Media Consulting: HistoryWow website and app

Respected Melbourne corporate communications and public relations consultant Richard Craig, in a special project, has created a unique international website and iPhone app to deliver a "short, sharp hit of history" because history is, in his words, "fascinating and inspirational."

I wrote and edited content for screen (see our series of "introduction" videos) the app and website; organized logo, website and app design; liaised with developers, provided publicity support and consulting; technical support and implementation; intellectual property management; social media management; and trademark filing. It was project built to Richard's meticulous standards, exemplifying his unique adoration of history and one of the most rewarding ones to have taken part in.


Get your history fix at http://historywow.com.

The three hour layover on the way to digital journalism

Attending the A.N. Smith lecture in Journalism at Melbourne University last night, Fairfax Media Chief executive and General Manager Greg Hywood outlined the digital media strategy for Fairfax in a "post-classified ad" revenue present and of course, future. Apart from the oh-so humble reminders that the Age and Sydney Morning Herald embraced the internet long before their competitors, his subtle investor pitch demonstrating the media convergence that Fairfax employs to derive its revenue was finally indicative of a media ecological approach to journalism and content communication across a mass yet still fragmented (in terms of point of access) audience. Print in the morning, smartphones on the go and accessing the web during the day, etc.

Mr. Hywood made a salient point in terms of devising a business model to ensure not only survival, but growth in quality journalism and content creation. Leaving the privileged curatorship vs. citizen engagement debate aside; he struck at the core of the problem for lumbering giants resistant to changes in their once robust classified ad "rivers of gold." The journalism, he said, was a solution to the fundamental problem of people trying to "make sense of the world around them." The media can no longer sit idle and react to changes in the consumption of their products, they must now find "solutions" in the skein of Postman and the Media Ecologists.

For example, Neil Postman only months prior to his passing remarked in a lecture that an airline wished to spend a substantial sum to improve the speed of their aeroplanes. Researchers found that they could cut at least three hours from the Los Angeles to New York trip utilizing new engine technologies. But then engineers wondered; what did passengers do with their three hour surplus of time?

Go back to their hotels and watch television.

Thus money was saved by installing televisions into the backs of their seats - the solution was much more ingenious than attempting to appeal to the abstraction of "progress." Just like News Ltd. recognizing that the medium in the afternoon was in fact the train platform and bus and tailored its message accordingly in the form of free, portable and "light" newspapers that can be read while waiting to arrive at one's destination.

Just because journalism can be uploaded and broadcast to smartphones and tablets doesn't mean it always, in every case should; if the problem is not knowing when or where rock gigs are and the solution is a weekly street press to guide you, why force change when it isn't required? Perhaps pondering this question will write the next chapter of journalism; whether in print or online or something unheard of.

Media Consulting: The Yard Restaurant and Bar (mX Melbourne)

A client of mine, the Yard Restaurant and Bar was featured in the mX "Night Out" section on November 10, 2011. Here's a peek:

Assuming the frontage of a quiet terrace, inside one finds an idyllic escape from the city that's not too far away from all the comforts of urban life, nestled in the back streets of South Melbourne. Warming oneself under the glass atrium is a delight to behold - and will become a fixture for dozy after work drinks and "morning after the night before" brunchers.

Interested? Feel free to contact me for further information.

Opinion: Principled Stand, Plummeting Poll?

Winston Churchill remarked that, “Some men change their party for the sake of their principles; others their principles for the sake of their party.” This was especially true for William Morris “Billy” Hughes, our most principled – and arguably audacious – Prime Minister.

Originally a Labor man, he pushed for conscription and held two plebiscites on the issue which were defeated. His caucus was fed up with him and threw him out in 1916. He challenged those who, “thought like him to follow him.” And he did and clung on to the Prime Ministership until 1923.

In this day and age, it’s more likely that the politician in question will sanction their party to electoral oblivion.


Read more at Onya Magazine.

