Scriffles: How easily perceptions change.

Took my dog Meg out to get a new collar with glow-in-the-dark spikes yesterday.
Her first public appearance since she went blind in one eye.
Used to be, everywhere we'd go passers-by involuntarily would exclaim: "Oh she's so cute!"
Yesterday it was: "Oh she's blind."

Scriffles: Brain cells are invisible, no one pays them any mind.

Awe: n. Probably before 1300, in Arthour and Merlin; developed from earlier age (about 1250, in The Story of Genesis and Exodus) ... 
The Chambers Dictionary of Etymology, a text explaining the origins and development of English words, traces the use of the word awe back to when it meant fear and terror.
"Awesome" didn't come into use until 1598 and just over 400 years later it is an ubiquitous expression for amazing, fabulous, fantastic, incredible, OMG!, sick, trippy...

Alien ghetto in South Africa - District 9. Awesome!
Susan Boyle getting up despite derision and sneers to sing. Awesome!

The whole world quests for the unknown, for the new, for the "never-before seen", for the unimaginable, elusive, invisible, beautiful secret "thing". Why is it invisible?

If we find it what's the first thing we'd do?
"AWESOME!" We need to shout it from the rooftops.
It's not ours. We are making it into something else.
The ugly truth about wanting to "share" the "awesome" is that most of the time the only concern is about "keeping up appearances".
We must make ourselves appear to be interesting.
Gossipers know what I'm talking about - this is the "awesome" thing about gossipers.

They're a breed that's been on Earth since the year dot - spreading their "awesomeness".
Gossipers steamroll every little juicy morsel of awesomeness out of every elusive, invisible, beautiful thing their little brains can fathom.
Same beast today as at the height of the Roman Empire - read Homer, read Shakespeare, see Pulp Fiction, see UP!
They gossip to make themselves feel important.
Certain brain cells wither and die - did you know that the human brain has a finite capacity?
So what you see as awesome depends upon what you spend your life focusing on.

Brain cells are invisible, no one pays them any mind.
But they exist. 
No don't crack your skull open, take my word for it.
And if you use them perhaps you too might happen upon on something elusive, tantalizing just out of reach "thing".
Will you keep it to yourself?
Like a child enjoying a stolen chocolate.
Like buying that pair of shoes without telling your husband.
Like sleeping with your soul mate, who's not you spouse.
Like stealing out during work hours for a surf.

We are exploiters, plunderers! Poseurs! Fakes all looking for the genuine article.
I think that's ok - if we're genuinely honest about it with ourselves.
But we're not. 
Take individuality.

You don't EVER want to be SEEN to be outside the square. 
You want to be inside the square telling people it's a diamond.
Break down: homogenization is the brand - that's why it's called "mass" marketing.

Give an eight-year-old an iPod, they scream for joy (hopefully): pause, rewind, play hundreds, thousands of songs.
Imagine if you gave a 21st century brat a vinyl record and an old record player which played but eight to 10 tracks before you had to physically walk to the player, turn the album over and then set down the needle? And it doesn't have cool earphones so you can walk down the street for everyone to see. Different story in the record player's heyday.
Well, some people still like to play records - some pretty awesome DJs do.
I don't feel like researching but I bet the guy who started scratchin' and sampling was as invisible as your brain cells until someone connected - it's called tinkering.

Most people really aren't that interesting any more.
I blame TV producers.
"Now is the winter of my discontent..." :•{(
People just don't tinker any more. 
They switch off. Literally. I do it too, OK. So I know!
William Robinson, a great Australian artist, once said he was almost invisible for most of his career because he was too busy in the studio making art to promote himself - unlike some of his flamboyant contemporaries who are now forgotten.
And former Australian of the Year, Professor Ian Frazer, talks about how seemingly insignificant discoveries all add up until one day the light bulb goes off - and that could be a century later.
I blame the TV networks for the lag. ;)

We spend most of our lives trying to be someone else, put down those who have what we don't, or go for broke in a jealous rage frantically burying it because Mozart wrote it and we didn't.
Even a tired smile and a pat on the head pleases a child seeking acknowledgement - but "the world" would have us bedazzled with the brilliance of a perfect set of veneers.
Why would someone who has something really, really special want to share it with "the world"?
It's an awesome prospect - in the fear and terror sense of the word.
When a gambler wins we are gobsmacked - as we stealthily climb into the saddle of that steamroller. 

You want to know why I blame TV networks? Think reality TV!
We have laws against inciting hatred don't we?
Perhaps I should just stop right here.

The truth is 100 percent of the world possesses that elusive, invisible, beautiful, secret thing and it can't be bought and it can't be sold and it's invisible - until we express it in some visible form.
And we hope it's as beautiful as Apple's iPhone. 
But if you want something commercial then make sure you're aiming squarely at that target - otherwise it's delusional.
Those of us who dare to call a square a square and not a diamond - whether from inside or outside the square - will dance in our living rooms, sing to the dog, write to our heart's content and dream with one foot in the grave looking up - like Deborah Kerr in An Affair to Remember - rushing towards that elusive, invisible, beautiful secret. And I don't care at all that no body's watching, reading or listening. In fact, I'm glad. :p

Ah, they've brought me my medication.... sometimes it's not the stars. Sometimes it's a button lying in a crack on the pavement.

