Because bouncing between whining about work and pining for travel seems monotonous and not exactly random, here’s a random post in the form of “I Will Follow” by U2. It’s a veritable tongue twister of a song and a definite earworm. Don’t just say it fast many times, sing it fast many times with an Irish accent. (Apparently it’s their first ever music video, too.)
If you can’t get enough of Young Bono, there’s a live version of the song here.
Here’s a post to cheer up a dreary Monday: a pretty picture I chanced upon on Flickr blog earlier in the year.
The shot is by John&Fish from their set titled “Wings“. They are siblings: John (勇士丸), the elder brother, and Fish (小魚), the younger sis, who hail from Tainan, an ancient capital of Taiwan, and are now working and living in Taipei.
They’ve got the most amazing birds-in-midair shots. You wonder how they did it. They may have got the technical skills bit down pat, but even a super fast camera does not amazing nature photography make. I’m no bird watcher, but I’m sure a lot of patience waiting for the right moment was involved.
They’ve most recently been featured on the National Geographic Traveler blog (Sep 17, 2009).
Read more about John&Fish here. Or browse through their bird shots. You might want to set aside some time for this, but I can’t think of many other things I’d rather be doing on a Monday.
At this present moment, somewhere southeast of Seattle, somewhere in the region of Mount Rainier National Park in the Cascades, my friend is enjoying the wilderness of Mount Rainier.
He might be right now filling his lungs with crisp, fresh air devoid of smog. He might be inhaling deeply the authentic all natural scent of pine. He might be marvelling at the forest primeval piercing the sky. He might be sitting on an outcrop of rock overlooking the verdant vista. He might be experiencing shortness of breath not from the thin air, but from the sight of endless green that’s blanketing the land for as far as the eye can see. He might be doing nothing more than cloud-spotting. Or enjoying a muesli bar, something to refuel his energy for the rest of the hike to the campsite tonight, where he’ll be stargazing to a cacophony of crickets, his thoughts interrupted occasionally by the distant, lonely howl of a wolf.
That lucky dog. I hope a marmot steals his muesli bar. Phbbbt.
(I’m just kidding. May the weather be mild and may he and his party be sharing a round of beers with a bunch of rowdy badgers around a campfire, taking turns to tell bar jokes.)
I miss my adventure in Yosemite last year. It was too short, and too long ago.
I wanted to be a fireman when I grew up. I was about four or five then.
I had a bright red toy fireman’s hat and a tin fireman lunchbox with a scene from Emergency! painted on it. Because that was the show that inspired me; I bought into the whole fire truck speeding down a city street, sirens wailing at full blast, running into burning buildings and saving lives. Plus, firemen always had a dalmatian.
I wanted to slide down poles, something I did at my grandparents’ backyard when no one was watching. I climbed onto a table and from there, climbed onto a pole holding the awning, and slid down.
Years later, who knew that I actually be fighting fires, albeit not the sort I had in mind.
Deadlines. Urgent jobs. Last minute ads. Getting pulled to help out. Work that’s been lying dormant for months suddenly get restarted and are due, like, yesterday. Things you think are a done deal are not. Projects that you think you know where you are spontaneously combust. And even the best-laid schedules meet with unexpected hiccups.
One time, I was just standing at the water-cooler filling my cup when a colleague passed by and saw me. Immediately she jumped at the chance. Can you look at this line my client wrote and see if it makes sense?
Yes, it’s been one of those weeks. Emergencies. Who knew advertising is like firefighting, only no one dies. So exciting.
The Okinawa Churaumi Aquarium is one of the biggest in the world. Magnificent, beautiful, educational, but also one of the few aquariums in the world with whale sharks in captivity. Three, to be exact.
The whale sharks are held in the main tank, called “Kuroshio Sea”, which holds 7,500m³ (1.98 million gallons) of water and features the world’s second largest acrylic glass panel, measuring 8.2m by 22.5m with a thickness of 60cm.
Other whale sharks in captivity around Asia include two in the Osaka Aquarium Kaiyukan, one in Taiwan Kenting National Museum of Biology and Aquarium, two at the Polar Ocean World in Qingdao, China, and one in the Atlantis Hotel in Dubai.
The Georgia Aquarium is the only aquarium outside Asia to have whale sharks in captivity, and currently has four juvenile whale sharks, purchased from Taiwan through their annual fishing kill quota. (If the whale sharks weren’t sold to them, chances are they would have been killed and eaten — why am I not surprised? Whale sharks are dubbed tofu sharks because of the taste and texture of the flesh.) (I think the Chinese should then just stick to tofu; it’s probably healthier.)
