Rainy day pome

No photos, I'm afraid, as my camera's broken. But instead, here's some mightily lousy verse... try the theatre of the mind instead.

When it rains the domain doesn’t drain

Setting sail from atop the gutter
a small striped craft begins to putter
skimming the grass aside the path
tacking about a puddle, deep as a bath

And Avast!
a glimpse of sturdy mast
cutting through the gusting gale
a galleon in full Armani sail!

Raise the flag! Salute his mighty main
fellow man traversing this sodden terrain
united are we in our travails
yet without pleasantry on he sails

O, such unfriendly inhabitants
inhabit these flooded isles
as scarce as the weakling sun
are the friendly smiles

Shoes become boats, clothes a second skin
the path has sunk, there’s no choice but to swim
reaching the curb one must explain…
when it rains the domain doesn’t drain

Commuting

Christopher Tovo "The Smoking Gun"

Last week I went to a fabulous one-night only photography show. I personally prefer to make up my own story to accompany them, but if you want to read the captions, they're here.

Experiments in cross-processing

I must apologise for my extreme slowness with blogging at the moment. Because I now shoot on film, it can take weeks for my images to match my posts. Thus the sudden appearance (two posts down) of Benj and Rhi's wedding pics. It was a full week between me writing the post, and posting it with images attached.

Similarly, here are my candid photos from the toilet shoot (once again, old news). These photos also represent my first feeble attempts with cross-processing. I don't really like the green shift, but I think that overall this technique has potential. I've now done a lot more research into the cross-processing effects of different types of slide film. so hopefully there should be some interesting results emerging soon. (Once the now defunct AGFA stock arrives from Germany!) In the meantime, enjoy my green piccies...

Bathtime in Clerkenwell

A real cutey...

In defence of long-term love

Dr VonWoof just attended a very intimate, romantic, simple and beautiful wedding, of two very special friends who have a love so strong that the sun, moon, stars and entire universe revolve around it. According to their best man, anyway.

And I agree.

But it's forced me to do a lot of thinking, not all of it happy.

When I look at the Great Loves Recorded Throughout History And Fiction, they share a few common factors. Their love stories happen over a relatively short period (for Romeo and Juliet, a few days... for Lizzie and Mr Darcy, a year or so...). The shared love, once earned following an emotional struggle of some sort, is strong and true. And then... we hear no more.

At the point where the love is admitted, consummated, or so forth, we cut away. They live, presumably, happily ever after. Or die, in the case of poor Romeo and Juliet.

Which means that for a young romantic like myself, who has been in the "Living Happily Ever After" stage for about 7 years or so, there is simply no strong and true romantic ideal to look to for strength any more. While around me, Lizzies and Darcys discover their love, are carried along by the strength of it and have earth-stoppingly beautiful weddings where everyone sobs at the sheer LOVE of it all, Little Miss Happily Ever After stands on the sideline.

Confused.

And treated with suspicion bordering on downright concern by her peers. Their first assumption:

"So, but you guys are soulmates, right? You know that He's The One? Always has been?"

Umm, no... sorry... the thing about being Little Miss Happily Ever After, is that you don't really get to fully analyse or appreciate all the possibilities. Once the dizzying, heart-stopping, gravity-defying glow of new love fades into the duskyness of long-term companionship, of course you begin to ask "Is he the one and only?". And you just simply can't be 100% sure.

Their second assumption? That therefore there's nothing in it at all. That you've never known what it feels like to be madly, deeply in love, that you're just sitting by watching your life slip away.

But that's not true either. Because alongside those first few earth-shattering moments, there are a thousand small, beautiful, shared experiences.

Laughing at the chickens at the Easter show.
Finding the roundabout from Amelie in Montmartre.
Shopping for chocolate pop tarts late at night in the supermarket.
Getting pooed on by a bird. Four times.

And they constitute their own sort of love.

When I said all this to my very wise friend Jess, and expressed my concern that at this point the most romantic role model in my life was Queen Victoria and her most beloved Prince Consort, she said:

"Maybe you should be your own role model?"

And perhaps she's right.

I'll let you know in due course how it goes. But you won't be attending my wedding any time soon.

The next in the endlessly wonderful toilet cleaner campaign

And it's my favourite child currently.

Bubbles make everything better. I blow good bubbles, huh?

I also discovered during the photoshoot that my treasured fish-eye lomo synchs with Bryan's flash kit. So soon (I hope) I'll publish some splendiferous fish-eye pics of the toilet shoot, cross-processed for extra funkiness and colourful hijinx.

