Generalism

Ah, so very true…

What do you do when you need to get someplace that’s within walking distance, say, the coffee machine, but you just haven’t got the energy or the effort to walk? You hitch up your skirts and jump lightly onto Honda’s U3-X motorized unicycle.

Sure ya do.

Look, let’s not beat around the bush here. Any new mode of transport has got to do a heck of a lot more than what these two dangly things have done for the past few million years. I want something to replace my car. Something to zip me into town and back without breaking a sweat or getting caught in the standing traffic that plagues everywhere in Britain within spitting distance of the M25. Something that won’t get criminalized off the streets and require licensing, a number plate, and cheap car insuuuurance.

So yet more fodder for the youtube archives then. Ah well, at least we can look forward to the first U3-X faceplant.

National strikes? All I can say is good, by all means hasten your miserable end. In a year’s time you’ll all be gone, replaced with something more efficient, effective, and most assuredly not in the grip of unions who would all be extremely happy if we had never left 1970.

I’m sick and tired of this being an issue. Everyone, use DHL, use Fedex, use anything else where you can be reasonably sure your post is actually going to arrive this year. Leave the Post Office to die in a smoldering heap along with the unions; they both deserve nothing more, and it is long overdue.

Now this is more like it.

Apple are looking at releasing a touch-based tablet early next year, Verizon are upping the tempo of their next generation 4G mobile network rollout (your money-grabbing monopolistic hardline days are soooo numbered BT!), and someone has finally produced something other than photo manipulation to make touch screens worth having.

As days go, today would certainly appear to be hauling itself up there.

Actually, in the spirit of twittering, tweeting, or whatever the cool cats are calling it now, I’m going to just throw an off-the-cuff post out there, because I can, because I want to, and because I’ve nothing else at this exact moment I need to be doing.

Blogging itself hasn’t become a drag, but I’ve noticed one thing this last couple of weeks: when you’re out of the house ten hours in a day, and spending most of those hours writing, the urge to spend the spare hours, minutes and seconds writing your own material kinda slides. Just how much of the world’s creativity and passion is kept under the blanket of working all hours to pay the bills we shall perhaps never know.

But it’s been interesting times. Within the last couple of months I’ve had the opportunity to write for a couple of excellent news groups, one producing local news, another producing national technology trade news both online and off. I’ve been writing for a while now, so it kinda made sense to see how some of the big boys were doing. And it was certainly an eye-opener.

Because actually, behind the scenes, the big boys were nowhere near as big as I’d imagined. Naivete of youth some (very kind people) would say.Not necessarily a bad thing of course, but it was interesting to me, never having been exposed to such industries before. What was even more interesting though, particularly with the trade press, was how little the guys admitted to actually knowing about what they were writing about, in this case technology.

Now don’t get me wrong, these guys are good at writing. I mean really good. I mean, I can knock out a few words here or there, but when it comes to producing news, I was very much back in junior school. The quality and speed that these guys can knock out stories really is something else. I tried, and failed; it would appear to take a certain skill that I simply don’t have. Oh I’m sure I could learn it, and I’m sure it’s a skill that could be honed over time, but whether I want it is another thing.

But finding out that an interest in writing about technology is not a prerequisite for the job, kinda knocked me for six. Having been in and around the industry for fifteen years, and picking up a thing or two on my travels, I like to think the knowledge is worth something, that it’s worth writing about, and perhaps more importantly worth sharing. The truth is, that it is, but only if you are either a name or a face that people already recognise. It seems opinions carry no weight otherwise.

Perhaps this is as it should be. After all would you rather read an opinion piece by Jimmy Smith, or by Alan Sugar, regardless of quality or content? Well, perhaps a better question for some would be, which is likely to bring more viewers to the page also laden with advertising?

And this is where everything falls into place. The lack of specialist knowledge is actually fantastic, because thinking only slows you down, and faster news equals more views. If you’re lucky, more views then equates to more interest from the advertisers which makes more money for the business. Right now, it’s simply not about the news, not about the quality, the imparting of information or opinion. It’s about money. Everything else is secondary.

The fundamentals of journalism are in the process of being re-written, and everyone I spoke to acknowledged that fact. Most have been touched by redundancies, most equally are doing things that five years ago they would never have thought necessary. Comfort zones are in the process of being stretched, and none of them know where it’s going to end.