Unhappily, the two original whale sharks that launched the aquarium when it opened in 2005 died within five months of one another in 2007, Ralph on January 11 and then Norton on June 13, apparently due to a chemical pesticide used in the tank. But the aquarium acquired another two from Taiwan in May 2007, before the Taiwanese abolished whale shark fishing in 2008.
As large as a football field (about 100m in length) and 6-10m deep, containing 24,000m³ (6.3 million gallons) of water, the main tank in the Georgia Aquarium is the largest in the world.
But bear in mind that in the wild, whale sharks can grow to over 12m long. They have a migratory range of 13,000km and can dive to 1,000m.
Is a tank, even the world’s largest, enough space for it?
It is a tricky topic, this. Whale sharks in captivity are supposed to have educational value for the masses. It’s been argued that they can raise awareness of the plight of whale sharks in the wild and of conservation efforts of the oceans. However, the lifespan of whale sharks in captivity has often been very short. One wonders if it negates the positive aspects.
According to Captain Paul Watson of Sea Shepards, over 24 whale sharks have died in captivity since they became “fashionable aquarium exhibits”.
There has to be other ways.
In May 2009, whale sharks scored a victory when, in the face of rising opposition, Resorts World at Sentosa, Singapore opted against an aquarium to hold a whale shark exhibit.
It’s a small battle won, but the larger war rages on. There’s still a lot to be done in terms of protecting the species from environmental devastation as well as the Chinese appetite for shark’s fin. One of my first impressions of whale sharks is a photo in a magazine of a whale shark with a giant hook through its head — it had been caught by fishermen in the Philippines.
Either ways, as the news clip above asks: “What’s killing the whale sharks?”
Sadly, the answer is clearly: Us, humans.
Saturday night with my girlfriends-and-diving buddies, and we went to watch The Cove.
It’s no secret what the multi-award-winning (including the audience award at the Sundance Film Festival) exposé documentary film is about: Every year between September and March, the fishermen of the town of Taiji in Japan herd dolphins into a bay where aquarium buyers pick the specimens they want. After that, the rest of the dolphins are then herded into a cove where, invisible to the rest of the world, they are slaughtered.
The documentary follows (often surreptitiously) Ric O’Barry as he tries to tell the world of what’s happening.
His story is an ironic one; Ric was world famous in the 1960s for capturing and training the five dolphins that played Flipper, the popular TV series that started this multi-billion dollar industry of dolphins in captivity across the world doing stunts to entertain humans.
After his star Flipper dolphin died in his arms, Ric had an epiphany and became a vocal and often radical activist. ”You realise after a while they don’t really belong in captivity.”
Enter award-winning former National Geographic photographer Louie Psihoyos (whom we unanimously agree is hot; Jun and I were hooked at “National Geographic photographer”…), co-founder of the Ocean Preservation Society and his team. At the start of the movie, the director himself expresses his concerns of hooking up with this paranoid old geezer. But as the mission gains momentum, everyone including the audience is rooting not for Ric, but for the dolphins.
I did find some parts of the documentary a bit over-dramatic though, but that’s often the case with these exposé films. While it may be a bit sensational at times, it does bring issues to light and raises awareness among the populace.
The Japanese fishermen say: “It’s tradition.” (Even though majority of Japanese do not consider dolphin meat as food.) They feel the documentary is unfair to them and that the West is pushing their values upon them. After all, people slaughter cows and pigs for food.
Which is fair enough. But what struck me about the killing was the way it was done. I’m no hunter, but I always though that a good hunt was one that was swift. These fishermen seemed to be randomly stabbing at the mammals, leaving many of them to bleed out in the water, flapping and floundering as they tried to escape then finally dying and sinking to the bottom. They also didn’t discriminate between adult and baby dolphins.
No, I didn’t just turn into a radical dolphin hugger. Yes, there is nothing kind about nature’s food chain, as any Attenborough fan can tell you.
However, considering that humans are the only creatures capable of reason and compassion, I just felt that if you have to take a living thing’s life to serve as food, at least do it as fast as possible — that’s why it’s called humane — and have to decency to treat that creature with respect.
And the other issue the documentary highlights is this: thanks to increased industry in the world, cetacean (whale, dolphin) meat contain high levels of mercury. (Incidentally, so does tuna and swordfish, for the information of all sashimi lovers out there.)