Review: Fair to Midland - Arrows and Anchors

“We wanted something simple because all of our other titles have been so long-winded,” gossamer-tongued vocalist Darroh Sudderth said of the title, talking to a local Texan newspaper about the record.  “We also just wanted to keep it simple because after all, you know, it’s a rock album.”

Fair to Midland can't really be termed a rock band but by the same token, Fair to Midland aren’t your typical metal band. You’d be hard pressed to find anyone that would be prepared to go on record to say that they were. In fact, some metalheads would begrudgingly agree to insert them into that category to begin with. The band’s signature sounds are bright piano lines, bluegrass twang and angelic twee moments tangling deftly with devastatingly hulking riffs, hitting like a freight train desperately trying to halt itself. Sure, the latter element is as hard as steel can be, but the former parts just don’t compute.

But on Arrows, it does. It really, really does.

Read the rest of the review at MetalasFuck.net here.

Out of Commission

Just a small note to myself to say - don't leave drinks on tables with a reach over one's computer. Gravity is not your friend in those situations. I spilled some iced tea on my laptop yesterday. Miraculously - it still works! But that doesn't mean there were unintended effects.

The keyboard has some dead letters (including the spacebar. Of all keys, the spacebar! Why didn't it hit 'Q' or something just as useless?) and the LCD screen has a rather noticeable wet patch on/in it. Through using another, older PC I'm able to access basic "potato" functions but all my "meat" is left on my lappy's HDD.

So if you're a band or a contact that's asking me "where my article is" - don't. At this stage, it's not going to be finished any time soon. Also, I'm not here as a public service to you; I'm a professional writer trying to make a living from my craft. Not only is it unprofessional to demand, it's also quite irritating. Relegating my work to that of a cake in an oven is actually quite insulting.

So I'm out of commission for a few days until my replacements and thorough drying cycle takes its course. Bummer.

Thesis Diary #8: Finkle is Einhorn

Today, as I was re-combining my thesis into something resembling an academic quality thanks to the tips of Dr. Tony Moore I had a "Eureka" moment. I called it my "Finkle is Einhorn" moment in honor of Ace Ventura's spectacular and gut-wrenching realization (which you can watch here - but of course, it's a massive spoiler. Seriously, watch the film.)

It was mostly due to this line that I wrote, that sums up the theories of Bourdieu as applied to rock criticism and the media ecology approach to describe the differences in the environment prior to the internet and during. Back in the day, label types would tee up interviews in Rolling Stone and Creem and NME - and sometimes they wouldn't have to because journalists would want to hang around bands because it made them cool and would champion new rock genres and styles such as punk, new wave, progressive rock and so on. I was so embedded in this circuit, it only just dawned on me, but I was unable to explain it via theory and real-world examples until now:

Brown contends that contemporary rock journalists are merely “sponsors” of pre-fabricated trends transmitted through public relations “spin doctors” in order to appear in tune with what is popular in the rock subculture as a “survival mechanism” to keep themselves in the employ of their magazine and position as a "rock authority" or on behalf of their publication, which is beholden to a variety of publishers, shareholders, etc.  The access to the “stars” themselves becomes a field of limited production – that is, new content to be generated and sold to the readership. People can go to gigs, etc. and upload footage of the concert to YouTube – but anyone with a web-enabled smartphone may also do the same. Not everyone may interview or “hang out” with a rock star in order to write an article about him or her and be afforded an opportunity to further consecrate the rock music field in its rich and storied timeline. This imbues a position of [privilege] on to a rock journalist who is given this “face time” with rock musicians, lending them a heightened position in a market of symbolic value.

