Category: Pictures Page 12 of 46

November Projects – Dare Any Of You Combine Them?

So, it’s November and those of us who live near the Greenwich Meridian Line are all rejoicing in the benefits of an extra hour on our hands. So, if you’re struggling to find ways to fill your time, and are looking for something to do this month, the following November-based projects may be of interest…

National Novel Writing Month
Slightly misnamed, as it’s now very much an interNational thing, but the idea of ‘NaNoWriMo’, as we hipsters call it, remains the same: to write a 50,000 word novel during the month of November.

Obviously, that’s a fair amount of writing (over 1000 words a day), and it takes a bit of dedication, but hey, it’s getting cold outside, so staying in with a cup of tea and writing is far from the worst way you could spend your time… on second thought, I might well say that at any time of year, but on this occasion there’s a whole community of people (both online and in the real world) who’ll support you as you aim for 50,000 words. Go to the NaNoWriMo site and see what I mean.

I’ve had a go at this a couple of times, and whilst it’s to my considerable shame that I’ve never made it over the finishing line (and for the record, you don’t have to stop then, you can carry on writing until you feel the story’s finished), I liked the feeling that there were other people who were doing the same crazy thing.

The other suggestion I have is slightly more gender-specific, for it is…

Movember
Yes, that’s November with an M, for this challenge involves growing a mo…ustache.

Okay, so the name’s arguably a bit of a stretch (what were they gonna call it, Philtrum-foliage-February?), but the aim is simple, and the motivation good ‘n philanthropic: participants should try to grow a moustache over the course of the month – no sideburns or beard, just the ‘tache – and get friends to sponsor you, with the proceeds going to prostate cancer charities. Full details can be found here.

Actually, given that I’ve met some of you folks face-to-face, perhaps I shouldn’t be so quick to suggest that it’s only the gents who could grow a moustache… oh dear, I’ve gone too far, haven’t I ? Don’t dwell on it, though, check out this link to the manliest moustaches of all time! Grrr, how macho are they? The pictures positively seethe with manly hormones.

In fact, I think – at long last – I can feel puberty coming on.

For ‘Livejournal’, Read ‘Blog’

If you’re not familiar with the webcomic XKCD, I heartily recommend it.

Or, as it’s Sunday afternoon, you might prefer to walk around the world instead.

They’re Just Like You And Me Really

Spotted at a London Underground station this morning, one of the new posters for Habitat, featuring Helena Christiansen.

The version of the image here is, obviously, much smaller than the one I saw on the wall of the tube station, so you probably won’t be able to make out the detail, but on the huge version it was amusing to note that the penultimate book on the table next to her (the slim brown-spined one on top of the larger white tome) appears to be a graphic novel – or, as many of us would call them, ‘a comic with cardboard covers’.

Specifically, it seemed to be The Little Man by Chester Brown, a collection of his strips from 1980-1995.

Maybe it’s just me, but I find it oddly reassuring to think that, at the end of a day’s modelling, Helena likes to sit on a sofa and read about a man sitting round in his pants and listening to the radio and picking his nose.

In a way, it probably provides cosmic balance for all the men who sit round in their pants and look at pictures of models in magazines.

Whoever we are, it seems that we’re interested in the lives of others. As Sartre almost put it, “L’interest? C’est les autres”.

Not Judging The Book, Just The Cover

As comic creators go, I have slightly mixed feelings about Chris Ware; I’ve read his Jimmy Corrigan book a couple of times now, and whilst there’s no question at all about Ware’s talent, I have to say that the slightly formal and mannered nature of the art rather defused the emotional weight of the work for me. Rather like having a song of heartbreak sung in a voice so pure and on-note that it loses the human element.

That said, he’s got a terrific eye for design (and indeed general innovation) in print, as is amply demonstrated by his work for the latest issue of the New Yorker magazine – here’s the cover:


Inside, there’s a four-page strip by Ware too, which you can read by clicking here. Worth the clickage involved, if only to see that not all comics are men in capes punching each other through walls.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course.

Originally found on Graham Linehan’s blog. Graham knows his comics, as anyone who’s ever seen The IT Crowd will know.

A Calendar I Spotted In A Shop In London This Morning

I almost admire their optimism in leaving it on the rack, but if it hasn’t sold yet, I don’t know if it ever will.

Don’t know if you can make out the grey effect at the top of it, but yes, that is dust.

More Blatant Than Latent

Fragrances, like many other items, often have to sell themselves on the implied suggestion that they’ll make you more sexy.