Ironically, the world discovered how toxic mercury could be through Japan itself, when Minamata disease was discovered to be caused by severe mercury poisoning. Most appalling was when they wanted to distribute the dolphin meat in school lunches; children are probably most susceptible to the effects of mercury poisoning.
Anyway, you’ll have to watch the movie and make your own decisions about what happens at Taiji, as well as the dodgy practices of the Japanese whaling commission (which has been a longtime topic of conservationists for years; maybe this film will increase public interest on the matter again).
In the meantime, looking at the international outcry following the release of this movie, maybe something is being done. The fishermen set a batch of dolphins free last week after the buyers had made their picks.
The Tokyo International Film Festival (TIFF) has also agreed to screen this documentary, albeit under pressure. They ought to, since their slogan is “Action! For Earth!” And aptly, hopefully, maybe this film will spur some local awareness and regulation into the matter.
It wasn’t planned. We were both online at our respective offices. It was late, we were hungry. Most of all, we were exhausted. Drained. At some point we decided to heck it and meet for dinner.
I got there first, the open air food street in Chinatown. Then Jun arrived. We inhaled our dinner, comfort food wonton soup par excellence, and got a cup of milk tea each. It was then that Jun pulled out a world map spirited away from an old issue of National Geographic.
Suddenly we were alive again. We were pointing at random places. (London, Lombok, Luang Prabang, Lijiang.)
Then places in permutations which we thought was possible to cover on two weeks’ leave. (Vienna-Prague-Budapest-Krakow. London-Paris-Barcelona. Spain-Paris-Switzerland. New York-DC-Boston.)
Then places that we just wanted to visit. (Spain. Portugal. Italy. Greece. Egypt. Morocco. Turkey. Tunisia. Croatia. Silk Road. Laos. Vietnam again. India. Nepal. Himalayas. Bhutan. Maldives. Mauritius. Fiji. New Zealand. Easter Island. Argentina. Peru. Las Vegas. Death Valley. Great Plains. Cuba.)
And places that we would visit if annual leave and money were no object. (Everywhere. Even the Moon.)
For a while, it felt like we were ten, treasure map spread out in our secret hideout. We were intrepid adventurers making plans to journey to the ends of the world. And then Jun took out her Blackberry — it was getting late. We should head home.
Here’s the picture of that map, for posterity.
Love is a byrning thing
And it makes a fiery ringe
Bownd by wilde desire
I fell into a ringe of fyre
I fell into a byrning ringe of fyre
I went down, down, down and the flames went higher
And it byrns, byrns, byrns, the ringe of fyre
The ringe of fyre
This was what was going through my head when I stumbled on Coldplay singing a cover of Ring of Fire.
The first time I heard it (yes, I heard it a few times, and there are a few versions of it on YouTube, like these ones at Austin and Toronto), I found it fascinating… in an unexpected way. I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
A quintessentially English rock band singing the quintessential Johnny Cash song. I kinda liked it. I was mesmerised by it. But not all Johnny Cash fans feel the same; I think it sent my friend into conniptions.
Here’s an original that sits high on my Coldplay play count. It’s an additional hidden track from X&Y, and was originally planned for legendary singer-songwriter Johnny Cash to record with Chris Martin. Unfortunately, Cash passed away before he was able to do so.
Have a listen, and imagine if it was a different voice singing.
High, like steeples and minarets and spires. Spot the destination; I stumbled on these pictures and they fuelled my imagination, fired up my hopes and fed my wanderlust. My feet are starting to itch; hope that visiting them isn’t just a backpacker’s pipe dream. (I can almost touch them…)
This ant wants to travel.
I stumbled on this article a few weeks back. It’s kinda creepy that the ads are all real…
TOP 10 IRONIC ADS FROM HISTORY
DISTAVAL (Thalidomide),
circa 1960
“This child’s life may depend on the safety of Distaval”
Who says advertising doesn’t tell the truth? Sadly, this slogan was more true than anyone expected at the time. Distaval was a brand name for thalidomide, a drug that causes serious birth defects. Think flipper babies and death. This sedative-hypnotic, commonly prescribed to stressed-out moms, was advertised as “especially suitable for infants” as well. (On a side note, am I sick for longing for the days when it was okay to sedate your baby?)
