ajotoole-blog

[ajotoole-blog]

Twelve dozen angry men

Live tweeting my adventures in the Department of Justice could have got me in trouble, so instead I saved all my thoughts for later...   unedited and presented in chronological order.

Through an equal parts token apathy / inquisitively officious airport security style entrance. Guys who call you through the the arch and towards the security guard with the search wand, raising their arms wide as they do it: 

"welcome home, wel-come home!"

One corner of hemmed in chairs, already full, these must be the regulars.  Not sure which side they're on though... The jury's out. The workers here go straight to the lift. The rest of us mill about. There's a screen with 'Summary by name". This can have up to four of the same name in a row... Are they different people?   Crime's a family business. There's some interesting handles. Another airport parallel - this is taking my "what you wear to the airport is the best outward signifier of how you want the world to see you, what you want to appear as in heaven' theory up a notch. (Especially for the girl with severe blonde bob and a short leather skirt) Queue for your passport check in and your luncheon vouchers.  Everyone's sitting at a separate table. I go for one near the window so I can see HMS Belfast and the Tower of London. Both look quaint now. The Walkie Talkie looms above, the Gherkin pokes its head around a new building going up.   Shout out to the two women gossiping through the opening important details of jury service. Ridiculous that we have to have extra procedures in place because some dickheads are still addicted to nicotine through burning leaves. We're all here for the first time, but she's read out this information a hundred times and thinks it should all be obvious, and we're being held to account for the mistakes of others. Wivheld number on your tellyphone  (if they contact you out of hours, please answer)

Sitting around reading would be nice but for the chatter of people who feel the need to fill the institutional air with small talk.  Guessing at what they might be called on, how long it will take... "We're still waiting to hear if the trials are taking off..." Is that a legal term or are the staff getting on board with my airport metaphor? We've already had our little luncheon voucher handed to us, like our flight has been delayed for the required amount to supply us with a sandwich, crisps and a plasticy drink. We're airside...  Can't escape until lunch time. I've brought three books, two magazines, pen and paper and my phone, and there's piles of old books and mags and games yet there's still those in tracksuits staring at a wall and holding their head as if that much concentration is too much for them. Hmm, long hair and military coat has struck up a conversation with blonde bob leather skirt. They remain on separate nailed down tables for now. As ever, I'm not here to make fast friends. Let's let the plot unfold. Long hair's miming hitting something with a big hammer.

Larry David's full expecting his lunch to turn up early because we've been released for lunch early...   I don’t think that’s how it works.

Covert coat  has been out and now he's marched back to his table that he believes should be his for the week, despite someone else sitting there. Vegan? Oh, but of course...  Constantly hogging plugs to charge her phone. A group on week 5....  I suppose by that point it's acceptable to buddy up a bit. Listening to the people who've been around for a while, who start managing the others... "You have to go up when they call your name" "You gotta ring the bell" "You only get one vaaaaahcher a day." "You'd phink they'd let us go by knaaaaw" "Have you pressed the button?" "It's quite choppy,  that sea." Sea, madam? That's the Thames. "It was calmer earlier." Tide. If a case gets this far then the CPS must be pretty confident they can get a result, so either they did it and they’re too daft.or arrogant to cop a plea, or they're being fitted up. Or it's six of one, half a dozen of the other. Pronunciation of names by the jury officer.  I know the list is the verbal equivalent of a united nations day out to a hall of funhouse mirrors... But put some effort in. At least with the ones that look even vaguely British. “You've got to have a look at them when they read out the charges. I phink you can tell straight away.” You should tell the judge - it'd save a lot of everyone's time. Jury officer is going through everyone's claims complaining that they could do it cheaper. Some poor old fella who caught the train here for £3.90 is getting bollocked for not using his freedom pass. The other office is taking the register today.... Every pronunciation sounds pretty good so far. Well, some of the African ones are sounding a bit vague. (Why not have a check in computer or something?  All seems very antiquated / paper heavy) An enormous woman who keeps going to the wrong place at the wrong time, through the wrong door, pressing the wrong button, asking the wrong people.... Asking the sandwich lady for the court details, asking the jury officer for a tea... The trackie tramp and the other grey long hair are sitting near the desk and she's having to tell them to pipe down... Twice. The trackie tramp made a long slow and ultimately fruitless pilgrimage to the vending machine.  It's fucking useless apparently. Tracking tramp's shouting at the WiFi.   He's also on the not called yet list. There's a grim inevitability about this.... Jury duty is perfect for people who want to tell strangers the stories your family are so bored of. * at this point they announced that anyone who hadn’t been called for a jury yet was probably getting out of the whole thing, but you had to call back on Friday to be sure * "When you fone up on Friday., I don't want to to hear your life story...." Larry David was first up for lunch again, and first up and complaining when we got released. Larry David hasn't handed anything in yet and is now arguing the toss... and slowing up the process of any of us getting out of here.

