Thursday, February 05, 2009
Seen the new Mother campaign for Granta Magazine?
Apparently it's only running in one bookshop in Bloomsbury - that's what makes it so clever.
So already I'm finding advertising much less interesting than I did four days ago. Usually when I take the tube I go round looking at ads muttering "shit, shit, toss, doesn't make any sense, art director fucked it, shit, grammatical aberration, insane, been-done, fucking Mick Hucknall of all people, shit, what kind of cunt do they take me for, toss" like I've got an obscure form of environmental Tourette's.
My girlfriend pointed out I don't actually have to take an interest in any of it any more, unless I want to. You're never really a civilian again though are you?
Obviously I haven't got any advertising news, apart from that which I can manufacture in my flat. But someone reading this will certainly be made redundant soon, and it will probably be you (bad things always happen to you), so prick up your ears you might learn something.
I can report back from the land of the unemployed and say it's fine so far. It reminds me of that time in childhood when I was fully sentient and cunning but didn't yet have to go to school. I find I'm thinking less about advertising, more about bookshops and engaging in a futile staring match with a tin of luncheon meat. I've started selling stuff on eBay - I might try and add a widget to my blog so you too can buy my personal possessions.
Since publishing that post on being made redundant several students have got in touch, asking my advice on how to get into the industry - the leading minds of the future no doubt. From now on I will either send out a standard advisory email, or a creepy invitation to come round to my house and watch a scary film with me on my sofa in my greasy dressing gown, on a kind of Russian Roulette basis.
I get to have lunch with people I like, like Brother Stevie. As a resident of The Borough of Haringey he has also been thoroughly burglarised. We discussed the psychological reaction which is always "Hello, why has my wife moved the TV and smashed the window - this stranger in the hallway - is he from the gas board?" It's something like having Alzheimers. The brain's ability to make connections is totally stymied, and you go flailing around for rational explanations like a dyspraxic on Supermarket Sweep.
(I don't have a television, so all my day time TV references, which I use for dismal colour, are dated, hence extra dismal).
I owe Barack Obama an extra debt of gratitude because on the night of the burglary I had been playing some of the "Audacity of Hope" on my iPod in the bedroom, which meant it wasn't nicked with the laptop. Its hard-disk is also the repository for my own avant-garde filmaking endeavours, and so I was especially relieved that they won't be surfacing on any popular video sites with names like, but not exactly, YouTube. It almost makes up for Gordon Brown nicking my job.
Listening to Barack Obama reading the "Audacity of Hope" is an immensely reassuring experience. He describes his attempt to identify and stave off the forces which make ordinary people into politicians - namely, only hanging around with other politicians and rich people, flying in private jets, turning complex ideas into simple ideas for the sake of soundbites. His perceived non-politician status is what makes him original - I think in any industry that prizes originality it's worth working out what it is that makes the rest of them the same and then doing the opposite.
That's what gives me the edge over all you losers with jobs you see.
Anyway, thanks for all your comments on the last post, all your feedback on that idea really made me realise just how worthwhile writing this blog is.