Honestly, I quite like the new McDonalds ads. I haven’t seen the TV campaign (I assume there is one) and I’m sure the radio version’s a bit shit, but the billboards are neat. In them, I recognise the branch I worked at for two years. My first job. I fucking hated it.
But that bunch of shared experiences around a shared mono-cultural reference point, that rings true. There’s no need to talk about quality in the ad – McDonalds just is. And of course you’ve been on a date there, and of course you’ve had one in a hurry on the way home, and of course your parents treated you to one. Because it’s there.
I won’t actually go to one though, despite the ads. I mean, I worked there.
Three slogans and photographs I’d love to see but won’t…
‘The chip-fryer splash scream’
‘The cleaning out the playground grimace’
‘The hurry child to the loo in time dash’
Like I said, one last thirty day thing left in me. But this one I’m keeping offline.
Nat’s started up 30 days of stories, which got me thinking of an alternative version. A cover version. 30 stories on thirty postcards. I won’t be sticking to her list as I imagine the postcards themselves will take me in another direction, but I might well use a few of them.
If you want one, email me; firstname.lastname@example.org
Aaaaaand done. This one goes out to my colleagues, who I’ll see in October. Got a month out now to recharge after an extremely stressful summer. I’m planning to start 2015 early – who’s with me?
A blanket of snow.
YES OKAY I CHEATED WHATEVER
The front room of the flat I’ve just sold. Spent six very sad months in it, but leaving was still bittersweet because of all the things it could have been. Extremely relieved to start September with a clean slate though. Happy, too.
Yesterday’s email from Pome was oddly fitting;
Counting the Rain
Check the gas and hide the back door key.
Lock up. Make sure you have, and then
Go out and count the rain, and this time
Do it properly. You won’t be home again.
Sean O’Brien (2011)
Safe to say I’m the other side of that infrastructure phase of the last couple of years. Constant exposure to shipping containers and train cars and blah blah blah… they’re all just objects.
Shunt’s The Boy Who Climbed Out Of His Own Face put the nail in the coffin. Set on a collection of shipping containers, it staged a sequence of excessive capitalist spectacles probably in order to make you question the system you’re involved in. Except it doesn’t, because it spits you out into a pop-up bar besides the river. It tries to have its cake and eat it. Crumbs everywhere.
Fetishising the boxes doesn’t make the network better legible. It doesn’t make the consequences of zero-sum consumerism any more apparent. The node is not the network.