However, some items I’ve seen recently seem to have forgotten that the sexual undercurrent, like the scent itself, is probably more effective when it’s subtle and yet somehow discernable.

You’re probably wondering: What the jiggins is Soanes on about now? Where’s his evidence? Well…

Say the name of this one out loud:

That’s not a fragrance, that’s a blatant sexual offer, surely.

And speaking of blatant –

– come on, that can’t be accidental. He wants to be careful not to catch himself on that ring, though.

If this post has offended you, please bear in mind it’s the perfume makers who are to blame – they started it. And if the filth quotient of the above is lost on you… well, bless your innocence, it’s a rare and precious thing in a bitter and jaded world.

This Admission May Connect In Some Way To Me Not Getting Married Until I Was 37 Years Old

As readers with long memories and brain cells to spare may recall, just over a year ago, I got married.

One of the many benefits of this was that I now have (and indeed always wear) a wedding ring – because, obviously, when this cat’s on the prowl, the ladies need to be warned that hey, easy, I’m a married man!. Yes, that’s definitely the reason. Anyway, bear my be-ringedness in mind while I scoot off at what will appear to be a tangent…

The building where I work in London (which is a very hush-hush-top-secret-oh-all-right-I-admit-it-not-that-big-a-deal-building) has a pass system, as many buildings do nowadays. You use your pass to get in, and on the way out, the method is a bit less hasslesome – on the basis that keeping people out is more important that keeping them in, I guess. So the usual way I leave the building is to press a large button set into a nearby wall, and then open the door.

However, these buttons are usually green (for go, I suppose), and as a pathetic comic reading geek who’s aware of the superhero Green Lantern, who recharges his power ring (stop giggling at the back) thus…

… you can probably imagine how I envision myself as I punch the green exit button at work with my left hand.

Several times a day. Smiling to myself every time I do it. Oh yes.

Hey, I’m just being honest with you. And anyway, they’re talking about a Green Lantern film starring Ryan Reynolds, so the character’ll probably be like Iron Man in a couple of years. Lunchboxes and pyjamas for the kids, you wait and see… and probably in adult sizes for people like me too, let’s face it. The emotionally and intellectually stunted male is a sizable market. In every sense.

This One’s For Those Of You Who Were Tiring Of Posts Featuring Pictures And A Handful Of Words From Me Saying ‘Hey, Don’t These Look A Bit Alike?’

As you’ve probably seen, a handful of days after the pop singer Stephen Gately died, and even after the coroner had pronounced his sudden death to have been the result of natural causes, the ever-humane Daily Mail printed a column by Jan Moir which had the suspicious whiff of homophobia about it, suggesting Gatey’s lifestyle may have been responsible for his death. Classy.

The article has, I gather led to a record number of complaints being made to the Press Complaints Commission – there’s a good summary of the series of events here. And though I usually try to avoid writing about topical events too often here on’t blog (due to the fact that, all too often, far wittier folks tend to get there before me), I had a few thoughts (on the subject, not in total in my life) which I wanted to share…

Firstly, and because it’s always fun to make this clear, I think the Daily Mail is a criminal waste of newsprint; its obsession with house prices and immigrants and cancer make it frankly laughable, and it would be a joke if it wasn’t for the fact that so many people seem to take its contents seriously. The paper’s aimed at a weird audience, one who believes that young people nowadays are all promiscuous and whorish, but who simultaneously like lots of pictures of Charlotte Church or Cheryl Cole in low-cut dresses in their newspapers. Lord only knows what kind of demographic this is, but they clearly keep on buying the grotty little rag.

Given that the Mail‘s never been that keen on gay people or their lifestyles, it’s probably inevitable that they ran a column in the usual post hoc ergo propter hoc style about Stephen Gately: he was gay, he died suddenly, and therefore his premature death was caused by being gay. Sure, they didn’t run a ‘being white and female makes you die in a car crash’ story when the Princess of Wales died, but of course a picture of Diana on the front page was always a good way to boost circulation, and besides ‘white and female’ is a substantial chunk of their target readership. I think it’s fair to say that they’re not keen to court gay readers – though in terms of appealing to the dead, a large number of their readers are probably nearer the grave than the womb, and many of their younger readers may not trouble the EEG machine overmuch.

