Dear All,
I am writing an open letter to encourage a purchase of the Sony Playstation 3 by the end of October so we can all play Little-Big-Planet together (please see video below). If needed I have compiled a list of excuses you can use to approach respected, respective partners:
1. It's BLUE RAY. The future, and we're doomed without it. Please emphasise the word DOOMED. Don't worry about them understanding what BluRay is, just remind them that their VHS and DVD collections are now obsolete.
2. It's very quiet and can be neatly tucked away due to it's wireless design. You may want to draw some potentially sexist context into this by adding that "It's about as quiet as a refrigerator." In the case of the disc spinning and reading data it may be worth comparing it to "The subtle hum of a low powered microwave or a fan assisted oven".
3. It's High Definition, it's the FUTURE. Your current HD setups are helping no one. Over the comming weeks, gradually degrade the picture quality of your televisions by using an ever increasing depth of laminate over the screen. On visiting a friend's home or indeed a PS3 retail outlet you can point out the vast difference in quality that the PS3 provides.
4. You can charge your iPod off it, darling. People like nothing more than to see one of their own beloved devices working in harmony with a new technological monster. Present them with the facts. Those USB ports are powered and will power any USB device that allows charging over the sync cable. Try not to let that last (or infact, only) fact slip, make it seem as if his/her device is especially special and the PS3 knows it.
5. I will no longer require you to walk to Blockbuster to get me my DVD rentals, Sweetie. The PSN network promises movie rentals, trailers and television episodes. The PSN network fails to deliver on two of the three but has what we can refer to as POTENTIAL. Blind faith in the future is a hard one to convince even the most niave of partners but it is possible with a few ripped movies sitting on the hard drive until the features are there to exploit.
6. With my ever increasing social problems, twined with my ever increasing drinking problems; I can become a social butterfly with the aid of the Playstation 3. If your partner is anything like mine, she'll be writing letters in secret to your parents expressing a concern for your growing detatchment from society. Here's your chance to get back on the social bandwagon by 'blowing shit up' with friends. Via the bluetooth headset you can chat to friends (who you have no intention of meeting) across the globe. Pitch this one as "You know Skype, well..." and you're on the right course.
I bid ye good luck, see you online in October 2008.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
More HD Time lapse in London
Sunny Clouds, sunny day! from Simon on Vimeo.
More time lapse, it's becoming quite an obsession. This one is a couple of hours at 1 shot every 6 seconds. If your computery machine is powerful enough, hit the 'HD ON/OFF' button to see it in glorious High Definition.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
the London mood
the London mood from Simon on Vimeo.
Been having fun making time lapse films of clouds using a Nikon DSLR and a clever program on OSX that tells the camera to shoot a full resolution still shot at set intervals. This one is shot every 25 seconds for 200 shots, then put together at 16 frames a second. Click fullscreen, it's in 720p.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Another happy evening on the London Underground
The London Underground's cerebrally challenged magnetic lure ensures that your evening tube journey is never complete without the addition of Mr Aggravated Mental sitting within eye and ear shot. That common trait of "Try not to look and it'll all be fine, he won't bother me, just the poor bastard that happens to get eye contact" is one that should only be taken with serious thought. My advice? No hero here - get off the train and get the next one; better still, get a bloody cab. *Read further after the jump*
Not helpful? Not financially viable? If your answer is 'No' to both then first, a delicate balance must be addressed. Stay in the carriage and think it through. Start with your natural instincts. It's remarkably similar to the 'Flight or Fight' theory but worth noting that it never should include the latter unless you too wish to become perceived as said 'Mr Aggravated Mental' - especially if your Flight or Fight decision was made silently and entirely in your own mind. Granted the surprise of it all when you flip inside-out with unprovoked rage will gain the upper hand initially, but to keep up that momentum against your unfortunate, potentially misunderstood Mr Mental might not go as planned. No, just use the flight method. Every. Time.
My sudden interest in such theories and paths of action spawn solely from when I sat on a relatively empty tube just a few days ago. I'd been invited for drinks to Wimbledon, a nice place in the day but invariably becomes a nocturnal cave dedicated to men of a low aspiration and penchant for weekend blood sports. But don't get me wrong about blood sports, I enjoy the occasional game of tennis, just not in the months of winter. Little was I aware that just the tube journey alone would spark a 1000 word blog entry.
I sat opposite a lady in her early 30s who had taken the necessary steps to ensure the frankly, unnecessary 1980s craze of power dressing was kept blazing bright. Large shoulder pads, hair tight back, make-up applied with an art-set and perfume that would turn the head of every important person in the office, work drinks and now, the carriage.
On sitting down opposite her, I inadvertently pushed over her large fashionable bag which she had placed conveniently in the gang way with my feet. My impulse apology and a raise of my hand to imply force to the admission of guilt was frustratingly met with a foul look and a string of obscenities which I couldn't hear due to headphones but were easy enough to decipher using basic lip reading skills. Unless of course she called me a Ducking Rick, then I should’ve apologised for just the thoughts of my [fortunately] stifled response that she had all the hallmarks of a girl who's desperately transparent goal in life is to emulate her businessman father, whom of which cheers to her elder brother and sister's success with out and out enthusiasm while a wet empathy greets her at every step. But I’m not one to judge so I didn't mention it.
The tube grumbled along the winding tunnels (He said as if he was writing an amateur children’s novel). Stop by stop, people got on, people got off (He said as if he was explaining the fundamentals of rail travel). But it wasn't until we were just deep enough underground to ensure that not even the longest escalator could service the station (incidentally Angel has the longest in Western Europe at 318 steps. Put that in your pub quiz and smoke it) that a man of about 6 foot 5 inches boarded the train with some force as the doors tried to shut, slumped down in a seat diagonally opposite-and-left to me, and began looking about. Within seconds, I'm certain I wasn't the only one whose 'Mad Man Alert' radar started beeping with enough force to consider evacuation, but no one moved.