What's more interesting that even in Australia, there's a huge bunfight over what's cool and more 'hip' and what's commercial trash, even though they're basically getting a different phonecall from the same publicist. Creem would criticise Rolling Stone for being too serious, and we have the same thing repeating today between different websites, even though the sources of their content is near identical. I've only about a month to go, but of the 12K words I've got now, I feel that 80% is solid. I've also decided to re-write my introduction from scratch since it almost makes no sense. (Well, marginally less sense)

I may even have to ditch the original title: The media ecology approach takes a back seat to the theories of cultural production, which seems more sociological rather than grounded in pure media and communications. Over the last few days, I've cleared mental cobwebs away from my thesis after meeting with Tony - I wish I'd discovered how to do this before, but even at this advanced stage (I should stop saying that. Quan from Regurgitator was right; it does sound like my thesis is some sort of disease) I could very well pull this off and have it handed in with time to spare despite the tendency to distract myself with paid work and other dalliances into something that I used to call "fun."

Thesis Diary #7: The Hazards of Overqualification

"It's the awareness, the full experience of how you are stuck that makes you recover and realize the whole thing is just a nightmare."

- Dr. Fritz S. Perls

So I'm into the home stretch. Approximately 5,000 words to write and only a few more pieces of research to collate and I'm into the editing phase. Many thanks must go out to Leticia for her suggestion to collaborate with a fellow "metalhead" researcher in Paula Rowe of the University of South Australia. She too is working on a more sociological perspective of metal culture, especially amongst youth. I am very much looking forward to our correspondences.

So this week has blurred with eyes wearied by frustration and angst - work has been sporadic and to top it all off - I lost my wallet! And my watch broke! All on the same day! Now I have to spend money I don't have (the last $25 in the entire world was in that wallet, may I say. Oh and ladies, I'm single.) to replace the cards I was probably never going to use anyway. Oh, the irony!

But throughout my thesis portion of the degree, I actively sought part time work (preferably, but not exclusively in my field) to gain an income. I have been rebuffed more often than not with the usual reason being "You're about to earn your Masters' degree - why would you stick around once it's done?" The Catch-22 is that I've not yet completed the qualification which bars me from most positions; yet the jobs that I require for immediate income take a pass on my application, citing the imminent attainment of said degree as the reason. As the father of Gestalt therapy says above - yes, this does feel like a nightmare.

I could labor on from the generosity of family and friends, but ever since youth, I prided myself on self-reliance. But does that mean not asking for help? As a man, it takes a lot of courage in today's society to admit defeat and ask for assistance, lest it "dilutes one's potency or manliness." Such are the hidden horrors of a displaced masculinity. (But more on that another time!)

So, to boost productivity and assess the relative worth of keeping up my social media accounts, I've taken yet another social media moratorium. Aside from my blogs etc. there's no Twitter and Facebook for at least another week. Beyond that, who knows?

People are shocked when I hint at the inherent impermanence of social media especially now it's embedded into our culture so silently and so totally. With so many yet to be discovered technologies that may "change the culture completely," why are we so preoccupied by convincing ourselves that social mediums such as these are the "big things?" At what point did Facebook become a mandatory extension of ourselves much like reading and writing? At what point did we let it? Why do people assume rules and social conventions exist for these mediums when we are the departure point of their enforcement? When these are completely new entities? When the method of interaction has changed? The more you think about it, the sillier it becomes - well, at least to me.

Thesis Diary #4: Verisimilitude and Perfection

About three months ago I resolved to go on a dating and sexual moratorium. I felt my heart and mind weren't in the right place to even consider dating again after a recent breakup; it hit me harder than I'd care to admit at the time and only now I feel that I'm in a position to even consider going "back on the market" again. However, during my dating moratorium, I ended up breaking it. I never went out of my way to seek a date or put myself out there for any type of meaningful, character-building rejection, but I did sleep with someone.

So I mulled over it a while. Was it so bad that I allowed this to happen? I enjoy having sex and sex is an enjoyable part of my masculinity - my very humanity. I enjoyed the act itself. So why feel guilt or shame over it? It didn't make me a "shit" or a "louse" (as Dr. Ellis would eloquently say.) After a time I remembered the words of friends and brothers: "You don't have to do it right, you just have to do it." This permeated the rest of my feelings and my thoughts - much like my thesis; I don't have to do it perfectly, I just have to do it. So I took an index card out of my deck and wrote that phrase down. I placed it on my wall next to my other collected affirmations. Funnily enough, an identical card was already to be found. It had completely slipped my mind.