And with that...  I’m done.   Let’s hope they never call me up again.

[ajotoole-blog]

Reburying and reimbursement

The main justification for the money spent on the reburial of Richard the Third seems to be that the coffee shops, hotels and pubs of Leicester have done well out of it, and the overall gain to the local economy far outweighs the money spent on hats, pomp and circumstance.  This is a continuation of a common argument that the number of tourists coming into the UK to see the Royal family and their trappings are the best reason to keep our archaic and anachronistic system of monarch-approved democracy.

So, here's an idea where we can guarantee a certain income:-   each year, in Spring, we have a Royal funeral - moving it around the country as a rolling Royal death show.  

First up is the Duke of Edinburgh, he's had a good run -  if they can keep him going until next March then the loyal subjects of Scotland will have their chance to see some local action and profit.

Next, the Prince of Wales - and Cardiff takes centre stage.  Even the most hardened Royalist wouldn't deny they'd rather see a young William and Kate at the head of the country than the Mad King and his goggle eyed horse frightener. It's not Game of Thrones.

After that, apart from the reigning monarch and the heir,  the names of all Royal family members over the age of eighteen and receiving money from the Sovereign Grant or the Crown estate go into a tombola on Christmas Eve after they've opened the presents and they find out who will be making the big sacrifice.

I'm not suggesting a firing squad to be employed,  I'm sure there are ways of making it look like an accident in a tunnel (for example) or the death could be blamed on whichever terrorist group is being paraded as the greatest threat at the time.

When life in the UK finally descends into anarchy that can only be managed by a strong TV network as found in dystopian Young Adult novels or Schwarzenegger films, we add some real jeopardy to the inevitable reboot of It's a Royal Knock Out.  Then we’ll be making some serious money on pay per view.

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[ajotoole-blog]

A Day in the Life (Apple)

Interior. A ridiculously modern yet somehow classic corner office. 1 Infinite Loop. Cupertino.

Turtle Neck 1: There's famous tits all over the internet!

Turtle Neck 2: Great!

TN1: No - it's not. For some reason, loads of people - you know, the sort on Twitter and Facebook - are really angry that there's famous tits all over the internet, and they're blaming Apple and our poor security.

TN2: Shit. Still, it won't stop them buying iPhones - all publicity, right?

TN1: Well, our business model is based on trust - they trust us with their names, their credit card details, all their passwords, the phone numbers of all their friends, all of their photos, everything in their emails, everything they've bought and a log of everywhere they go on the internet and in real life... and from that point of trust we sell them hardware at three times the price of our competitors because they're locked in to us making their lives 'easier'.

TN2: The phones are very cute as well.

TN1: Yes, but that might not be enough if they start to question our trust - I mean, we could be doing anything with all that data.

TN2: And we are.

TN1: The new iPhone comes out next week and we want them to start using it instead of a credit card - this is really bad timing.

TN2: We need to distract them. Here's an idea - we give them something free.

TN1: I like it. Everyone likes something for free.

TN2: No. The tits were free and they complained about that. We give them something else free that they'll hate. What can we give away that costs us nothing?

TN1: Well, Bono still owes us a favour and U2 have a new album.

Tn2: Brilliant - we'll give that away to everyone on iTunes! Everyone hates U2, right? Bono and his hypocrisy - flying that hat around the world first class, The Edge refusing to admit he's bald, Shagger on bass, the other one...

TN1: Actually, our info shows that we sell a lot of U2 music through iTunes, and we know from the tracking data that a high percentage of people paying hundreds of dollars to go to their stadium shows are iPhone users.

