Gnome? I Never Even Met Him!

Teenager Jose Alvarez - who filmed the gnome - yesterday told national newspaper El Tribuno that they caught the creature while larking about in their hometown of General Guemes, in the province of Salta, Argentina.

He said: “We were chatting about our last fishing trip. It was one in the morning.

“I began to film a bit with my mobile phone while the others were chatting and joking.

"Suddenly we heard something - a weird noise as if someone was throwing stones.

"We looked to one side and saw that the grass was moving. To begin with we thought it was a dog but when we saw this gnome-like figure begin to emerge we were really afraid."

Jose added that other locals had come forward to say they had spotted the gnome.

Just Because It May Be My Favourite Ad Ever

Who doesn't like a good pinata?
Or even a bad pinata.

The Lengths I Will Go To To Convince Freddy I Won a Boat

Tim Horton's (Canadian-based coffee and donut phenomenon) has a 'roll up the rim to win' contest. My friend Freddy has been buying coffees for what seems like months in the hopes of winning 'something' - be it a free coffee or one of the more spectacular prizes, like a Boat. To date, his efforts and $1.29s have proven tragically unsuccessful.

In a moment of universal irony, the coffee Freddy so graciously bought me today was a winner. Knowing that he didn't know this yet, I decided that the best way to repay his kindness would be to pretend that I'd won the boat.
This would be like someone buying you the Wonka bar with the Golden Ticket in it.

I opened up Illustrator to mockup the rim prize claim note. Unfortunately, my efforts were thwarted when Freddy read my Tweet about winning the boat, and ran into my office on the verge of fury. It all happened so quickly, my efforts were shot.

But it deserves to live somewhere. So here:

Basket Cases

The supermarket is one of the best places I can think of to be inspired by humanity's quirks. One of my favourite things to do on a lazy weekend afternoon, is grocery shop. Sounds lame. Perhaps it is. But it's not about the act of running an errand - it's about how it becomes this eye-opening odyssey into the inner lives of complete strangers.

A few years ago, the moment of enlightenment struck when I was behind an older man, bent, weathered, sporting an outfit of unremarkable details. But look! What is this he's buying? 8 heads of cabbage, 14 cans of Manwich and 4 x 2L grapefruit sodas. What could you possibly be making mister? Is this meal (whatever is may be) so violently appealing that you can repeat it everyday for..what?...3-4 years?

I'm in love with you mister.

And today - today I began to calculate the best parts of the supermarket for quiet observation. The meat section is a good one, for it is there that the stranger ears, snouts and etceteras are found for purchase. Anyone buying snouts is bound to have intriguing side dish elements in their carts: I was rewarded with the proposition of snout with gherkins and mushy peas with frozen strawberries for dessert.

To me, there are infinite backstories to be found in a grocery cart. Even the young men with the oddly gourmet tastes are curious. And hot. But that's different.

In the same vein, I know of a series of projects that fabricate stories based on found shopping receipts. All those shopping lists for all those personalities. It never ceases to fascinate.

Fun Imag!

Occasionally I like to investigate my numbers (ya, I know, I know..). In doing so, I find some fun google search terms ("how to make a slutty costume" has appeared with frightening frequency) and a variety of great pages - blogs, feeds, etc.

Today, I found a combination of the two - I believe it's Google's Bhutan page. The search term: "Fun imag".

I topped the list! I can die happy now.
(no I can't.)

Snorterly Tranquileizer

'Lei' because of me. It tranquilizes me.
What is 'it'? Well son, hop up here and take a boo:


That's right. Mr Sketch smelly markers.

I notice, through blog posts and things that I say, that I've been waxing nostalgic recently. Lord knows why - maybe it has something to do with constantly trying to anticipate the future at work. My soul craves a little of the good ol' days. And in this case, the good ol' days are 1988 and Mr. Sketch smelly markers.

My favourite scents were light blue and pink, with light blue in the clear lead. Light blue was meant to smell like mango [fail], but it didn't matter - I literally couldn't (still can't) remove the cap without deep huffing. It's narcotic and disarming - yoga for the ol'factory.

So, a happy surprise:
When I need a breather from being THAT copywriter, I go and grab a Tazo tea from Starbucks, typically erring on the non-caffeinated side. One day, a new addition to the box display: Berryblossom White.