So now, at the time of writing, I'm about a half way done - 9,117w down and almost as many to go. In the mean time, I've booked myself into the Walkley Foundation Freelance Conference. I attained my yellow belt in Sin Moo Hapkido. My article for ETC, was published (although I'm yet to receive a copy.) I'm writing reviews for the Pun for this year's Melbourne International Comedy Festival. I've gone from under-employed to almost taking on too many projects to humanly handle while writing a thesis essentially full time.

Despite the nagging voice in the back of my head urging me to make everything perfect lest the world cave in around me, I have to remind myself that perfection is a state of mind and relatively relative. It's not worth attaching my sense of worth to attaining the almost impossible; I am a man and I have limitations - none more so limiting than the maladaptive beliefs that I can easily change. I can "lean" into challenge and try my best. If I that's what I can do, that's what I'll be content with.

Thesis Diary #3: Is that a lot?

Okay, I must be borderline insane for thinking I could complete my thesis in a semester - I just figured 18,000w is a normal workload - how could I possibly fuck it up?

But this (long) weekend, I added about 3,000w to my total bringing it up to a sizable 6,142w as of writing. I proved to myself that it can be done. My first chapter is quickly becoming one long ass definition about rock music, rock subcultures and what constitutes rock journalism and criticism. I am no sociology student, and it shows. (NO, political science is not applied sociology!) I remember I did cultural studies once in my undergrad years and failed the unit because I stopped showing up. I failed that entire semester, if I recall... (Please don't tell Tony I failed that entire semester.)

Luckily for me, there's one really cool dude that is the leading authority on this sort of stuff. I'm an even luckier son of a bitch because he's written about a billion articles and books on the subject. I have about 70 footnoted references and his name appears in about half of them. Enter, Simon Frith.

My research has yielded some surprises insofar that I just never though rock and roll music was taken this seriously by academia - little did I know that there exists entire journals on the subject such as The Journal of Popular Culture and Popular Music and Society. At this stage, I'm just scratching the surface in terms of covering the transition of rock music from just teenage unserious "pop" into scholarly and meritorious "art" (like a book by my boy Frith over there!) that occurred in the 1960s and 1970s. Interestingly enough, if there's entire schools dedicated to popular culture and cinema studies (did you know that Cahiers du Cinema and Rolling Stone started publication in the same year? Of course, only complete wankers like me would give a shit about that.) but almost none dedicated to pop and rock music. I mean, it could be set up! Just think of the tenure! THE TENURE!

But my thesis isn't a huge nostalgia trip back in time to a place where I think Jimi Hendrix lighting his guitar on fire is better than anything my modern day wannabes can come up with (but can it?) - it's to demonstrate that rock journalism in Australia as independent, "rock authentic" journalism is "dead, buried and cremated" (to borrow a trite phrase) and it's mostly the journalists that are carrying the shovels.

I can't say that I have a subscription to NME, Kerrang! or jMag, but I insist that my writing is good enough to be inserted into those publications with a cheque headed my way as compensation. But then again, how would I know?

Of all the working music journalists I personally know (which is including but not limited to those I've only acquainted myself on social networking sites) I've not met one that gets paid enough to live comfortably and I've only met one or two who get paid at all. If your mantra is "I'll never sell out" then you'll never "buy in" either; as my research continues its becoming bleakly apparent this game is owned and won by those who are willing shill for swill.

My plan is to get into uni as much as I can over the next couple of weeks. I plan to hit the half way mark during that time. Wish me luck!

Renovation of the Soul

If there's nothing to be learned in life then in my opinion, you aren't living life. This past week has been full of anger, tumult, hate, love and renewal. Just today I was caught between bliss and indignation, the latter caused by a failure to stop and take repose. In moments of intense pressure, the head takes flight and the heart gears for war.

