Brian Micklethwait's Blog
In which I continue to seek part time employment as the ruler of the world.Home
Tom on LON DON
Kim Bergstrom on Looking in at the Zaha Hadid Design Gallery in Goswell Road
6000 on Another walk along the river
Darren on Another walk along the river
Brian Micklethwait on What sort of duck is this?
Brian Micklethwait on What sort of duck is this?
Brian Micklethwait on Another walk along the river
Alastair on Another walk along the river
Darren on What sort of duck is this?
Architectural Visualization on Benjamin Franklin maps the Gulf Stream
Most recent entries
- New Tricks is popular because it is full of old people and it is mostly old people who watch telly
- White vans are becoming very informative
- My latest meeting went fine
- Pizza Express bus
- The difference between roof clutter and roof clutter
- Another photo for the traffic lights countdown set
- Centre Point through the new station entrance
- My next last Friday meeting: Patrick Crozier on the political consequences of WW1
- Keeping up appearances next to Centre Point
- A model of London now opening to the public
- Looking in at the Zaha Hadid Design Gallery in Goswell Road
- Van Art
- LON DON
- John Cage does Sudoku
- Happy couples
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6000 Miles from Civilisation
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Adventures in Capitalism
Alex Ross: The Rest Is Noise
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Antoine Clarke's Election Watch
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Chase me ladies, I'm in the cavalry
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Counting Cats in Zanzibar
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we make money not art
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Category archive: Social Media
Incoming from Darren (to whom thanks also for various recent comments):
Saw this White Van story and thought of you.
The artist, known only as Mr Konjusha is 22 and from east London.
His work has been spotted at various locations since he started drawing on the vehicles about three weeks ago. He said he had worked on 10 vans so far.
I think the whiteness of White Vans is all part of their appeal. If they are white and clean, they look really clean. If they are white a dirty, they look really dirty.
But if they are white and dirty, but if the dirt has been turned into art, what are they then?
Once again we have here an art form which is greatly encouraged by cheap digital photography. Would Mr Konjusha be so inclined to exert himself thus, were it not possible for his efforts to be quickly and easily recorded and equally easily shared with an admiring public?
Judging by what he says about how he was trying to put a smile on delivery drivers’ faces, he started doing this just for a bit of fun. But if he likes the fame and the attention he is now getting, he’ll perhaps continue for a while, more than he would have done in the previous century. Maybe, thanks to all the attention, his next job will be in advertising.
What’s the betting someone turns this dirty art into something that will actually get printed, nice and cleanly, onto a nice clean van?
I’ve included “cats and kittens” in the category list because the guy says that some of the faces he does look like hybrid human/lion faces.
Kudos to the Real Photographer who contrived to photo an airship in a way that has surely gone viral already:
The applications for the plane are broad, such as transporting cargo, performing surveillance operations, or simply to carrying super-rich tourists through the skies over London. The Guardian reports that two potential uses are monitoring refugees crossing the Mediterranean and acting as a mobile communications network at large sporting events.
A blimp. Can someone tell me how it differs from the blimps that we see already?
First customers, according to the Guardian, will be people like oil sheikhs. I suppose the dream is that the a sector of the more-money-than-sense super-rich will each want one, the way they now want a yacht.
The following picture explains (a) why all my cameras must have a zoom lens permanently available, as powerful as is within the bounds of sanity, and (b) why this zoom lens must be instantly usable. In other words why I will not tolerate faffing about with hand-attached lenses. Which means that all my cameras have had to be “bridge” cameras rather than DSLRs. I need wide-angle one moment, and then the next moment, by which I often mean the next second, I may need zoom and tons of it.
Here is the picture, which Antoine Clarke took, Twittered, and then phoned me about because he reckoned I would like it:
And I do like it. A lot. A lorry, with a panoramic photo-view of London on the side? What, as people now like to say, ‘s not to like?
But Antoine’s attached Twitter verbiage reads as follows:
What’s a Japanese torpedo bomber doing there?!?
What Japanese torpedo bomber? The world wants Antoine to zoom in on the Japanese torpedo bomber, to prove that there is indeed a Japanese torpedo bomber present.
I hoped that the photo above would download itself from Twitter, and it did. Good. But, it was only 640 pixels wide. (This Blog is 500 pixels wide.) Not so good.