One sip, and my brain melted: every taste bud standing on end, screaming with Grade 2 art class. I swear to you, dear blogrels, it's like someone ground up Mr. Sketch blue smelly markers, bagged the debris and steeped away. My mind races with questions: namely, if the dulcet aromas of a Mr. Sketch light blue marker represents mango [again, fail] then is a berryblossom closer to the mark? Is there some natural combination of things that produce this heavenly stench?

Will my heart explode from such simple joys as these?

Goodbye Brett

Travis, one of the other writers at Tribal lost someone important yesterday:
Green Bay Packers quarterback Brett Favre.

To honour Travis - and Brett - we created this little tribute.
Written by me, performed by Freddy, JC and Jess.

What we lack in rhythm, we make up for in heart.




Lyrics:
This goes out to all the Green Bay Packers fans who lost someone today. His name’s Brett.

Let’s do this.


Seems like yesterday you used to snap and throw
Laced your shoes and rocked Lambeau
The back of your jersey was number fo’
Green Bay Packers, you won the bowl
You were 1995’s MVP (uh-uh)
Words cant express what that meant to me
Even though you’re gone, they’re still a team
But now it’s like a Sundae without whipped cream
Brett next season I’m afraid to see
The Favre-less team playin’ on tv
Reminisce that tie in ‘0-2 at season’s end (uh-uh)
Try to black it out, but it plays again
Pain was real, vicodin tried to conceal
Can’t imagine injuries you feel
Give anything to keep you with us Brett (with us Brett)
Thanks to big ass paychecks - you got no debt.

Chorus:

Every chair I break, every ad I make
Every single day, every time they play
I’ll be missing you
Thinking of the play, when you ran away
What a point to make, what a game to break
I’ll be missing you


Link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ywFSg4Zql1g

Does Anybody Remember Yahoo Serious?

Ok, well to begin with, this doesn't have anything to do with Yahoo serious. It has to do with a memory I just retrieved from Grade 6. But I promise, at the end of the day, when all is said and done and the dust has settled, then..ultimately..after all that..there will be Yahoo Serious.

This is dedicated to my oldest friend Jess.
You are pregnant now. That's weird.
Just sayin'.

Our story takes place in our elementary school portable. The building itself was something of an educational refugee colony, mainly thrown to excess grade 5s and pregnant French teachers. This year, it was Mr McCauliff's Musical Centre of Excellence.

From the very beginning, Mr McCauliff expressed unabashed devotion to the works of Andrew Lloyd Webber and Phil Collins. We set to work immediately on two songs:
- Music of the Night (Lloyd Webber's sweeping gothic melody from The Phantom of the Opera)
- Groovy Kind of Love (Phil Collins. Yes.)

Mr McCauliff was a perfectionist - he demanded that our pubescent voices ring out the haunting lyricism of lines like "When I kiss your lips, ooh I start to shiver/ Cant control the quivering inside" with complete conviction.

Two songs, rehearsed daily for six months. It would be a a coup for Adult Contemporary: leveling the playing field between 11 year olds in slap bracelets and 37 year olds in dickies.

The details of the concert are still shady. I believe there was a ukele showcase (the school prided itself on its well rounded musical programme. Clearly I missed something), and the kindergartens likely sang something shrill and fetching. We, the dauntless Webber/Collinses, dressed in white shirts and black pants, took to the stage. We sang these songs for the last time.

If I squint my mind's eye, I think I can still see the shell shock on my parent's faces.

But now, years later, I believe that Mr McCauliff triumphed after all. On the whole, Grade 6 recitals are unremarkable. At least ours delivered the kind of soulful energy you can only grasp while buying meals for one at Valu Mart.

Next week's caricature of a Music Teacher: Mr. Furta.

And now, as promised - Yahoo Serious.

This Ever Happen to Anyone Else?

It's a little scary. Like asexual reproduction of the Error Message kind.
I tried to make it stop. But it felt some sort of natural imperative to keep procreating.

I forced it to quit. I am top of the food chain.

These Things Brighten My Day

#1: Kool Aid Man

I smile when I think about how many fences died in the making of this ad.



#2: Opening Theme of Rocket Robin Hood

My favourite ever part is where Rocket Robin hood does this little 'hands in the air' bit at :13.

No Thought of Yeats

apprehending underhanded blue jeans
by no means apologetically apoplectic
in the apocalyptic honey festival.

She sold the baby.

Words to the hoards
Walking by signs, metallic in lines
While the wood trees wall to wall, fall
to their living knees.

Stay, please -
It's hot outside, and deranged.