Rationality has no meaning and in some cases, the sounds coming out of one's mouth would sound almost foreign to you and others in calmer moments. A industry colleague of mine, after unjustly calling him "unprofessional" (I later apologized and thanked him for his good work and kind words) advised me to "kick back."

Kick back! If only I could kick back, I thought. I have work - paid, unpaid and academic to finish. I have all these attachments that signify anything other than kicking back. But why? Was this true? Had I forgotten my GS training? Were my meditations and self-reflections all for naught?

These items of paper with instructions printed on them are not the cause of my stress and worry. Ultimately, I am the culprit. If I am dissatisfied with an aspect of my life, then I can only really blame myself. So I took his advice. I poured myself a double whiskey and sipped a while. My feelings told me that I was putting myself under the "pump" rather than anyone else. My thoughts were not in alignment with reality - 3,000w of 4,000w done with 2 full days to complete the remainder? Hardly a challenge for me. It has been done before and can be done again. My internal map was very much out of alignment with the blank, "objective" territory.

Reading my colleague Sandi's blog, she has learned a lot in 26 years. She makes some good points, others I disagree with. But there is one point that remains pertinent:

Disappointment and hurt is everywhere in life. Happiness and wonder is also everywhere in life. Choose what you decide to focus on.

Just like a modern day Marcus Aurelius, we sometimes have to sometimes stop and remind ourselves: "The universe is change, life is what our thoughts make it."

Embargo of Presence

Some excerpts with commentary from my recent essay (footnotes removed) on media ecology entitled "An iPhone in every hand."

Neil Postman in his magnum opus “Amusing Ourselves to Death,” wrote the easiest way to see through a culture is to “attend to its tools for conversation.”  Currently, all of our conversation, save for face to face contact is mediated, at some level, by computers and the internet – the tools – and the conversation – the exchange of messages – is happening globally in which any user of a computer is theoretically part of this “globalized conversation.”  But what is the nature of the language of this conversation – the “driver” of conversation that makes it possible?

The Sapir-Whorf hypothesis presents the formation of language is “not merely a reproducing instrument for voicing ideas, but rather itself is a shaper of ideas.” The computer and the internet and all its various convergent and multimedia forms not only have produced new platforms for communication, they have, in fact, shaped a new way of organizing and regulating ideas; the way humans interact with one another, conduct their business, their politics and their education of future generations.

One such device that achieved this was the mechanical clock. A computer is built on a time-telling function – time regulates the processing of information by creating a sense of “dramatic, fictional or symbolic time as well as a sense of past, present and future.” Computers, like clocks are self-operating machines; they manufacture no physical products. They are able to regulate starting and ending times for social/economic/political engagements; enforce deadlines and are used to track units of remuneration (workers paid by the hour, etc.)  For example, all people across the known world began to
"[W]ork, sleep and eat by the clock” and began to “regulate their actions by this arbitrary measure of time, the clock was transformed from an expression of civic pride into a necessity of urban life…the computer too has changed from a luxury to a necessity for modern business and government.”

In 1993, Postman said that it would be possible for us to "privatize" our public space by outsourcing it to computers - we would be able to shop, converse and vote from the comfort of home. We have moved beyond that space - we can now do this anywhere with mobile smartphones. Like the mechanical clock, the computer regulates our movement and how we communicate.

It as if we cannot communicate if we do not have a phone or access to the internet like social media. It's commonplace to hear about events after the fact if you did "not check your Facebook."

Chunks of time can now be graphically represented; we can see the past and the future in our own present by the dynamic exchange of text, video, audio and images. The television was bound by time to show its programs sequentially - now the programs can be viewed in our own "time" at our will from wherever. As Watzlawick says, "one can not not communicate" - but what happens when one does not have an iPhone in his hand to begin with?

Poor Forever

I ventured to university yesterday to do some research and collect my essays, dreading the results. When I was finally handed them back, the worst had happened - I was awarded High Distinctions (the highest mark one can get in Australia) for both.

