57 years old, loves sweater-vests and owns the collected works of Tom Clancy. This person needs to leave the room immediately.

The reason for the re-compression is in all likelihood storage space. Facebook deals with millions upon millions of photos after all. That is a lot of data and jiggabits and hardspace disks and whatnot. And how much larger is the already compressed “50% quality JPEG” file than its Facebook counterpart? The answer: about 8% smaller. Bare in mind this image consists of three colours. Facebook’s re-compression can’t handle the colour red? Seriously? I could understand if there was some gradient effect tripping up the algorithm here, but these are three clearly separated colours. Would I have crashed the servers with this image if it happened to be some blue in there? Should I stick to cubist black & white pictures?

I can only imagine what other optical horrors FB has in store.

Check out a reasonably well compressed version of the actual image over in the Flickr-stream to the right, or here.

15
Mar
09

The Power of Imagination.

The economy does not actually exist. I know what you might be thinking now. “Hey, how deep of a hit did you just take from your opium bong? You godless hippie.” The short answer is: not that deep. The long answer is: An economy is just an agreed upon system of values and trade rules. It is no more set in stone than any other idea, and can be re-arranged or fundamentally revised any time we feel like it.

I know it seems as if economic systems, such as our pseudo-capitalist one, are quite real. As real as the buildings that house all of the institutions that prop up this concept. But it really isn’t. It’s “simply” a very elaborate system we have concocted in order to keep people producing goods and services that in the end benefit most of us. Motivated by greed. Punished by hunger. I will leave any further moral values and my own Utopian hopes out of it.

If this current model of incentives and punishment isn’t getting the job done let’s change it. Fine tune it to work better. Improve the social safety net for workers. Tax the rich bankers a little higher. Make sure stock trading is better regulated. Even out the peaks and valleys. We also have the short term option: Keep on buying stuff, you dumb shits.

A recession happens when people think a recession will happen. They stop buying and start saving. Industrialists stop producing the things that aren’t being bought anymore. The same people who stopped buying get fired and continue not buying (now for a different reason, lack of funds) and the downward spiral worsens. Do you want to keep your job? You want your friends to keep their jobs? Stop stuffing your mattress full of imaginary wealth printed on paper and purchase things that might be useful. Either sneakers with lights in the heals or a shotgun for fending off the mutants when this economic crisis hits apocalyptic proportions.

You think I am over-simplifying a very complex issue? Yes, I might be. Bare in mind though that economist’s seemingly elaborate hypotheses are not any more accurate. If these Oracles of Wall Street and Captains of Industry had any clue what pattern the market follows (if any) they’d be able to fix it. Instead they’re just throwing anything they can think of at the problem and seeing what sticks. So far, nothing is.

A system no-one understands isn’t a system, it’s chaos. So kick back, grab a beer you’ve just brewed in your own toilet and enjoy watching as these granite monoliths of capitalism crumble. Like that pension you had saved away. It’s much more fun watching something come crashing down. At least now you are not alone, standing in the rubble.

Also:

13
Mar
09

There cums the neighbourhood.

The other night me and the girlfriend were reliving shared but separate childhood memories by re-watching The Neverending Story. It was a spur of the moment type thing, so we got started rather late. As we were approaching the half-way mark we found ourselves getting the mid-night giggles. That stage of tiredness when everything seems rather funny. We were chatting in hushed and clipped tones and having a laugh at how poorly some of the elements in the movie had aged.

During this most pleasant of times we get interrupted by a loud banging on the wall followed by an equally loud yet muffled voice.

– “I’m actually trying to sleep!”

Or something to that effect came pouring through the wall we share with this apparently grumpy denizen. Most rude. That I had been forced to overhear said person have loud and obnoxious mid-day sex just a few days prior is of no concern. Apparently. Clamorous Afternoon Boinking – Perfectly acceptable. Average Nightly Conversation – Horrendous.