Speaking of which, I LOVE MY LOMO. I love its randomness. I love its crappy fixed exposure-ness. I love its plastic fish-eye lens. I love the mystery and excitement of getting film back from the lab. Yes, I even love the fact that three-quarters of the photos in every roll suck. And I especially love how expensive it is getting film processed. Honestly. Because the photos are WORTH something. None of this "can you take it again I think I blinked" ness.

With Lomo, Allah is in the lack of details. Fabulous.

Friday Haiku

lou reed is friday
music when heads hurt and the
CD smells of booze

(The photo is by Chema Madoz)

Vis a vis nothing

Another email from the vault. Encapsulates everything that is funny about living in an unrenovated apartment. Story goes as follows:

Knob falls off bathroom door, locking friend in bathroom.
Friend is rescued.
Friend screws knob back on.
Charlie gets locked in bathroom.
Rings my mobile at 3am asking me to let him out.
The next day at work he doesn't return my phonecall.
Thus I send the above email, and receive the above response.
(Click on it for hi-res).

Maybe it's the wine from lunch, but I think it's funny. Very funny.

Secret weapon

I'm a bit loathe to pass this on, truth be told. Such a great secret weapon when it comes to buying presents for little kids. Well, more their parents, really. But this truly rocks:


Take me to Baby Rock Records

And while I'm thinking of it... suddenly everyone's getting married/having kids. It's a real worry. And it appears to be contagious.

Well, you've been warned. If you have a kid, you know what I'm giving them.

(Belated) birthday greetings to Miss Slough 2007

Dr Spruce says many happy returns too. Sorry I was crap and missed the day itself! A (not wholly unexpected) gift is headed your way...

Melbourne through a plastic fish eye lens

More evidence that life is stranger than fiction

You've probably already seen this, but it's pretty extraordinary.

A witness to a murder in England posted this poem on telegraph poles three months after the murder, after being too afraid to approach police. I wonder when the movie's coming out?

The police have replaced the killer's name with XXXX on the version they've released to the public. Here's the poem:

Running from Paul Kelly

“Now I will show how a few words can be made
As sharp and deadly as any bwoy’s blade
How running away will not you save
The truth is there like an open grave
A defenceless man is dead and his blood’s gone cold
But the story of his end is going to be told
You can run and run till your shoes wear thin
And hope that you’re safe, ’cos of the colour of your skin
Paul Kelly lies dead, and who held the knife?
It was you, XXXXX, we all saw take his life.
“The New Year was but a short hour old
When you and your mates were: Oh, so bold.
You put us to shame,
But we did the same.
It was black on white, so it must be right
It was you who said: “He had it coming that night.”
Then you ran away and we turned our backs.
You said we would be next if we breathed a word
We took in your threats that now sound absurd
So we closed our eyes And took in your lies
“Now your filth lies burning inside us like poison and guile.
But soon all the s***’s gonna come out, so prepare for a trial.
So where will you run when, at last, you face a brave man?
You gonna run once more through the streets, all a quiver?
Will wash yourself down in the deep, deep river?
“Yow, young XXXX, where you threw the knife,
Listen to what I say and take good heed:
You can wipe your bloody hands in the grass, till they bleed . . .
But you will never, never get them clean."

Anonymous

But where did he get all the butterflies from?

Call me a sadist, but I love these new artworks by Damien Hirst. Yes, they really are made from butterflies...

Puerile fun!

I totally love this game!

Take me there... baby!

My Visual DNA

Read my VisualDNA™     Get your own VisualDNA™

And the day just got wierder from there...

I started writing this post around 5:15pm yesterday. As I was halfway through a stunning reply to the above (brilliant) client email, my copywriter Rich and I were summoned (asked) to "stay back" by our Creative Director, and Rich was summoned into the principal's (managing director's) office and promptly shot (I mean fired).

As such, the whingey rot I was writing at the time seems (in retrospect) frankly inappropriate. And in truth I'm still a little too shocked/exhausted/confused to really shed any further light, or write anything particularly lucid on this (for now).

Vale Rich.

I'll write more soon. Promise.

This totally *********** sucks!!!!!!!!!!!

A while back I posted my concepts for the Cannes Young Creative Comp on this blog.

Well, they announced the winners and they won on.... the identical glow-in-the-dark idea to ours!

So now, not only am I not going to Cannes, or getting a better job, but I can't even put the bloody idea in my book because it'll look like I ripped the winning team off.

I feel like my heart's been ripped out. I desperately need to regain some perspective. Someone remind me about those starving children in Africa?

A green day

As we brought home our lovely newly upholstered green furniture in the Saturday rain, we discovered that a green river awaited us back at the apartment. This witches brew was bubbling from a man-hole.

The man had to have both legs amputated shortly after this photo was taken. Our thoughts are with him at this difficult time.

A bumper sticker I could live with

Photographed on the Harbour Bridge.