Of course, the mark is something I'm proud of - it adds to my current HD average which pleases me greatly as it is the product of hard work. However, the constant achievement means that Drs Tony Moore and John Arnold of the National Center for Australia Studies have offered me the chance to complete a year long dissertation as my final subject instead of coursework.

My dissertation is called "The Media Ecology of Rock Journalism in Australia" and will explore several issues regarding rock n' roll journalism such as the influence of advertising on independence and the rise of the internet and amateur/citizen journalism on the scene as a whole. Hopefully I'll be able to talk to established bands and writers as well as do some work experience/fieldwork at magazines and labels. I lamented at the time that I'd be poor forever, extending my studies for another semester. But then I figured when would I ever get another chance to research something I truly loved that I could even turn into a PhD some day? The choice won't be as hard as I think.

Taking Back the Flank

"There's no one to take my blame
if they wanted to
There's nothing to keep me sane
and it's all the same to you
There's nowhere to set my aim
so I'm everywhere
Never come near me again
do you really think I need you?"

- Dream Theater - Space-Dye Vest

I remember a great man once said that boredom is a state of suspense. Its that latent craving for action in the midst of nothing happening. It also brings to mind a great scene from the brilliant comedy Spaced, in which Daisy wants to pen an article about whether inactivity breeds lethargy and at the end, she says she can't be bothered. When nothing happening becomes chronic, it becomes almost normal. The motivation to grow and work and promise things just sort of drains away. Applying for jobs, being knocked back time and again is a blow to the ego, but its something that everyone has to endure at some point in their lives. Nothing special there. So what can be done? Like the song says, there's nowhere to set my aim, so I'm everywhere. But what about somewhere specific?

One day, I was looking through postgraduate courses for media and communication, so I applied for as many that might take me. The man who loathed almost every moment of his undergraduate degree wants to go back to Uni to do a masters. But I know what I want now - I have something concrete to aim for, probably for the first time. Well, that's not completely true. But it's a plan; something I'm not usually partial on making but have now committed myself to nonetheless. Here's hoping things look up. I can safely say that there's a light at the tunnel of this, my darkest hour - a fact I was reluctant to even acknowledge only a few short weeks ago.

In Heavy Consternation

There's no internship to work as a freelance journalist. You don't go to a "somewhere", train yourself and go do it. (Perhaps there is; I'd sure like to know about it.) Sure, you can do a university degree in journalism but that doesn't 'qualify' you, so to speak. Like any profession, you learn on the job. The job for me as a freelance copywriter/journo/PR dude is the job (or jobs) you push yourself to get. I've been writing since I was in high school. It didn't dawn on me that writing as a job was a viable option until about the fourth year of my three year university degree. I never thought doing something I enjoyed could actually earn some money. Well, it doesn't. The economy's rooted and so am I. To a certain extent.

But just like riding bicycles and sexy time, things get easier with practice. The more you venture out from your comfort zone, the more hardships you will find and the more rewarding the pay off. The vocation I have chosen for myself will not make me any significant amount of money for a while. I know that. I won't be driving Beemers or drinking G&Ts in penthouse apartments. (Because that's gay.) I'm still in my "internship" - writing for free until I gain a name for myself. I have contacts, I have drive, I have ambition and I have knowhow but not enough clout for subs to rush to their editors and exclaim, "I have Tom Valcanis on the phone! He wants to another piece about how much Facebook sucks!" Close friends and my partner will attest; I'm an egotistical son of a bitch and I hate being rejected. I even get childish about it at times. But as Korzybski, Watzlawick and Ellis have taught me, failure is feedback - try and try again, improving each time.

In my isolation since my return to Australia, I've actually found myself. Being in the US showed me what was important in my life and the lives of a significant other and now I know where I want to be. I have moved past my "grass is greener" mentality; I want to work, I want to improve and I want to be proactive. Getting my arse-kicked the day I took off from Hartsfield-Jackson Airport has left an indeliable indentation on my bum and it will always remind me that there are things bigger than myself that I want to be a part of and have to work towards to be included in again. I've done wrong but I am working to make things right. I believe in second chances and gradual transformation. As one of my favorite authors and philosophers, Robert Anton Wilson says; "I'm not a noun - I'm a verb. I'm always changing, never staying the same from one moment to the next."