When I expanded what I took to be the Japanese torpedo bomber, I got this:
If you already know that you are looking for a Japanese torpedo bomber, then you will, just about, maybe, see a Japanese torpedo bomber. But a zoomed in close-up would really have helped.
I know how hard it can be photoing vehicles that are, as it were, zooming past. Often one shot is the best you can hope for, and equally often not even that. Yesterday a Wicked Campervan zoomed, as it were, past me, with “DRINK TILL SHE’S PRETTY” written on its arse, and I completely missed photing it. (But no worries. I think it was the van in a photo you can find by scrolling down in this grumpy article.)
But something about the exact composition of Antoine’s shot tells me that Antoine’s lorry was stationary, or nearly so. So, Antoine, is there a bigger version of this shot available, more like 4000x3000 than 640x480? (4000x3000 being what my Panasonic Lumix FZ200 cranks out.) That would supply some Japanese torpedo bomber detail. Or is there even a close-up of the Japanese torpedo bomber?
Failing that, does Antoine know what enterprise this lorry was working for? Maybe they have a website, with photos?
Okay, now I’m being grumpy. It took me a long time to get into the habit of photoing all the incidental detail around a good photo, for future internetting purposes. But, with apologies for immediately demanding more when given something nice, … Antoine?
Here is what the vans of Wicked Campers (which presumably started up in Australia) look like, photoed by me over the last few months, in Lower Marsh, where they often congregate.
I claim no artistic expression points for these pictures. They merely show what these entertaining vehicles look like. All the artistic expression points go to whoever decorated the vans:
So far so excellent. More Wicked Campers van décor to be found here, many of them equally excellent if not more excellent, and equally tasteless and un-PC if not more tasteless and more un-PC.
The Guardian is not amused
So then, I decided to search out the British HQ of Wicked Campers, which wasn’t hard because it is not far from Lower Marsh at all, in very nearby Carlisle Street.
And it looks as if the Guardian’s complaints, and the complaints the Guardian reports and seeks to amplify, may be having an effect. Wicked Campers HQ was a severe disappointment, at any rate the day I visited, last week. I found only two more vans, and both were appallingly tasteful, compared to the Wicked Campers norm. The big clutch of vans above look like there were decorated by expat Aussies who don’t give a shit. These two vans look like they were done by a British art student who probably reads the damn Guardian, every day.
Picture one here is just a pattern, with no in-your-face verbiage at all. Pictures two and three are of the same van, opposite sides:
I really hope I’m wrong, and that Wicked Campers continue to prosper in their classic, tasteless, un-PC form.
Many more here, as Hartley adds, at Calvin Seibert’s My “Sand Castles” Flickr site.
Here, I think we can say with confidence, is another impact of digital photography. Seibert doesn’t say in his short introductory spiel (click on “show more") how important digital photography is in preserving something of these castles before the incoming tide or human destructiveness or accident claims them. But it obviously is. Would he have developed this way of sculpting, if he had had no convenient way of recording it?
And my other thought is that the website where Hartley learned about these castles, which is called Amusing Planet and which I had not previously heard of, will be well worth making regular visits to. It says in this post that Amusing Planet has now been in action for nearly eight years. I must have been there before. But, I didn’t pay any attention to the surroundings of whatever posting I was looking at. I should have.
At that excellent party last night, the one that gave rise to last night’s spectacular non sequitur of a posting, Rob Fisher mentioned that he had thoughts from time to time which are too inconsequential and un-thought-through for Samizdata, but which are still definitely thoughts that he wants to put out there, but for which he has no outlet. He used to have a personal blog, but not since he started writing for Samizdata.
My response was this: Write these thoughts down. Send them to BrianMicklethwaitDotCom, explicitly identifying them as submissions to BrianMicklethwaitDotCom. And the chances, overwhelmingly, are that I will post them here as guest postings. After all, as last night’s spectacular non sequitur of a posting illustrates, the quality control here is very, very relaxed. Sometimes stuff here is good, but it absolutely doesn’t have to be. It just has to be stuff.
I just wanted to make that clear, in case Rob has forgotten, or has remembered but thought that I was just rambling drunkenly and didn’t mean it.