Scriffles: Luck's just around the corner.

I left home to do grocery shopping thinking: "I have nothing to more to write. Ever. I have nothing to say. I will blog no more. I will not take my camera. I will not take my Flip. There's nothing out there for me any more."

I hop in the car and weave my way through my little crossroads puzzle to the main road where a certain "tolerance" factor is introduced. 
Game on. 
Suddenly everything is interesting once more.
Some white-haired geezer glares at me as I pull in behind him - my blood starts to boil.
"Watch yo'all lookin' at? Are you lookin' at me?"
I keep my distance giving him no excuses.

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Don't worry no one got hurt. 
Astounding how intense people are on the road - death stares in rear vision mirrors "just because".
I tell you it's a powder keg when combined with PMT.

I can hear these words falling out of the mouth of a defence lawyer in a courtroom now: "What did she say?"
" 'Just because', Your Honour...."
"Just because" is the equal and opposite force to "Whatever"!

You might not think of a parking lot as a haven but it is for me 'cause the Parking Fairy is my friend.
I found a park beside a post right at the entrance to the ramp that goes up to Coles!
I have the knack, I am charmed when it comes to parking. Luck.

Guys don't get PMT but some of them are in a constant state of PMT I think.
Like the guy on the weekend who happened to glance round just at the moment that I got too frustrated with his girlfriend standing with the door open so I couldn't pull into the empty car park space beside them.
So I threw my hands up in the air in frustration.
He wasn't supposed to see. He was facing the other way.
The cars behind me start beeping because I'm holding up traffic and this loser wags his finger at me!
He's ready to get out of the car and tell me off except his girlfriend is trying to understand why he's all upset and is trying to calm him down.
Finally she gets into the car and closes the door and I'm scared to pull into the car park for fear of retribution but I've got to get out of the way.
So I decide to pull in and I wind the window down.
"What's the matter?" she says.
"I don't know your boyfriend's a nut case," I reply. "I didn't do anything."

You know those nights when you lie awake terrified that nothing will ever be right again - the long, dark night of the soul or something like that.
Well, stretch that out over a period of a few days and call it PMT.
It feels like nothing is right or will ever right again.
"Just because" - is the overriding force that takes over if you're not talking yourself down at these times with soothing thoughts like:
"Give it a day before you react. No, it's not a good idea to eat the guy in the car in front."

On my way to Coles I saw a beautiful African girl dressed to the 9s in her school uniform.
Luck comes before everything in the game of life.
This country gives her the opportunity to live peacefully and prosper.
That's lucky isn't it?
She has the perspective of two cultures - that's lucky too.

Thinking lucky is something parents can pass on to their children.

And maybe some people are born with it.
If it doesn't come naturally then it may take years to develop - if you're lucky.

One thing's for sure it's damn near impossible if you never hear a voice raised in your defence.

My theory is that everyone needs just one person to tell them that they are worthy, they are talented, they are beautiful, they are lucky...

If just one person truly believes in you - a teacher, your grandma, your friend, your husband - you start to believe too because everyone really wants to believe they're OK.

Everyone needs someone to believe in them - especially at that crucial point when you think there's no hope.
I read a tweet the other day: A friend is someone who knows the song in your heart and sings it back to you when you can't remember it."

Luck comes in many shapes and sizes.
He's just around the corner. 
She's sitting beside you.
He's smiling.
She's in your heart.
You are someone's Luck.

Scriffles: Designing a vulture.

In 1991, audiences thrilled to Anthony Hopkin's performance as Hannibal Lecter in Silence of the Lambs which ended in the now classic line: "I'm having an old friend for dinner".
It's a landmark in the world of film. Five Oscars!

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Only three years later, a photographer named Kevin Carter took this photo of a toddler in Sudan.
It also won an award, the Pulitzer Prize.
It is a landmark in photojournalism. It too tells a story.

The photographer tried to make the vulture out to be the villain but instead became the villain himself.
People wondered at the photographer's lack of humanity - he might as well of eaten the child himself.
Apparently, he chased the vulture away and left the starving child some distance away from help.

I wonder. How many people in his situation would have been afraid to touch the face of death?
If suddenly the cafes of James Street were magically transported to Sudan, to 1994 the moment before Kevin Carter stumbles upon this child, would people even notice the child?
They would be living a drama of their own in their heads.

In fiction writing the best way to design a villain is to let your audience inside his head - that means you have to go their first.