TN2: Hmm. Never mind - we'll set a few hashtags off and everyone will pile on the U2 hating bandwagon. They're happy to give us all their money, pay for upgrades thanks to our built in obsolescence on hardware, buy the same media over and over again in slightly different formats and trust us with absolutely everything that's important in their lives - but if we put 60MB of Dad Rock on their iTunes account I think we can get them to go crazy.

TN1: I understand the distraction - how do we make them like us again?

TN2: In a week's time we apologise, we say that they spoke, we listened and we would never invade the privacy of their iTunes or iPhones by giving them something free ever again. They forget all about the invaluable information coming the other way that they're effectively paying to donate.

TN1: Amazing. More great publicity as the company that cares.

TN2: It's perfect.

TN1: Now, can we do anything about the shitty headphones that we give away with the phones? They're the number one complaint about iPhones from that tricky 'discerning, intelligent consumer' market that we can't seem to crack.

TN2: Are you kidding? We just bought some slightly better but massively expensive headphones off one of those rap singers for a billion dollars! We've got to claw some of that back - they won't buy them if we improve the free ones. We're trying to make money here, not friends.

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[ajotoole-blog]

Rhet Butler - Peacock Hero

[ajotoole-blog]

Institute of Art, Chicago

The guardian of the gates:

A rare moment without Cameron Fry impressions.  Brilliant painting - and I admire the maths involved (the language of the universe):

La singe de Seurat:

The Drinkers - Van Gogh:

If I was related to the man who did this a hundred years ago, I'd have my lawyers on the phone to Peter Jackson.

Jackson is better as a first name anyway:

Adonis in Y-Fronts...  the picture itself is always going to be a disappointment with a title like that.

Hockney - he might be a modern art giant:

but I liked this more:

deep.

6ft deep:

This pile of candy isn't as cheery as it looks. The pile is the same weight as the artist when he contracted AIDS. I didn't take one. 

We will not become what we mean to you -  a fine motto to live by:

Someone is ripping off the Brian Topp installation from Spaced:

(this is the one picture I got told off for taking)

Chagall's America Windows:

Illinois is his state.  I like that coat.

I don't know much about art, but I know what I like.  Tits.

He's in trouble later:

FORK IT!

Peter Blume - The Rock:

If (when) I own a bar, I'll have this on the wall in a dark corner:

Ivan Albright - Into the World There Came a Soul Called Ida.  

  Monkeys:

*stairs*

*tits*

After all that good stuff, and a brilliant room of Impressionism that I didn't take photos of, here's something by Cy fucking Twombly:

and here's someone on minimum wage thinking "Why am I looking after this shit?":

There are charlatans in every walk of life.

[ajotoole-blog]

Best in Show

Proving the old adage - it's funny because it's true.  Only one of these clips is from the film. 

[ajotoole-blog]

Happy Valentine's Day from Fox News

Put me in a hotel room in America and I can't turn off Fox News.  I was even more addicted when I lived in New York for a few months and could see it everyday.  As far as I could tell, their only real concession to the 'Fair and Balanced' coverage they talk about it is finding black people who  also think Obama is ruining the country.  

Looking at the adverts is a good way of gauging what the audience of something is -  have a flick through the back of the Daily Mail, or the Guardian Weekend magazine - and with Fox News it always used to be gold coins, experimental heart medication, ambulance chasing lawyers and CIA backed burglar alarms.

Today topped all that, with a long advert for the perfect Valentine's gift for her:

a life size teddy bear.  Chino Man here has surprised his spouse with it in the kitchen.  She's lucky it's not going through the bins looking for leftovers.

The target males of the ad are told that flowers will simply die, and chocolate will only make her fat.  

Yeah, he knows the score, not like you chumps with your petrol station bouquets and your box of Thorntons.

It's all wholesome so far, as it should be for an advert on breakfast television, but then it starts to heat up a little.  Someone's getting some action:

It's the bear.

Wait a second though, that's just for some modesty  -  here comes the clincher:

"The perfect gift for her... that will pay off for you!"

You know it.  Look at that look she's giving.  Delivery guaranteed.