Science is Awesome

Stumbling is also awesome. I came across Carl Zimmer's site of Science Tattoos.
Yes, SCIENCE + TATTOOS ( = Science Tattoos).

Science is the new Rock n Roll. It's dangerous. In your face. Rebellious.
It'll scar your children's flesh and laugh in your face.

But probably the best part of these science tattoos lies in the descriptors. Wicked bad ass science tattoo descriptions make me feel like a wicked dumbass.
Here are two examples:

"Here is a picture of my serotonin tattoo. I don't know that it needs much more explanation than it's my favorite neurotransmitter."--Hayley

And then there's this defiance piece from Jeremy Batten.
This man knows his late Jurassic transitional fossils. No foolin.

"Here is my archaeopteryx, the 'missing link' between birds and reptiles. It comes in handy as a visual tool during debates with creationists that like to visit campus sometimes! Yes, I know structural pigments probably had not evolved by this time..." --Jeremy Batten

A Sorta Calendar

Being in the advertising world, you often forget the real sentiment behind holidays, and focus on the cheaper representational characteristics. In a bid to ground ourselves, my partner Jess and I have devised a way of humbling ourselves over the course of a year.

"Be Like the French. Wear Sexy"

An ad for Simon Perele.


From Ads of the World

Sometimes There's So Much Beauty In the World...

Jessica's comment: "They should have used two breads. Cause the other side looks so lonely, right?"

Some Things That Crazy Man in The Subway Said

"you can give me a ticket, but I'm not payin it"

"I come from Alberta. And there'n steak and oil. BUT NONE FOR YOU, ARSEHOLE"

"When you wear boots, you got those boots on. And you they're made for walking. And boots are... WHAT ARE YOU STARING AT?"

Sheep Terror

Nothing Says "I love you" Like Blatant Racism

All I can say is: "oy".

Advertising Snarkfest

Me to Freddy: "I love Diamond Shreddies. It's hilarious. It's brilliant."
Freddy to Me: "It's Stupid."
Me to Freddy: "Your face is stupid. Put it on your blog"
Freddy to Me: "No, it's stupid."
Me to Freddy: (knowing he loves the whopper freakout and wanting to be a contrarian)
"The Whopper freakout is stupid."
Freddy to Me: "Whopper freakout is brilliant. I'll make you a bet. If we have reviews this week, I'll post diamond shreddies on my blog. If we don't, you post whopper freakout."
Me to Freddy: "Agreed."

And yes, we had our reviews. And now I too will post a Diamond Shreddies item on my blog. And I will also post Whopper Freakout. Because I am a good sport.

Diamond Shreddies:



Whopper Freakout:

Installing Cable May Be a Huge Mistake

This happened when I was getting my cable tv box installed. I wrote it the moment after he left, so I think I got his words faithfully recorded. Of course, there is always a bit of a filter when it comes to writing or photographing that skews the memory of something - filters it. But nonetheless, the upshot of this 20 or so minutes may be the opposite of what he intended: I want to get more things installed. If only for the conversation.

"I have something to say. I don’t know why I want to say it, but I do" he said.

"I would like to hear what you have to say" I said.

“If you want to ask me, there is time, and there are moments.”

“Ah.”

“A moment is different from time. Time is measured in maps, and clocks. Moments are very different. You can’t measure them. A real moment is when …”

He stopped to glance at the tv and fiddle with the remote control.

“You are walking through a park,”

He stretched the image across the screen, a Li’l Rascals-style adventure show. Four kids who mess with gangsters and gleefully make their escape.

“With a friend, a trust worthy friend. And it begins to rain. And you feel the water on your face.”

He turned and thoughtfully placed his index finger on his pliers in the belt. I thought he was indicating them for a reason, but I suspect that it’s his philosophy pose.

“And your loved one has passed on,” he continued, “and you remember walking through the park and feeling the wetness on your face and your hair. And you smile. That is a moment.”

“Tv can’t do that for you. Sit sit sit and absorb what other people are doing. So all I can say is…is that.”

“You’re a philosopher!” It came out of my delight even before I could caution it to stay.

“I did a bit of that. A long time ago, before I moved here.”

His tone was neither wistful nor resentful as he pronounced those final words. He was stating fact – he was a philosopher, now he was gathering his cables together.

“All I can say is, tv can’t offer your what a park can. If it rains on tv, you miss the feeling entirely. All I can say is, don’t offer Rogers your money.”

And he shook my hand with a sober little smile, and took his leave.