Until he began shouting.
Pulling out my headphones to gain the effect of a soundtrack to the carriage’s drama rather than an isolated disco in my face I watched him violently swipe at the air while muttering in circles about how we were all... well, potentially the reason for his current problems, to write it in a less colourful context. No 'Ducking Rick' in sight, he was from the get-go much more forceful and direct than any passive aggressive businesswoman in shoulder pads, and it wasn't long until we all found this out. With a surprisingly accurate lunge for a man who appeared to have spent the afternoon drinking a cocktail of pure ethanol with a depth charge of methylated spirits, he took the nasty businesswoman's bag from by her feet and proceeded to empty it out with absolutely no apparent intention of investigating its quite fantastic looking treasures. I looked over to see if he would be graced with a now, retrospectively calm insult of "Ducking Rick" but nasty business lady had become rather pail and intent on getting away from a situation which admittedly she hadn't caused, but was suddenly quite out of her depth.
Pushing the boundaries of kindness, with a subtle 'heads down' type of view as not to make him think I should become a participant as a jolly bag tipping target I tried to help the now terrified woman pile her things back into her bag. Fortunately he had made a conscious decision to climb to his feet and began kicking the door between our, and the next carriage. Creative enough; and just what we needed to evacuate the tube.
Part 2 at some stage - Including how on earth I ended up in a lift with the bloody guy.
Not helpful? Not financially viable? If your answer is 'No' to both then first, a delicate balance must be addressed. Stay in the carriage and think it through. Start with your natural instincts. It's remarkably similar to the 'Flight or Fight' theory but worth noting that it never should include the latter unless you too wish to become perceived as said 'Mr Aggravated Mental' - especially if your Flight or Fight decision was made silently and entirely in your own mind. Granted the surprise of it all when you flip inside-out with unprovoked rage will gain the upper hand initially, but to keep up that momentum against your unfortunate, potentially misunderstood Mr Mental might not go as planned. No, just use the flight method. Every. Time.
My sudden interest in such theories and paths of action spawn solely from when I sat on a relatively empty tube just a few days ago. I'd been invited for drinks to Wimbledon, a nice place in the day but invariably becomes a nocturnal cave dedicated to men of a low aspiration and penchant for weekend blood sports. But don't get me wrong about blood sports, I enjoy the occasional game of tennis, just not in the months of winter. Little was I aware that just the tube journey alone would spark a 1000 word blog entry.
I sat opposite a lady in her early 30s who had taken the necessary steps to ensure the frankly, unnecessary 1980s craze of power dressing was kept blazing bright. Large shoulder pads, hair tight back, make-up applied with an art-set and perfume that would turn the head of every important person in the office, work drinks and now, the carriage.
On sitting down opposite her, I inadvertently pushed over her large fashionable bag which she had placed conveniently in the gang way with my feet. My impulse apology and a raise of my hand to imply force to the admission of guilt was frustratingly met with a foul look and a string of obscenities which I couldn't hear due to headphones but were easy enough to decipher using basic lip reading skills. Unless of course she called me a Ducking Rick, then I should’ve apologised for just the thoughts of my [fortunately] stifled response that she had all the hallmarks of a girl who's desperately transparent goal in life is to emulate her businessman father, whom of which cheers to her elder brother and sister's success with out and out enthusiasm while a wet empathy greets her at every step. But I’m not one to judge so I didn't mention it.
The tube grumbled along the winding tunnels (He said as if he was writing an amateur children’s novel). Stop by stop, people got on, people got off (He said as if he was explaining the fundamentals of rail travel). But it wasn't until we were just deep enough underground to ensure that not even the longest escalator could service the station (incidentally Angel has the longest in Western Europe at 318 steps. Put that in your pub quiz and smoke it) that a man of about 6 foot 5 inches boarded the train with some force as the doors tried to shut, slumped down in a seat diagonally opposite-and-left to me, and began looking about. Within seconds, I'm certain I wasn't the only one whose 'Mad Man Alert' radar started beeping with enough force to consider evacuation, but no one moved.
Until he began shouting.
Pulling out my headphones to gain the effect of a soundtrack to the carriage’s drama rather than an isolated disco in my face I watched him violently swipe at the air while muttering in circles about how we were all... well, potentially the reason for his current problems, to write it in a less colourful context. No 'Ducking Rick' in sight, he was from the get-go much more forceful and direct than any passive aggressive businesswoman in shoulder pads, and it wasn't long until we all found this out. With a surprisingly accurate lunge for a man who appeared to have spent the afternoon drinking a cocktail of pure ethanol with a depth charge of methylated spirits, he took the nasty businesswoman's bag from by her feet and proceeded to empty it out with absolutely no apparent intention of investigating its quite fantastic looking treasures. I looked over to see if he would be graced with a now, retrospectively calm insult of "Ducking Rick" but nasty business lady had become rather pail and intent on getting away from a situation which admittedly she hadn't caused, but was suddenly quite out of her depth.
Pushing the boundaries of kindness, with a subtle 'heads down' type of view as not to make him think I should become a participant as a jolly bag tipping target I tried to help the now terrified woman pile her things back into her bag. Fortunately he had made a conscious decision to climb to his feet and began kicking the door between our, and the next carriage. Creative enough; and just what we needed to evacuate the tube.
Part 2 at some stage - Including how on earth I ended up in a lift with the bloody guy.
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