We weren’t having a rip-roaring booming time, with rowdy cheers and boisterous applauds. The volume was in every respect, reasonable. A bit too reasonable even. Had it sounded like twenty-odd burly men performing heavy construction in the middle of an ongoing party as a gaggle of geese were set ablaze for the party crowd’s amusement I should think my keen and sharp neighbour would have hesitated before bothering me with information on his sleeping habits. The silly git.

The addition of the word “actually” in his improvised and analog cross-domicile radio theatre opens up a whole other level of  possible interpretation. Did he actually expect us to know that his and our headboards were adjacent? What then must be his point with such rambunctious three o’clock sex? I dare not speculate any further into such perverted goings-on that must be…going on.

I quite often over-complicate things. He’s probably just a self-centered asshole. Which is an interesting idea, in and off itself.

16
Dec
08

This Intensely Precious Thing.

That warm feeling of empathy is re-entering my life for the first time in quite a while. An unusual feeling reserved for a precious few. It’s deliciously enticing and alluring. Tasty in its sheer humanity. My imagination runs rampant. I start fantasizing of crawling in under the covers of a warm bed, pressing up against the soft skin of someone special. Is that you? Why yes, I do believe it is.

Hearing you cry makes me happy. It’s peculiar, I know. The intimacy I felt was incredibly palpable. An emotional telepathy that choked me up. Going into my chest, stirring up everything. Giving me the resting heart rate of a serial killer. Every beat whispering a thousand promises. Who thought this one event  could contain such a dignified and yet intensely vulnerable beauty? Another one of life’s interesting contrasts I suppose.

I’m not a poet, nor am I a genius. So I do not know if I will ever be able to aptly express the complexity of the joyous emotions you instill in me. They are at times overwhelming. They wash over me with a force so strong that I have to grasp for sanity. Even though I do not want to. I need to be in full possession of my faculties if I am to match you. For all its strength it is also giddy, delicate and fluttering. Like a midget’s toes pitter-pattering across a tin roof.

I know I’m swooning, in the open and on the nose. Perhaps even pubescent in my attempts to phrase this as correctly as my senses allow me. I seldom get close to conveying what I truly feel. Never near giving words to the emotions that I harbor. Inside of these fossilized remnants of a romantic heart. But there is a tiny speck of living tissue left in there. Ready for a rebirth or resurrection. Like in Jurassic Park, or that one guy in the bible. Be my scientist, my lovely boffin.

Your acumen is both shiny and new. Brilliantly bright, blindingly beautiful in your elegant intellect. Engulf me, despite my hyperbole.

Thanks for all the things you meant to say. I sense them in the peripheral vision of my mind’s eye. Hopefully you and I can pull them into full focus, together.

24
Nov
08

Inspiration.

monster3Not my best work…

There are times when I run out of good ideas. Periods when nothing I can think of is up to snuff. Everything seems like half-baked drivel that isn’t going anywhere. Certainly not towards that convergence of excellence. When enough good concepts come together naturally and make an incredible leap towards cogitation. The beauty of a carefully considered thought is what keeps me going. Or rather, the hunger for a return of that beauty.

The key is not to give up. Not to pack it in until a new idea comes fluttering into your consciousness. Quality has its own agenda and time table. I run out of ideas every single day, and every time it’s just as scary. I fear that I won’t be able to return to my previous peak. I threat that I have used up the last good idea that will ever come to me. Worst of all that I’ve done so while cracking wise at some pointless seminar or meeting. Does this activity deserve my best?

Good ideas should be, no must be executed. Convincing yourself that “I will get around to it when I have the right assets and can do it justice.” is a bad habit. One I have engaged in on far too many an occasion. Over-analyzing and dissecting every minute little detail before setting about creating will get you nowhere fast. Those ideas and concepts do not stay around in your mind as an insurance plan, a resource you can pull out when times are tough.

It eventually dawns on me that these perfect ideas I have in my head will never be as flawlessly performed in reality. You’re bound to fail the first time you do anything. However, a good idea carried out poorly still trumps a brilliant idea never realized.

What triggers me to create I do not know. But a certain person’s ephemeral smile seems to be doing the trick lately. What is your source of inspiration?