Sunday Scribbles XXIV

The Korridors of Kreativity at Tripe & Bunion Advertising Agency were abuzz with excitement the other day, when the first survey results on their new television campaign for Vodaphone came in. The new Vodaphone people are a hit! It seems their gamble at using the inanely gibbering couple from the JG Gardner comercials as the new Vodaphone spokespersons has paid off, handsomely.

Seriously: what were they thinking? The spooky little animated creatures who strongly resemble both amoebic slugs and the JG Gardner spokesdribblers are neither cute, appealing, nor a good representation of their customers. If that's what Vodaphone thinks of their clientele, then I don't know that I want to be counted among their number.

RNZ National's "Mediawatch" has beaten me to the punch. I was going to witter on about the obscenity of the TV "News"programmes showing the footage of that unfortunate young athlete from Georgia who lost his life at the Winter Olympics. Showing the footage was immoral, and added nothing to the story. The fact that he died was the story. We didn't have to see the accompanying snuff movie. I know that footage of sporting and civil tragedies have been broadcast before, and they were disgraceful at the time as well. The Hindenburg bursting to flames,k cameras tracking the fall of people who had hurlked themselves from fires in the World Trade Centre, the car flying into the crowd at Le Mans... I can see an argument for using the WYC footage: to bring home to everyone how shameful and disgraceful the crime was. But most other tragedies, especially accidental deaths, do not need to be shown. 99.999% of people are never going to use a skeleton sled on a luge. We learn nothing from seeing such a thing, apart from the fact that it is dramatically dangerous - which is what the news story could tell us. It didn't have to show us. Bah, and Humbug.

I did a B52 on our home yesterday. 'tis the season to kill fleas, tra la la la la, la la la laa. Our cat, C-Leo Paw Print has somehow been infected with fleas. We bought some decent treatment for her ($50 from the pet store! Shit!) and a twin-pack of flea bombs for the house - $10.99 from Pak n Save. Money well spent. So I'm the Northcote Bomber, and out cat (and home) are flea-free. No Itchy, no Scratchy.

Listening to: Mark Knopfler, "Kill To get Crimson". A sort of cross between Jim Croce and Gordon Lightfoot, without the excitement.

Reading: In between books right now. this will not last. I set the Ambro9se hsagiography of Eisenhowerer aside: i don't like to read uncritical hostories or biographies. Ike may well have been a great man: he was now a flawless one.

Listening to: I couldn't stand another minute of Marvin K. I've swapped for Neil young, "Living With War". Rough, raw, and edgy.

Watching: We watched "Jar City" the other day. It's an Icelandic whodunnit, and very good it was, too. The hero is fond of fast food - boiled sheep's head. I felt quite ill. But a good flick, with stunning landscapes, great photography. We've also watched the extended Director's Cut with never-before-seen-scenes "Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers". Tiring work, but worth while.



Rats:

They fed well on the torn and broken flesh of the men who had to be left on the field of carnage between the lines, and they made up the majority of Arthur's chosen targets. He flicked the bolt of his rifle, sending the second bullet of the day into the breech. There was enough light in the day for him to now see activity in the German lines. Just a glimpse of a suggestion of a blur of shadow, but he knew that he would soon be able to see movement. There were two tiny places where he, because of his elevation, could actually see the German soldiers as they went hither and yon on their daily errands. He never saw their entire bodies, of course. But he saw enough to identify, and to shoot.
Movement. There: another rat. Arthur fired, and cycled the rifle bolt. Another monster dead. He regained his sight picture through the 18-inch long telescopic sight. The cross hairs were sharply defined, black and crisp against the mist and grey light of the dawn. The cross-hairs were mis-named: the material used was, in fact, silk from the rear-end of a large and heavy South American bird-eating spider. Twenty times stronger than steel, the strand of web could cope with the sudden shocks of the shots as they reverberated through the rifle's frame.