This is not a general invitation to all of my acquaintances to bombard me with drunken would-be bloggage. And it is certainly not an invitation to wanker social media PR slaves to “submit” boring pieces about things I don’t care about by people I don’t care about, sometimes hinting at money that I will never get, and causing my email address to get onto yet more lists, wielded by yet more wanker social media PR slaves. Not that me saying that will put these wanker social media PR slaves off. But I just wanted to get it out there.
Incoming from 6k ...:
This was a 1960s scheme to sell glass, dreamt up by minions of glass superbusiness Pilkington’s. It was never going to get built, but had it been, it would have been a walk away from where I live, and would have been my route to Vauxhall railway station.
6K is right that this kind of thing, and in particular this kind of bridge, interests me. See the first picture and the commentary on it in this posting here, July 2015.
Quote (if I don’t regularly quote me, who will?):
… this shows old London Bridge, with all its buildings. What fun it would be for London to build itself another such bridge. One of the reasons I so welcome the new Blackfriars Station, on its bridge, is that it sets a precedent for just such a bridge with buildings some time in the future. This new Ponte Vecchio on Thames probably shouldn’t be in the middle of London, though, because that would spoil a lot of views. Why not a big bridge of this sort further downstream? Any decade now …
LATER: Meanwhile, a very different bridge ...:
... is to be built across the river, just upstream from the actually existing Vauxhall Bridge. That is the picture the winner of the competition produced. On the basis of that, among other things, this winner will “design” the new bridge. Looks to me like he already has designed it.
Also, yet another bridge has been proposed to join Docklands to the other side of the river.
So there I was, in the bath I think it was, listening to the cricket in Dubai, and Agnew mentioned what sounded like a rather interesting photo, of a very tall cricketer called Mohammad Irfan, being interviewed. The particular fun being that Irfan is very tall, and both the interviewer and the cameraman are standing on boxes:
Agnew mentioned that he had seen this photo on Twitter, and that was enough of a clue for me to find it (scroll down to Nov 15 until you get to the bit where it says: “Love this pic of Irfan being interviewed") very quickly:
Bonus: another photographer in the shot.
More and more, the world is following me, in no longer wanted to exclude other photographers from its photos, but instead to include other photographers.
As I published this, I made another mental note to look up a bit of the history of this place on Cambridge Street. I also made a mental note that my mental notes seem not to be working at reminding me to do things.
This is a big part of what blogs, and now Twitter, Facebook, and all the rest of it, are for. Never mind all those damn other readers. What proportion of internet postings of various sorts are there not for anyone else, but for the poster himself to remember whatever it was? This of course requires you to trawl back through your own output from time to time, which I do do from time to time.
Here is another internet posting vaguely relevant to the above, about people who find it impossible not to remember things, the things in this case being faces. Most of us have heard of those unfortunates whose brains have been smacked and they can’t remember faces that ought to be familiar, like their children’s. This is about people who have received a different sort of smack, from their own DNA, which makes them super-good at remembering faces, even ones they don’t want to. When someone says to you “I never forget a face”, it just might be true.
The piece includes gratuitously irrelevant pictures of that actress who was in that favourite TV comedy series you know the one and of that other actor who was in that James Bond movie from way back, called whatever it was called I don’t remember. It’s on the tip of my … that thing inside my face … you know, that hole, under my eyes …
Going back to 6k’s bon mot above, this only got typed into the www on account of his rule, and mine, of trying to do something every day. You start doing a pure quota posting, and then you think of something truly entertaining to add to it, which you would never have put on the www had it not occurred to you at the exact moment you were in the middle of typing in a blog posting that was in need jazzing up a bit, e.g. with a bon mot.
A notable Brian has just died. Close.
Scyld Berry writes about the bravest man to ever play cricket:
The story was that when a ball hit him on the head at short-leg, he shouted “catch it!” Eric Morecombe joked that the start of the cricket season was the sound of leather on Brian Close.
RIP Tweet by Alan Butcher (which was how I learned about this):
Was once in a Roller with Brian Close. Went over a speed bump too quick. His head went clean through the roof upholstery.
Close was also one of the few men ever to make Boycott get a move on (see para 11).
He was a great England captain, briefly, but was then sacked for … well, for wanting to win too much, basically. Then reinstated briefly, much later. Should have been captain all that time.
Incoming photo (which is something I like a lot), from Simon Gibbs, of a sign (I like signs a lot), near Southwark Cathedral:
Click on that to get the bigger, unhorizontalised picture, and read more about what this is about here. Google sends me regular links to anything that is “new architecture london”, and there’s been lots written about this place.