(Image via Bonkers Institute)
DuPONT’S CELLOPHANE BABIES
Parents who tired of drugging their babies could always turn to cellophane to keep them quiet. Permanently quiet, in fact. In 1959, Life and other media sources scared readers with “the latest household peril” — plastic dry cleaning bags — so we’re betting this ad dates prior to that.
(Image via Copyranter)
BAYER HEROIN
Not only did Bayer once own the trademark on Heroin, it promoted it to doctors as a non-addictive substitute for morphine. For a while, doctors took the bait. “It possesses many advantages over morphine,” wrote the Boston Medical and Surgical Journal in 1900. “It’s not hypnotic, and there’s no danger of acquiring a habit.”
The American Medical Association approved the use of heroin in 1906, but by then the “junkies” foraging scrap metal to feed their habit were getting hard to avoid. Bayer stopped making heroin in 1913 when prohibition seemed inevitable, and its use without a prescription was banned in the US the following year.
How Aspirin Turned Hero [Sunday Times, September 13, 1998]
UNION CARBIDE
“Science helps build a new India”
Ah, the innocent days before a Union Carbide plant in India obliterated everyone in sight. In 1984, Union Carbide’s plant in Bhopal released 42 tons of toxic gas into the air, ultimately killing about 25,000 people. The stench of this “new India” remains to date, in fact, as the Yes Men have duly pointed out.
(Image via Copyranter)
The above is just an excerpt of the full article. There are more, including a couple of TV commercials, such as a James Dean “Safe Driving” public service ad.
Sunday night. Again. Here’s a Ted Talk by Alain de Botton, author of many books including The Pleasures and Sorrows of Work. He examines our ideas of success and failure, questions the assumptions underlying these two judgments and explains why we should love the people we see drive past in a Ferrari, and why we should never go to a school reunion.
Maybe it will inspire you to success next week. If not, maybe it will at least make you smile a bit on a Sunday night.
I just caught a few episodes of Season 1. It looks promising. Smart, sharp, if a little slow.
Many of my colleagues follow the series. It’s supposed to be a good reflection of Madison Avenue in 1960. The smoking and drinking. The womanizing. The brown nosing and backstabbing. In between all of this, the writing. (So the priorities of the characters in Mad Men seem to be.) And the standing of females in the world back then, from budding writer Peggy Olsen to Betty Draper, Stepford wife to the show’s main lead, Don Draper.
Some Madison Avenue vets say it’s an accurate portrayal of ye olde days. Some vehemently disagree. Maybe it comes down to which agency you were in and what the culture was. And what values each personal executive held.
Anyway, Sterling Cooper, the agency in the series, is fictitious. But some of the campaigns seen in the series are within the oeuvre of the early 60s.
Fast Company compares the actual ad campaigns from back then and the show’s pretend ads.
Lucky Strike, first introduced in 1905, began using the “It’s Toasted!” slogan in 1917 to inform customers of their toasty processing, rather than the alternative (and decidedly less taste-bud tantalizing) sun-dried method. Another slogan, “L.S.M.F.T (Lucky Strike means fine tobacco.),” was printed on the packaging starting the same year. The ad pictured left featuring astronaut Bill Lundigan in 1959 is one that a real-life Sterling Cooper-style agency produced at that time.
Doyle Dane Bernbach used the “Think Small” Campaign to introduce the German VW Beetle to 1960’s America. The ad explained that due to careful inspection, the chrome strip on the glove compartment of this particular Beetle was blemished, therefore shaming the bug a “Lemon.” The message: With high standards like these, VW Beetles must be well-built cars. The ad is as classic as the car it advertised: Advertising Age named it the number-one campaign of the 20th Century.
Check out the whole Fast Company Madvertising article here.
Or see what nytimes.com has to say about it after its first season in this article. (The article seems more about the creator of the show, Matthew Weiner, and sometimes in a psych exam kind of way…)
Season 3 of Mad Men just started in the States. I have a lot to catch up on.
This is not really a pool. It’s just a mass exercise where a crowd of people dress up in bathers and pretend they are standing in a wave pool.
(Their coordination’s really not bad.)
One of the things I do when I travel halfway across the planet to USA is what the locals like to do. No, not hip-hop. Yes, that’s nice too. But what I meant is, I like to watch the late night shows.
My preference is Leno, then I switch to Craig Ferguson (sorry, Conan) (if it’s any consolation, sometimes I pinball between Craig and Conan) (hmm, that sounds wrong).