All I Ever Wanted

Tip of my non-existent hat goes to Blabbermouth.net for giving me some shameless self-promotion.

I was thinking today, after some recent conversations with friends why I've wanted to go to the States for such a long time and not put Europe (metal fans in particular wonder that) or Asia or wherever else.

Because I used to have dreams about it as a kid - I'd go to school and be searched by burly African-American guards with voices in the sub-audible range, shuffle through metal-detectors and be bumped into by jocks on the way to my locker. Then the school bully would ask for my lunch money (could've been any denomination, Seppo money all looks the same) to which I would refuse. Then he would shoot me in the kneecap and I'd wake up with a sense of accomplishment. (Why did I never bang the cheerleader though?)

That's right, I had juvenile delinquent, school going, 2nd Amendment embracing grievous injuries as wish fulfillment.

Did a fairly brisk interview with Rob from Chimaira last Thursday; got a very, VERY highly anticipated on with Andrew Craighan, the master guitarist behind My Dying Bride this Thursday. Can't wait for that one!

So it goes.

I can't (read: won't) say much about it, but my new job "cleaning the internet" (not content, just dodgy domains) had an unassailable lead for best job ever...until they blocked the good parts. I do love the mandatory eating of breakfast as the first order of business though.

Uni's back; and so it would seem, my wit.

Shai and Crushtor have a smoko

Me: You see that chick over there? With the beret?
Shai: Which one?
Me: The one that looks like she's an extra in a Godard movie.
Shai: Yeah.
Me: Arts student?
Shai: Absolutely.
Me: Let's test it out. Just casually name drop a critical theorist and see if she looks over at us.
Shai: Lacan.
Me: Foucault.
Shai: Did she look?
Me: She totally glanced up! Let's try it again!

----

Soup and such

Nermal: I can't believe you downloaded 200GB worth of TV shows, Damith.
Damith: Why not, if the Uni doesn't block it, I'll download it.
Me: Why bother Damith, all American TV shows fall into one of two categories: Shows about Lawyers or Doctors doing ordinary stuff; or, shows about ordinary people with some kind of hidden talent, superpower or one of them being placed in an extreme situation.
Shai: My god, you're right.
Me: Think about it. Law and Order, Grey's Anatomy, Boston Legal. Shows about professionals that are just doing their jobs. Reaper, Chuck and Breaking Bad? Shows about guys on minimum wage with special powers and/or put in weird situations.
Damith: What about House?
Me: Well, House is just shit.

I really should write up my Cannibal Corpse interview.

We Can Start Over Again

I've been applying for about 10 different jobs a day, on average, and I've only received about two or three replies that have seemed promising. If there's a God, he definitely doesn't want me to fly overseas and be happy for once. Of course, even if there was, I couldn't blame him for all my ills, because they're all self-caused? Car accidents and repair costs notwithstanding? Maybe?

Although, all this abundant free time allows me to catch up on my writing, my reading and my Mad Men watching. I really hope they make more of this thoroughly brilliant series. It's cerebral, it's visceral and it's got really, really hot women in lead roles. How I pine for the early '60s...

Chuck has been entertaining (with obligatory arse-kicking hot girl in lead role - what's not to like) if not a complete ripoff of Reaper with a slicker, "spy vs. spy" dramatic edge. I'm also really into the "Quack Experimental Anime" Excel Saga at the moment... What's it like? I guess you'll just have to see for yourself.

As for my oft-garbled state of mind? Well, this song kind of sums it up at the moment:

Jesus died and God's gone missing / Take your skin off it might fit me now
Love is dead and you're so pretty, baby / You still need my hands to feel
You still need my heart to bleed / 'Cause your lips taste just like money

(Kent - Just Like Money)

Not Entirely Accurate

Well, constant loathing will be sniffed out by even the most oblivious corporate bloodhounds eventually. Yesterday, I was "terminated" from my job via the most non-confrontational process conceivable. What is it with this time of year?

