That feeling when you step outside for a last minute grocery run, and the tissue paper crowns too small for your head, slides off and lands on the back of your neck, giving the exact sensation of a hundred unseen spiders crawling at once.
Watching the video for “Istanbul (not Constantinople)” I noticed that there’s a building called the “dew drop inn” which prompted me to look for this old Warner Bros classic (in this Three Little Bops video, with live jazz accompaniment).
Bad theology aside, it’s a glimpse into the past, and a way to share Warner Bros cartoons with a new generation.
I’ve had a chance to look through some of the projects I’ve been aiming to start over the last while. A video from Gary Vaynerchuck talked about the 7pm-2am window to work on other projects, starting something big. At the moment, I’m pouring that energy more into my main job: there will come a day when that settles down and I’m able to try some other things, but for now, I need to make my peace with keeping the side projects on hold.
A lift to the train station meant that it was too late, by the time I realised, to go back home for the earbuds I’d left in my jacket pocket. And so I faced to prospect of a whole day without audio entertainment, until I was finally – hopping In the car for an evening meeting – able to reconnect with some hands-free, sped-up audio entertainment.
It’s not until a channel is inaccessible that you’re able to see how much a part of your psyche it has become. I have a large queue of podcasts waiting for my attention, and so to get through them, I listen them at high speed whenever I’m alone (which is not all that often).
With the silence, I was left to my own thoughts: a lost hobby. I miss my podcasting companions with their cheery ad-reads for Casper mattresses, mail chimp, square space, Harry’s razors, warby Parker, and Lynda dot com.
Lately I’ve been trying to go for a run in the mornings. It’s worked pretty well when I haven’t been sick. I get up at or before the sunrise, walk a little, then run for a few km’s in a loop, walk a little bit home. I take my phone with me. While I’m running, it measures how long/fast/where I’ve been, plays me podcasts, and let’s me take photos of the sunrise.
So far, no injuries: time will tell. Even without all the apps, I love running, but the hardest part is taking the doona off the bed and getting out of the house. From there, it’s not too bad, especially those mornings when the sky puts on a show.
I was watching a movie on TV while working on some other projects, and this ad kept coming up.
I was chatting earlier today about the idea of everyday sexism: this ad is doing a lot of the stereotype perpetuation – the mum is reducing her relationship with her daughter to being able to provide her with the fashion item that she wants. Unhappy with her inability to look the way she wants, the Mum steps in, and – using the product – makes the daughter happy again that she can fit the stereotype she aspires to. I know it’s a lot to ask of a cleaning product ad, but could we see the product fit into a more intellectually fulfilling life somehow?
Something about this video clip – an extract from a movie I haven’t seen about an 85 year old sushi-maker – forces you to ask what your life’s passion is going to be.
Yesterday I spent some time in the garden, after a lot of weekends when we were too busy to make it happen. It was a good mix of cutting up branches, and getting the kids involved in helping tidy up, and mowing the weeds, trying to reveal the underlying grass. There’s something re-energising about switching off from the online world (except, perhaps, the podcast I was listening to) and do something in physical space.
Walking home today I passed a house running its sprinkler in the front yard. It was a hot day, and for a fleeting moment I thought it would be fun to run through the sprinkler and cool down.
So of course I didn’t.
I found myself at a funeral this week for the mother of a friend. My attendance was more about supporting and encouraging the friend – I hadn’t actually met his mother, and so it was a different experience to most of the others I’ve attended.
Instead of the photos summoning up memories of shared experiences, it was an attempt to understand the life that had been lived. What, I was forced to reflect, would my life look like when reduced to a series of photos? What extra photos do I want to create with any years I have left? What will be included in any eulogies I may have to write in the coming years?