Anyhoo, cable here does show Late Night (Leno before, Conan now), but not every night. Instead, they play it altogether in one shot during the weekend nights. We don’t get Late Late Night, though. I think we do get Letterman, but I’m not a fan.
And when I’m not on vacation in North America, I’m most likely chained to my desk. Which works for me, because I can then get my Craig Ferguson fix from the Internet. Woot.
Here’s his take on the current state of the times.
And in the beginning, there was advertising…
I love San Francisco’s premier independent pirate supply store at 826 Valencia in the Mission District. Was there twice when i visited the city.
The first time was with my pirate friend — yes, he really is a pirate, I kid you not (in fact, he’s should be heading out to sea this week) — and I bought an authentic pirate eye-patch in preparation for the Million Pirate March at Bay to Breakers that weekend.
The second time I went back, I bought a whole lot of other pirate supplies, shopping wench that I am. (I still couldn’t dig for treasure in the vat of sand though. Something about being a couple of decades too old. Curses!) It’s a great place if you need treasure maps, stripey pirate jerseys, hook hands, peg legs, glass eyes and planks by the foot.
So I find this video especially inspiring. Lots of mentions of the pirate store. And the superhero store in Brooklyn. And the time travel store in Los Angeles.
And lots of wonderful other ideas. Like, writing-related ideas.
Oh, and Dave Eggers, too.
Hear more great ideas at TED.com, the invitation-only conference that’s grown famous for its lectures, known as Ted Talks, which focused on technology, entertainment and design when the conference first began, but have now broadened in scope to cover topics like science, arts, politics, education, culture, business, and global issues.
The Star Trek follow up to the Epic Star Wars Fails on the scifi blog was so-so (in other words, I didn’t get it). But there is no dearth of Trekkie humour on the Internet.
Even an eight-year-old article, like this one form Scott Adams, creator of Dilbert, is as humorous today as it was when it was first printed.
(That’s because nothing much has changed; the fanboys from back then are still living in their mothers’ basements today.)
(I’m just kidding. You know I am. ‘Sides, I’m one of them…)
LIFE WILL NOT BE LIKE STAR TREK
There are so many Star Trek™ spin-offs that it is easy to fool yourself into thinking that the Star Trek vision is an accurate vision of the future. Sadly, Star Trek does not take into account the stupidity, selfishness, and horniness of the average human being. Allow me to describe some of the more obvious errors in the Star Trek vision.
Medical Technology
On Star Trek, the doctors have handheld devices that instantly close any openings in the skin. Imagine that sort of device in the hands of your unscrupulous friends. They would sneak up behind you and seal your ass shut as a practical joke. The devices would be sold in novelty stores instead of medical outlets. All things considered, I’m happy that it’s not easy to close other people’s orifices.
Transporter
It would be great to be able to beam your molecules across space and then reassemble them. The only problem is that you have to trust your co-worker to operate the transporter. These are the same people who won’t add paper to the photocopier or make a new pot of coffee after taking the last drop. I don’t think they’ll be double-checking the transporter coordinates. They’ll be accidentally beaming people into walls, pets, and furniture. People will spend all their time apologizing for having inanimate objects protruding from parts of their bodies.
‘Pay no attention to the knickknacks; I got beamed into a hutch yesterday.’
If I could beam things from one place to another, I’d never leave the house. I’d sit in a big comfy chair and just start beaming groceries, stereo equipment, cheerleaders, and anything else I wanted right into my house. I’m fairly certain I would abuse this power. If anybody came to arrest me, I’d beam them into space. If I wanted some paintings for my walls, I’d beam the contents of the Louvre over to my place, pick out the good stuff, and beam the rest into my neighbor’s garage. If I were watching the news on television and didn’t like what I heard, I would beam the anchorman into my living room during the commercial break, give him a vicious wedgie, and beam him back before anybody noticed. I’d never worry about ‘keeping up with the Joneses,’ because as soon as they got something nice, it would disappear right out of their hands. My neighbors would have to use milk crates for furniture. And that’s only after I had all the milk crates I would ever need for the rest of my life. There’s only one thing that could keep me from spending all my time wreaking havoc with the transporter: the holodeck.
The Holodeck
For those of you who only watched the ‘old’ Star Trek, the holodeck can create simulated worlds that look and feel just like the real thing. The characters on Star Trek use the holodeck for recreation during breaks from work. This is somewhat unrealistic. If I had a holodeck, I’d close the door and never come out until I died of exhaustion. It would be hard to convince me I should be anywhere but in the holodeck, getting my oil massage from Cindy Crawford and her simulated twin sister.