Yesterday I did a TV writing seminar and the question was posed: "Can you identify with the vulture? Can you write from the vulture's perspective"
It's only a one-day seminar so we didn't actually do the exercise but university students do this.
I Googled the photo as I sat down to try this exercise. But I remember the controversy.

In 1994, the aspiring young writers at UQ would have not been much older than this child. 
It's not so much the vulture in this photograph that caused such a controversy - it was ethics of the photographer.

No one knows what happened to the child or the vulture but the photographer didn't survive.
What was going on in his head? Now there's a story I'd like to write.

Scriffles: The Vulture. A short, short story about a photograph of death.

(WARNING: Perhaps you might want to read yesterday's blog first to put this in context. This is fiction. This is a writing exercise looking at the perspective of the vulture in the Pulitzer Prize winning photo taken in 1994.)

The vulture sits on a dead tree and remembers the land as it once was, green, until a fly buzzes around his head and distracts him.

Weak with hunger, he loosens the grip of his razor claws on the branch and sways from foot to foot.
Through half-closed eyes, he gazes across the searing barren plains.
There! 
An animal crumples to the earth under the puny weight of its own skeletal form.
Better than nothing, thinks the vulture.
Suddenly revived and alert, the vulture casts an eye about the sky.
No other vultures.
With minimum effort, he sweeps low, moving but his wing tips.
The rising heat fills his wings but burns his belly while the sun bakes his back.
He circles once.
The winged flight casts a shadow upon the lonely child barely breathing, barely conscious, unprotected.
The vulture's claws raise dust as they hit the earth. 
He stumbles, panting, moving awkwardly towards what he thinks is wayside carrion.
And then he sees a man.
The vulture stops.
So close and yet ... 
Can't he see that the child is dead?
The vulture waits. 
Is he going to shoot me?
The vulture waits.
They are three grotesque statues.
Finally, the man shoots, his camera buzzes and clicks.
The man stands up, disappointed, and circles an imaginary perimeter around the child towards the bird.
"All you had to do was raise your wings for the camera!" he shouts frustrated but secretly pleased.
He chases the bird away so no one else catches the shot.
In his mind the child is dead.
He walks away but hesitates and glances back.
He decides the child is dead.

Design should be a compulsory subject. (Scriff-File 238)

I've gained a new appreciation of the importance and difficulty of design as I've wrestled with digital design problems over the past few years.
These days I marvel at the little flatpack I can assemble into a cute little filing cabinet.
I look at the manholes in the busways and think "Wow, someone had to think of how maintenance would be done in the bus tunnel."
I look at a html page and think "Wow!"
"WOW!"
I see the structure, I pick up some phrases, I so want to read the document but the next thought is "No!"
It's a problem for me.
One of my major goals is to learn how to make a WordPress blog myself.
I keep making bookmarks and putting it off. I've been putting it off for three months now.

It took me months to master the simplest html - it was like learning shorthand all over again.
It took years to learn Flash, mainly because I didn't have access to the program - and then I was confronted with Design!
I've learned to make do.
I do what I can, accept any advice that might be forthcoming but given my shortcomings and the constraints of time - if it works I'm happy.
I know "It's just like that record player."
It plays records, CDs and FM radio and you can make MP3s off records.
But the layout of function buttons is quirky and it takes long way round.
The Power Button is where I expect the eject button to be.
Push "Power on" and it defaults to the CD player.
The CD player has to initialize before the function button works to flip to the record player or radio.
The CD eject button is up one from the other CD buttons.
What the heck was the designer thinking?
All the toil!
Am I mad? I'm grasping for things far beyond my reach.
Can I do better?

I'm going to a master class by tomorrow by Information Architects Tokyo CEO Oliver Reichenstein who has a pretty impressive CV.
It's a X Media Lab workshop on News and the Spectrum of User Experience - he's also speaking at the XML Media Update for 2010.

The reason this former newspaper journalist started thinking digital is because she heard Richard Titus, the co-founder of Schematic speak at the Screen Producers of Australia Association's conference in 2004-2005.

Titus, formerly the BBC's Controller of Future Media and the Controller of User Experience and Design is now the CEO of Associated Northcliffe Digital.
I'm really looking forward to hearing what he has to say this time.

When I first heard him speak future trends (TiVo) and long tails (Amazon), I didn't know what a content management system was and I had no desire at all to learn programming - I was interested in writing.

I taught myself Photoshop in between migrating a ton of content under tight nightly deadlines.
I took leave to attend Flash courses which I paid for.
I listened to Australian business people producing mobi-sodes and webi-sodes talk at AFTRS and SPAA Fringe.
I continue to learn and at the same time I'm trying to figure out writing I'm trying to figure out design.
So I'm baulking at programming.
It's so unforgiving. One little " out of place and KAPUT.

This is so not right in my way of thinking.
But then is this the kind of thinking that leads to doom?
I'm thinking of the former general manager of Chile's Mint who lost his job after the Mint issued thousands of 50 peso coins with the name of the country spelt: C-H-I-I-E instead of CHILE.