Although, rather oddly, I couldn’t find any pictures of this sign. Maybe this will change that.
The gimmick is that this is a pub that sprays alcohol into the air. That was always going to be catnip to the media, social and regular. “Breathe responsibly”. Arf, arf. There are already plenty of pictures around of that sign.
This one (number 9) is among the most vivid:
What (I think) makes this such a remarkable image is that, by showing how totally the cars have all been wrecked, the nature of what hit them is, as it were, permanently recorded, the way it might not have been registered by mere empty ground. And because they are cars rather than buildings, each one a regular and very small distance from the ground, every ruined car is clearly visible, the way wrecked buildings might not have been. It’s as if each car is a fire-sensitive cell, like digital cameras have inside them for nailing down light.
Fireball. Nothing else could have done that.
However much the government of China and its various offshoots and local manifestations might have wanted to keep this amazing event under wraps, modern media, including digital photography, still and video, meant that they had no chance.
I don’t often go to pubs, because of the noise. But Goddaughter 2, raised in France, wanted to try eating a pie in a pub, so we went to the Barley Mow in Horseferry Road to see what they had. They had pies, which proved very tasty.
Two particular circumstances made the evening pure perfection for me, besides the pure perfection of Goddaughter 2’s company I mean.
First, they had the latest England v NZ cricket ODI on the telly, and I got to watch the conclusion of England’s outstanding and outstandingly successful run chase that has just levelled the ODI series 2-2. And second, this being the twenty-first century, GD2 had her smartphone with her and was texting with all her friends. I hope you aren’t bored because of me doing all this texting, she said. No no, I said, gazing happily at the giant telly screen, you just carry on my dear. Don’t mind me. As I said to her when we were leaving, had I been asked to chose the perfect hour and more to spend in a pub this week, then given that this pub had the cricket on the go, and given that my ever-delightful companion was apologising for neglecting me and communing instead with her smartphone, this hour and more would have been it.
There was noise but it didn’t matter. We didn’t do much in the way of conversation, in other words we didn’t shout much at each other, although we did a bit because it wasn’t actually that noisy. But we were mostly doing two separate things that did not require peace and quiet to work. GD2 didn’t need silence to read and write her texts. I didn’t need any television cricket commentators to tell me that England were batting up a storm.
As we left I asked GD2 if she reckoned the social media have made it better for women in pubs. She reckoned yes they probably have. If men in pubs are diverted by men’s stuff, like cricket on the telly, then any women they have dragged along with them are now able to entertain themselves, instead of just sitting there moping and getting bored. Or, if the men were a bit more gracious than that, they would force themselves to ignore the men’s stuff and do conversation, despite their strong inclinations. Also not ideal. So, social media definitely equals progress. And if the women are distracted by women’s stuff, then the men can play with their smartphones.
One of the very few uses I have found for my own smartphone, aside from telling me where I am and where to go when I am out and about, is acquainting myself with the latest cricket scores when I am out and about.
Part of getting old (new category here – I still have a lot of categorising to do so bear with me on that) is that you just forget to do things, even things that you like. Thus, I have recently been forgetting to read Anton Howes. Today I remembered, and started reading, in particular, this posting, which is most recent as of now.
Uber isn’t a taxi company; it is a market. It provides a trust-based platform made up of assurances and ratings in order to let anyone ask “Can I have a ride? / Want a ride?” without sounding creepy.
I will now read the whole thing.
I am probably going to start doing Twitter, quite soon, years after everyone else. Does anyone have any advice about that? About whether, and if so about how?
Frank J has advice to offer about why you should do it:
What is the purpose of writing? Did you say to share your thoughts? To influence? To educate? To entertain? To conjure made-up worlds and share them with others?
Well, that’s all nonsense. The purpose of writing is to demonstrate to everyone how clever you are.
Here is a frightful warning about how a tweet can ruin your life. I now think I probably don’t have that much of a life to ruin, but perhaps Twitter will make me soon look back on my life now with desperate longing for a lost golden age.
My regular readers probably have a pretty good idea of what I might or might not use Twitter to do. Any thoughts? Or warnings? Dos? Don’ts? What I did rights? What I did wrongs? Etc.