Holodecks would be very addicting. If there weren’t enough holodecks to go around, I’d get the names of all the people who had reservations ahead of me and beam them into concrete walls. I’d feel tense about it, but that’s exactly why I’d need a massage.
I’m afraid the holodeck will be society’s last invention.
Sex with Aliens
According to Star Trek, there are many alien races populated with creatures who would like to have sex with humans. This would open up a lot of anatomical possibilities, but imagine the confusion. It’s hard enough to have sex with human beings, much less humanoids. One wrong move and you’re suddenly transported naked to the Gamma Quadrant to stand trial for who-knows-what. This could only add to performance anxiety. You would never be quite sure what moves would be sensual and what moves would be a galactic-sized mistake .
Me Trying to Have Sex with an Alien
Me: May I touch that?
Alien: That is not an erogenous zone. It is a separate corporeal being that has been attached to my body for six hundred years.
Me: It’s cute. I wonder if it would let me have sex with it.
Alien: That’s exactly what I said six hundred years ago.
The best part about having sex with aliens, according to the Star Trek model, is that the alien always dies a tragic death soon afterward. I don’t have to tell you how many problems that would solve. Realistically, the future won’t be that convenient.
That’s about half the article. Read the whole thing here.
And if you would like to forward this, don’t forget the bit about: Written by Scott Adams, published in “The Dilbert Future” by HarperBusiness. Copyright United Media, 1997. Please keep this notice with the text if you forward it by e-mail.
Saw this column by John Scalzi a while back. Thought it was hilarious, even though I’m a crazy Star Wars fan. (Normal-level crazy, not Fanboys-level crazy.)
Love the Trilogy or not born in the right era, you have to admit there are some major Fail Whales the size of Banthas in here.
MOST EPIC FAILS IN STAR WARS DESIGN
I’ll come right out and say it: Star Wars has a badly-designed universe; so poorly-designed, in fact, that one can say that a significant goal of all those Star Wars novels is to rationalize and mitigate the bad design choices of the movies. Need examples? Here’s ten.
R2-D2
Sure, he’s cute, but the flaws in his design are obvious the first time he approaches anything but the shallowest of stairs. Also: He has jets, a periscope, a taser and oil canisters to make enforcer droids fall about in slapsticky fashion — and no voice synthesizer. Imagine that design conversation: “Yes, we can afford slapstick oil and tasers, but we’ll never get a 30-cent voice chip past accounting. That’s just madness.”
C-3PO
Can’t fully extend his arms; has a bunch of exposed wiring in his abs; walks and runs as if he has the droid equivalent of arthritis. And you say, well, he was put together by an eight-year-old. Yes, but a trip to the nearest Radio Shack would fix that. Also, I’m still waiting to hear the rationale for making a protocol droid a shrieking coward, aside from George Lucas rummaging through a box of offensive stereotypes (which he’d later return to while building Jar-Jar Binks) and picking out the “mincing gay man” module.
Lightsabers
Yes, I know, I want one too. But I tell you what: I want one with a hand guard. Otherwise every lightsaber battle would consist of sabers clashing and then their owners sliding as quickly as possible down the shaft to lop off their opponent’s fingers. You say: Lightsabers can slice through anything but another lightsaber, so what are you going to make a hand guard out of? I say: Dude, if you have the technology to make a lightsaber, you have the technology to make a light hand guard.
Blasters
A tactical nightmare: They’re incredibly loud, especially for firing what are essentially light beams. The fire ordnance is so slow it can be dodged, and it comes out as a streak of light that reveals your position to your enemies. Let’s not even go near the idea of light beams being slow enough to dodge; that’s just something you have let go of, or risk insanity.
Landspeeders and other flying vehicles
Here’s the thing: In the Star Wars universe, there are no seatbelts. And maybe if you’re flying your hoity-toity vehicle on Coruscant, you have, like, a force field that keeps you flying out of your seat. But Luke’s X-34 speeder on Tatooine? The Yugo of speeders, man. One hard stop, and out you go.
Stormtrooper Uniforms
They stand out like a sore thumb in every environment but snow, the helmets restrict view (“I can’t see a thing in this helmet!” — Luke Skywalker), and the armor is penetrable by single shots from blasters. Add it all up and you have to wonder why stormtroopers don’t just walk around naked, save for blinders and flip-flops.
