Mustard

In which I am insulted by a well-known blogging service

Readers with long memories (or those with too much time on their hands) may recall how I was cyber-bullied by Google a while back. 

Now it seems that Blogger is keen to get in on the insulting act. Yesterday evening I decided to make a comment on a blog I was visiting, and Blogger was quick to take advantage of the opportunity:

Blogger insult

I think I'll pass up that kind offer, if you don't mind.

Mustard

(no subject)

Reading about felician_logic's vacation, I was reminded of this ad for no reason at all:

Church Army

Meanwhile, I take a very dim view of an e-mail I received from Sainsbury's headed Save up to 40% with contact lenses online

The first line of the Sainsbury's message?

If you cannot see this email please click here

You could make it up, but I didn't.

Those as fascinated by my financial situation as I am will be thrilled to hear that HSBC believes that I am now playing in the big league.

Individual attention for you and your money

It's a curious start. Brings to mind some bearded miser stroking my coins -- and may I just say at this point that I'm glad this Livejournal is a camp euphemism-free zone. Ahem.

Wouldn't it be great to ring your bank about your personal finances and talk to someone you know?

No. No it wouldn't. It would be very unsettling and lead to all sorts of non-starter conversations like "Gosh, I never knew you worked in a bank!"

There is a photograph of a woman on a beach running after a dog. Perhaps this has something to do with the first of the benefits that HSBC offers me with its Premier account:

* Your own Relationship Manager

Tempting, admittedly, but surely I would need to have one in the first place before anyone could manage it for me?

There are also all the usual things like travel insurance, overdrafts and a golden hello.

Your home may be repossessed if you do not keep up your repayments on the exorcism.

Doesn't say that, sadly. What it does say is:

All this for nothing?
Yes - Premier is completely FREE if you switch your current account, mortgage or savings to us and have:
* An annual income of £75,000 or more and a mortgage with HSBC Bank of £100,000 or more, or...


Yes, all this for nothing, so long as I earn far more than I earn and have mortgage bigger than my mortgage. Coincidentally, nothing is also the amount of targeting that went into sending me that letter...

Mustard

In which I am insulted by a well-known search service

As the only person on the planet not to have an e-mail account with Google yet, I decided to sign up.

Apparently Google's whacky founders have introduced a new customer care programme. A key component in this strategic policy is to foist abusive login names onto people applying for a new mail account. This is their suggestion for how I might like the world to see me.

Introducing Google Insult!

Strangely I was not tempted to "check availability".

Mustard

Sales splatter

A message header grabs my attention from the usual daily vision of hell that masquerades as my Inbox. Immediately I realise the potential for a Livejournal entry that will practically write itself.

Subject:
Make her a zombie

Using this system: taunt josef duel liz 

So I have to start by insulting some bloke and then it's fencing foils at dawn? I'm not sure I'm cut out for that kind of thing... although I probably would end up that way afterwards.

You can make any woman submit to you INSTANTLY; 

I'm not sure that is strictly true, or indeed remotely convenient. Suppose I was in a church or out shopping or something? Not exactly practical, is it?

You can make with her EVERYTHING you want; 

Shortbread? Balloon animals? A silk purse out of a sow's ear?

It’ll be a pleasure for her to fulfill all your DIRTY desires; lies moods doctor peak 

Yup, nothing turns me on like lies, moods and trips to Dr Peak!

That is real. What ’ s that ?

I think you'll find that is the Deleted Items folder. And it isn't looking friendly.

Mustard

Vere to go?

I strive hard to give the impression that my life revolves entirely around work, the misinterpretation of marketing messages, and being PA to a highly demanding Fierce Wild Tortoise®, but occasionally I do get up to other stuff.

Last week saw me visit the Shoreditch district in olde Londonne Towne where the Vertigo Gallery was hosting an exhibition of paintings by Joseph Arthur.

Example of Joseph Art - pictured in The Independent. Not part of this exhibition.I am a big fan of his music, particularly the quieter, more contemplative songs. I'm amazed by the artistry of lines like "The plants have died, my hair has grown, From the thought of you coming home" -- an image that looks at first like 1920s cartoon style swooning flowers and comically growing hair, but when examined a second time creates a picture of total neglect and depression because his ex is never coming back. His art, on the other hand, I often find rather oppressive: the subject matter includes heads, emaciated torsos, skulls, devils, insects, Nazca-ish animals. Still, the exhibition was on for only four days which and I thought it might be interesting.

Back in the 19th Century the gallery was a manufactory for rope and tarpaulin and the floorboards had a pleasing weathered texture. The exhibition space managed to be very light; Joseph had made it very much his own place, painting the mat by the door, magic-markering a picture on the wall, writing captions underneath the artworks and creating a makeshift frame with sticky tape. The paintings were all unframed, the canvases just stapled to the walls, mainly because of their size -- most were huge, bigger than a double bed-sheet, I reckon. The bed comparison is an apposite one as downstairs he had painted two figures on a mattress. Literally on a mattress. Left the paintbrush stuck to it, pink paint on the bristles, too.  

Some of the paintings were abstract with swathes of colour and odd Joseph Arthur figures. A painting made up of a collection of A4 sheets under perspex lay on the ground upstairs, labeled "Coke Head", a head obliterated by white at its centre, and downstairs one of the larger canvases had the title "Blue Boy", next to which "+ Angel Dust" was heavily scribbled out. Opposite that was a canvas with the instruction "<--- Lift" as there was another canvas stapled underneath it. 

It looked as though Joseph had brought too many paintings with him as there was another canvas screwed up in a corner. I wondered what the etiquette for viewing this was. I  mean, photography in these places is a no-no, but are you allowed to handle the artwork, try to hold it up like a character in a detergent commercial admiring the new April Freshness they really love? I decided it was probably best to leave it where it was... a shame, as it had some glitter on it. Perhaps that was supposed to go under "Blue Boy"?

I was most impressed by a painting called "The Performer", a mainly brown piece of a vague blurred figure with fuzzy white circles in the background. It communicated something about ambivalence and identity that I almost understand yet still eludes me.

  • Current Music
    Joseph Arthur - Devil's Broom
Mustard

Killer audio

I have just received the following warning from Apple. Why have they not withdrawn this highly dangerous product?

We all know the problems that McDonalds experienced in the past, and that was just for a cup of coffee that amazingly turned out to be hot (that it turned out to be "coffee" was even more surprising).

Now it seems that a whole generation of trendy people (and Apple's entire customer base) could be wiped out within days, just because of Apple's iPolicy of employing Aztec iPriests who employ the very latest modern methods of iHuman sacrifice. The safety of February 15th cannot come quickly enough.

  • Current Music
    Brian Eno - Shark 12
Mustard

Separated at birth?

The days in the interim have been cold, the mornings often frosty.

It was slightly milder today and I saw another butterfly.

I was lucky enough to receive a letter from the cable company recently. They say that if I sign up with them I can watch The Simple Life with Paris Hilton and music videos on VH1. How did they guess that my interests would match their customer demographic in such precise detail???

But as the letter meanders towards the shredder for my paper recycling bin, my attention is momentarily grabbed by a photo on it:

It seems strangely familiar. Where have I seen that strained, committed expression before?

Then I remember...