You may well be wondering why I haven’t linked to the article yet, to let you good people make up your own mind about whether it’s offensive or not; well, fear not, I’m about to, but I wanted to highlight the way that, once they started getting complaints about the article, the Mail tried to rewrite things so that they didn’t look as bad – remember how Russell Brand (and we’ll get back to him later) pointed out that the Mail, which had been so critical of him and Jonathan Ross, had, after all, supported Mosely and the Blackshirts, and asked which was worse? The Mail tried to ignore this remark, despite it being an established fact about the paper’s history, and in a not-entirely dissimilar way, once they realised that they had a PR problem on their hands with the Moir article, they changed the title of it on their website. Oh the bravery.

So, having originally titled the column “Why there was nothing ‘natural’ about Stephen Gately’s death”, the Mail proudly and heroically renamed it “A strange, lonely and troubling death . . .”, and indeed that’s the title which now sits atop the page – have a look here. The courage of their convictions is so impressive.

And so there was a fuss – to my delight, catalysed by openly gay folks such as Stephen Fry and Derren Brown – and a semi-reaction from Jan Moir saying that the response had been “clearly a heavily orchestrated internet campaign “, with lots of complaints to the Press Complaints Commission (as well as people publishing Moir’s home address online, which I do feel is going too far). And the Mail is now in an interesting position, because a year ago this week, the paper was very much at the front of the placard-bearing crowd objecting to the phone calls made by Russell Brand and Jonathan Ross to Andrew Sachs. So, in the face of a similarly orchestrated campaign of complaint, how will they react?

By analogy with the Ross-Brand-Sachs affair, the writer should resign and the sub-editor and editor should be sacked, though I doubt this’ll happen; as many people found during World War II when publications had to be recycled as lavatory paper, when it comes to newspapers, the shit just doesn’t stick. The Sun may have accused football supporters of raiding the pockets of the dead at Hillsborough (see picture), the Scottish Sunday Express may have written about the frankly teenage lives of teenage survivors of the Dunblane massacre, and every single paper in the world may have been implicated in Charles Spencer’s impassioned eulogy for his sister, but the last place you’re likely to see these things reported – let alone discussed – is, it seems, a newspaper. Which makes me wonder if newspapers are necessarily in much of a position to criticise when MPs circle the wagons and try to protect themselves (or each other) from criticism or revelations about their lives.

As with the Trafigura situation last week, the newspapers were rather trumped by the internet, as people broke the ludicrous injunction via e-mails, blogs and Twitter, and the same approach has been taken in relation to the complaints about the Gately article (which I think is perfectly fair; I just wish that similarly well-orchestrated campaigns could be run about so many of their other articles). It makes me wonder if the ‘decline in respect for authority’ which the Mail and other papers lament is in some way directly related to the rise of communication technology – it must have been much easier to hide some wrongdoing in the days when people didn’t have telephones to share things they’d heard about (let alone e-mail), and perhaps that lack of evidence of naughtiness in authority was somehow the foundation for the much-vaunted respect that people ‘used to have’? Just a thought, but it certainly can’t help that when something dodgy’s going on in high places, people can have the details within minutes, and pass them on just as quickly.

I wouldn’t want to go so far as to suggest that the internet and 3G and the like will directly replace or remove traditional print journalism, but they’re clearly having an effect on the way people gain information about the world about them; newspapers have already found their ‘source of news’ role reduced by the rise of constantly-updated TV and online news, and if the ‘campaigning’ role is also usurped, is there much left? As Clay Shirky noted back in March,“‘You’re gonna miss us when we’re gone!’ has never been much of a business model”, and as we seem to be gradually feeling our way towards some new and as yet uncertain model of newsgathering and reporting, I do think that a lot of papers are going to be shouting that, and sooner rather than later.

In the case of the Mail, though, I’m kind of torn; in moral terms, it’s a festering boil in the bumcleft of humanity, but if it goes bankrupt actual real people with families would lose their livelihoods, and as much as I dislike the way they choose to spend their time, a part of me recognises that they’re still people.

Then again, I like to think the recognition that people can think differently from me and not have to suffer for it means I’ll never be asked to write for the Daily Mail.

Is There A Psychological Condition Which Involves One Seeing Things As Similar All The Time?

If so, I think we can cheerfully label me a sufferer.

Though it does generate material, howsoever questionable.

From A Poster On London Transport Urging People To Be Pro, As Opposed To Anti, Social

I wasn’t too taken with his information films for the Inland Revenue, but I hadn’t realised that Adam Hart Davis was such a social miscreant.

Still, good to see he’s working on his issues.

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