Death Star
An unshielded exhaust port leading directly to the central reactor? Really? And when you rebuild it, your solution to this problem is four paths into the central core so large that you can literally fly a spaceship through them? Brilliant. Note to the Emperor: Someone on your Death Star design staff is in the pay of Rebel forces. Oh, right, you can’t get the memo because someone threw you down a huge exposed shaft in your Death Star throne room.
Bad design in Star Wars is not just limited to stuff; evolution here seems wacky, too.
Three choice bits:
Sarlaac
A monstrous yet immobile creature who lives in an exposed pit in the middle of a lifeless desert, waiting for large animals to apparently feel suicidal and trek out to throw themselves in? Yeah, not so much. Not every Sarlaac can count on an intergalactic mob boss to feed it tidbits.
That Asteroid Worm Thing in Empire Strikes Back
So, large space worm lives in asteroid, disguises itself as a cave and waits for unwary spaceships to fly by so it can eat them? Makes the Sarlaac look like a marvel of natural selection, it does.
Midi-Chlorians
Oh, man, don’t get me started. Except to say this: If in fact a high concentration of midi-chlorians is the difference between being a common schmoe and being a dude who can Force Choke his enemies, the black market in midi-chlorian injections must be amazing.
Star Trek fans, don’t get smug: I’m going after it next.
Catch John Scalzi’s regular scifi column here.
Tuesday night. It’s late. I’m tired from a day of working on a big pitch. I’m sitting in the cab staring absently out the window when… *sniff sniff*… What the-? …*sniff sniff ack.*
There’s only the uncle driving and me in the cab. And I know I didn’t do it. (Choke!) I hold my breath for as long as I can.
The taxi uncle must have had too much boiled cabbage.
(The next day, I asked some of my colleagues the next day if they would wind down the window if they had been me. Some said yes. Some, no. I guess I fell into the latter group. Somehow I couldn’t do it. It’s as though it would not be very nice to embarrass him. I’m giving uncle the benefit of the doubt, that he couldn’t help it, that it’s a person’s natural bodily function.)
Back to that Tuesday night. I’m holding my breath, and when I can no longer and my lungs are starting to burn, but before it gets so bad that I have to gasp a large intake of breath, which would not be a good idea considering the situation, I discreetly lean to the back corner to try to catch the air coming from the passenger side aircon vent.
Lean. Lean further in. Eep, it’s still there. Lingering! Lean, lean, lean some more…
I made it home without death by hydrogen sulphide, nor by asphyxiation.
Wednesday night. Wednesday was more exhausting that Tuesday. Work on the pitch was really building up. I was half asleep in the cab going home, when- *sniff sniff SNIFF*…
What the hell? Two nights in a row?! This really happened. I could not make this up if I tried.
Hold breath. Try to breathe as little as possible. And from the furthest corner of the cab as possible, once again catch the slightest gust of air coming from the passenger side aircon vent. (This time, I was quite close to opening the window just an eensy weensy gap. Like 10 inches. But I didn’t.)
Are they serving cabbage and beans at the taxi terminus canteen or something??!
It was bad enough when something like this happened last month. But two nights in a row now? I’m just hoping it’s not a portent for the pitch, that things are going to stink.
But I’m glad to report that the presentation went well. The client seemed to have liked the work.
They are now sending it for Research.
Wait a minute…
I like wacky ads. I like it when a brand is open enough to laugh at itself, or simply just laugh. It’s been so long since I tried to do a wacky ad. (It’s also been so long since I had decent time to brainstorm an idea proper.)
In a way, it’s the nature of accounts I’m working on, but these days, I get funny stares if I bring up something half-wacky, let alone something bizarre, random and totally left field.
People will say I’ve gone mad. I say I think they should go mad a little once in a while. Their ads will be more fun and enjoy more attention than a glamourised 30-second video equivalent of a Powerpoint slide featuring a wholesome family of four (handsome, capable dad; beautiful caring mum; their two children, one boy one girl with a just-right gap between their ages — almost too perfect to be true) and the product’s hero shot.
Anyhoo, if you really need to feature a lot of product, this crazy commercial from Madre (Argentine office of Mother, London), does. Puts it on a pedestal even.
If I saw this brand in the supermarket, there’s a chance I’ll have to stifle a snigger because I’ll be reminded of the commercial.
Then again, that’s just me — a little mad.