After my birthday until about mid-February, my mind seems to find a comfortable groove and inexplicably turns to mush. At around this time last year, my girlfriend at the time broke up with me. I'm trying to think of the points of difference between this event and that, but unfortunately, they resembled something all too similar - they both told me I was a "great guy"; that I'll find somewhere else; that my services were no longer required; that my performance was lacking in comparison to others and to take all my personal effects on the way out. It was a relief at any rate; it really was a rather depressing job - I always said that it was something that the opposite of me would thoroughly enjoy. Anyhow, I'll allow myself a brief holiday before I start my job hunting in earnest; oh - and I'll also be writing, writing, writing.

I bought (with my prior financial security) Eternal Kingdom by Cult of Luna, Lost to the Living by Daylight Dies and Hagnesta Hill (English Version) by Kent. The Kent record has yet to leave the CD player.

Crushtor's Guide to Children's TV: Press Gang

Crushtor.net's Guide to crap Awesome Children's Television

Sponsored by the Delightful DeeDee and Clever Kyle

Episode the First: Press Gang

The Brief:
A post-Thatcherite London in the cold grip of a recession, probably - children stare towards a bleak future with their hopes fading, their dreams shattering like so many beer bottles over Everton supporters' heads during a match at Old Trafford. A youngish entrepreneur extolling the virtue of pre-Blair Third Way economics sets up a growing journalistic concern for adolescents for some reason in conjunction with a local high school. Hot hot journalistic action ensues.


The All-Star Cast, I guess:
The only obvious star you recognize is Ab Fab's Saffy (Julia Sahwala) as the hard-boiled Editor that does mad cusses in her head and maintains a rigid honor-system swear jar. Co-starring is the cult classical Dexter Fletcher playing Spike, the mischievous seppo with "nothing to lose." There are other cast members, but most of them are boring, stereotypical and shithouse.

The Meat Inside:
Featuring a cast of nobodies, the fledgling Junior Gazette has merely five days until their first edition hits the presses sans front page story. In the pre-YouTube/MySpace/Twitter Blog/OMG RUPERT MURDOCH PWNS J00 age of media oversaturation, this means the kids have to actually use their wits and find one. A delinquent American exchange student or some shit reluctantly joins the fold after displaying a MacGuffin at the school dance and fates himself to expulsion or a burdgeoning Bob Woodward style journalism career. He opts for the latter and attempts to bludge his way out of working by making witty quips about induction forms. The power of the poon (The "pretty" pint-sized J. Jonah Jameson style Editor) compels him to fly right and walk straight, eventually, despite his often madcap and/or tryhard antics.

The Cheese:
Of course, with every children's TV show, the acting resides in a nightmarish Aristotelian world of either melodramatic Stanislavskian methodical perfection or absolute ratshit. "Spike", the American bastard, can't act for shit while Saffron aims and shoots for the 1951 Best Actress Oscar. The resident Del Boy who sells homework for a quid a pop dazzles while Spike's hapless partner in crime seems like the producer's kid who had to fill in at the last minute.

The Awesome Theme Song:
Naturally, with everything produced in the early 90s, crude samples and cheaply synthesized everything were de rigeur. Think Pink Floyd's "Money" covered by Wham! with the cash registers replaced by typewriters and you've pretty much got it down pat.

Should I Watch It:
Absolutely. This knockabout slice-of-life dramady (barely) can be overwrought, underacted and cringeworthy at times, but it sure beats the shit out of T-Bag and the Sunstones of Montezuma, the microbudget pantomime wankery now looking painfully obvious in hindsight. Or first-sight, for that matter. You can also "lol" at the typewriters via Facebook. That'll learn those cheapskates for not forking out for a 286 with Windows 2.0 on it.

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In actual news, I spied a woman at work that looks exactly like Tweety from Merrie Melodies. No shit, she actually looks like Tweety. Its fucking bizzare.