From what I’ve read and seen I see news taking a back seat to industry knowledge. I see its raw-materials being moulded and given additional value that will command greater salaries, and consequently new revenue streams. But exactly what all that means, the mediums, the quantity, quality, well, to be honest, I think we’re back at the times of the first printing press. I don’t think it’ll take decades of upheaval as then, certainly not at today’s pace of change, but it’ll take some time for things to readjust and settle into a new direction.

Whether it’s one where both they, and I, can start making a reasonable living again, is anyone’s guess.

Dammit, I’ve started twittering and now blogging seems like a real drag. Is there any hope for me? Would this blog have fitted in a tweet? Gah!!!

/sigh

Why is it people get really really excited about getting something new, then once they have it they realise that they’re not sure what all the fuss was about to begin with? All of us 80s boys remember the Airfix Super Flight Deck. Shame I can’t find the advert for it, though I think if I were to watch it again I’d still want it badly, even knowing it was the biggest bag of spanners money could buy.

So, much like the oft-berated Flight Deck, I had a hankering for a Venus Flytrap. I get drawn towards things that are a little different from the norm, and I thought that having something I could look after, call my own, and take for walks in the park, would be, well, nice. But this thing isn’t really that nice. Actually, it’s not really very nice at all.

You see, when you get a Venus Flytrap, you haven’t really got yourself a plant, you’ve got yourself a pet. All well and good, I like pets, I used to share my house with a cat, and loved it dearly. The problem is you can’t stroke this plant or give it hugs, you can’t even feed it pet food, nor ham or burger as is oft believed. No, if you want your new pet to live, there’s only one thing on the menu: bugs.

Now you might think that it’s par for the course, and considering our distaste of all things multi-legged, who really cares anyway? Anything that can cut the frustration of window buzzing and food-bombing is just fine by us, right? Except there’s a perspective shift. A bit like when you’re watching Eastenders and the bad guy that’s been terrorising the neighbourhood turns out to have a soft centre and a mum in hospital. All of a sudden you care.

So, what was once a buzzing irritation, has become a living creature with a soft centre and a mum in hospital. There are many things pitiful to watch in life. Now I can formally add “fly trying in vain to escape from a Venus Flytrap” to the list. I feel guilty. And bad. And the spider’s leg that keeps popping itself out of the next-door leaf does not help.

But surprisingly I don’t actually want to see it go. It’s strange, but it almost sits there as a testament to the harsh “eat or get eaten” realities of life. Sure, it could be a bit quicker about its mealtimes; a week is a long time to empty your plate, and it certainly couldn’t help diversifying it’s taste buds a fraction, but really, having a family is about acceptance; none of us are perfect, we just have to get along as best we can.

So I guess that, as long as I don’t have to watch it eat, maybe I could stand a bit less buzzing while the tv is on omnibus.

I’m taking a bit of a dislike to working in offices right now.

It’s taken for granted that the world is in a bit of a shaky position, money markets in disarray, jobs hard to come by and businesses closing down, but actually living through it first-hand just plain miserable.

The problem is fear. No, fear is too strong. Apprehension is probably more accurate. Just an underlying unease that at some point someone is going to pull an errant wooden block and shout “Jenga!” as the whole tower comes tumbling down around everyone.

Every other conversation is a jest on where people will be living next week, how they’ll eat, all light hearted, but tinged with a weird, pale seriousness. Redundancies used to preface a jump over to a rival across town. But now? Well, now there’s simply no one left to jump to. Head office can send all the people they want to attempt to bolster moral and keep people productive, but any residual feelings of positivity only ever seem to last up to the next coffee break.

So what else is there to do but keep heads down and fingers crossed. Put family and outside life on-hold until the storm passes. Sure, maybe it’ll only stay the execution, our fates ostensibly in other people’s hands, but maybe if we make ourselves indispensable we can at least wrest a little piece of control over our futures.

Well, it’s two people down in this office. I’m not sure how many more need to go before the term “office” itself becomes redundant.

I know the feeling.

Unemployed in London

And there’s me thinking I knew everything there was to know about knitting.

Wowsers.