Alan Coleman

At first I thought the new advertising campaign for Apple Mac, featuring Mitchell and Webb from Peep Show, was just slightly amusing. Then I realised that I was laughing not at the characters, but at the utter stupidity of the content on display. I honestly thought we’d got that Mac and PC thing out of our systems a few years ago, but it looks as though sneering consumerism is alive and kicking.

It’s based partly around the fact that Apple Mac computers tend to be used in the creative industries of music production and graphic design, examples of two occupations that suffer acutely from superiority complexes. The idea that the Apple is a superior experience is also a statement of identity, highlighting ones cool job that somehow transcends the trivial office environment of the sandwich man and the water cooler. The nature of the adverts in question being everything required to back up both of these statements.

Maybe that’s a bit mean. I know plenty of Mac users, Amoungst others Becki, Roger, Dickie and Peter, you know who you are. These people are amongst the most forward thinking people I have ever met, creatives operating at the top of their chosen field. I love you all and the Mac is most suitable for your work. But really, it gets on my nerves.

In the adverts Mitchell plays the geeky PC bloke in straight clothes, his dry humour adding the dour and realistic personality of a fairly average bloke. Webb on the other hand is the smug student type with the stupid GAP jeans, every inch the epitome of cool with the sarcastic suburban wit. Ironically, and this is where the advert falls down, it is Webb who is the dislikeable character, the selfish fashion victim who
looks down upon his PC friend. Spreadsheets? Surely not! I mean why do a
mundane job when you could buy a Mac and create music? Nice idea, but in
reality you’ll end up down the pub or watching Telly.

Personally I identify with Mitchell, a bloke at least trying to get by
in life without entertaining the faddish and gimmicky tedium that
surrounds us. I look at Webb, and think about the arrogance of fashion,
and the middle class obsession with product, design and cool. Grown up
people, adults, defining themselves through brightly coloured and shiny
gadgets, the latest technology from the must have and satisfyingly
overpriced brand. Essentially, the inanity of bling for farmers market
types. Every time I see one of those smug thirty something’s marching
through Shoreditch, with a Mac tucked under arm and a stripy scarf round neck, I feel the need to run up and stamp on this weeks trainers, then comb his fake scruffy hair as he lies on the pavement in pain.

‘There there Rufus, sorry about the retro Greenflash, but you’ll thank
me for this later’.

This campaign may have misfired. 25 Million people in this country now
look at those people with the other sort of computers and think, ‘Who
the hell do they think they are?’. In fact they probably don’t think
that at all, because unlike me and Mac users these are the people that
have the sense to turn their machines off at 5:30 and do something
interesting, like dogging for instance.

Lastly and most sadly of all, just like surfing and snowboarding, the Mac may just have become a parody of itself.

How great is MySpace? I’m properly into it and have my own page and everything.

This surely, is what the Internet is all about, meeting people, listening to music and linking through to other stuff you might be interested in. I’ve tried to set up forums and message boards here on my own site in the past, with the vague idea of forming some sort of online community, but spam made it practically impossible so I just jacked it in.

I’ve only had my page on MySpace for 24 hours, and already I’ve got people who I havn’t seen for ages as my friends. I can admit to feeling a little chuffed when I went back on and saw that other MySpacers have answered my plea for some mates. And Jenna Jameson too, now there’s blast from the past, and no hard feelings either.

So now I have to think of a way of blinging it up a bit, I’m thinking maybe dark grey and green, but I’m not sure.

Anyway, who cares? It’s great to see old friends!

I can’t stand award ceremonies. Not only that, I simply can’t understand why anyone would want to watch something like the BAFTA awards on television. I was flicking around for Match of The Day 2 last night and that image that is the award ceremony flashed onto the screen, after overcoming the momentary paralysis my thumb thankfully found the 5 button. What I saw for a fraction of a second is what has been shoved down people throats for decades, little more than a congratulatory exercise in shameless self promotion.

The scene starts with a TV personality in a tuxedo, probably the loveable but twatish Jonathon Ross, making a couple of lame jokes about George Bush or Pwince Charles. He will of course openly prompt the audience for a laugh by indulging in a cringworthy self deprecation, probably involving an inane grin. As cheeky side kick, Davina McCall will be stood on the other side of the lectern laughing hysterically with the audience, that is before ‘Wossy’ cracks another hilarious belter about being stuck in the BB house with her.

Davina will then tear open the envelope, stopping momentarily to grin ironically at the camera, before shouting “DAME JUDY DENCH!!” far too loudly into the microphone. This being a cue for the audience to leap to their feet and begin a frenzied chorus of whooping, crying, insane cheering and fist shaking.

“It’s Dame Judy! Oh, it’s Dame Judy!!”

The camera pans round as soap stars and BBC types gaze lovingly at the stage, as just like every other year, the old girl is wheeled out for whatever award BAFTA have invented for Dame Judy. That’s probably what happened but as I didn’t watch it you have to imagine the same scenario existed with Ricky Gervais giggling childishly into the mic before handing out yet another gong to that dribbling git, Bill Fucking Nighy. Or Billy Connelly and his stupid red beard wittering on about the Dame before handing over to someone like Katie Melua or Jamie Cullum. The proceedings have that oily gloss about them, as if making the inanity shiny is recompense for its dreary and mind numbing content.

And that’s pretty much the scene for the rest of the night, hour after hour of sycophantic arse licking and shots of people like Sonia Jackson going all dewy eyed as Pauline collects a well deserved accolade on behalf of the cast and crew. Then the next morning the papers will be lovingly adorned with pictures of the Dame, or whatever Middle Class folk hero has made a, ‘Touching and provocative piece’ about growing up in Rotherham Children’s home with no mouth.

The worst thing about this whole debacle is the presumption that the viewing public actually doesn’t mind paying for to watch actors and TV personalities congratulate each other on their achievements. This kind of patronisation is so engrained into the entertainment industry, to a point that they don’t even question the whole idea of making TV programs about how great people are that make TV programs.

The BBC has never been short on self congratulation, but it is the insulting and moronic nature of the award ceremony that really takes the piss out of the paying customer.

Even if I don’t watch it, this is the kind of television that will turn me into Micheal Ryan.

The last twenty years has seen a notable decline of local pubs in Great Britain. Whether it be to property developers, corporate pub chains or anyone else desperate to make money out of these sacred places, the local boozer is dying.

There’s certain inevitability about this trend. The demise of communities, the arrival of more personal forms of entertainment and a society moving towards brand labels, all contribute to a decline in sociability. For example, The Kings Head, probably now The Frog and Radiator, wants the passing trade of students and office workers to form the clientele. The friends that have been drinking there for years, look behind the bar and don’t know who the sulky youngsters in matching polo shirts are anymore.

Things move forward and things change, there’s no stopping progress and there never has been, that’s not the problem. The problem arises when the need to make money starts to influence progress in a manner detrimental to our communities. It’s not just about pubs being decorated or the serving of food, all that progress is more than understandable. It’s about seeing those places central to our culture being changed to suit profit, and if those changes are culturally or socially exclusive, then we have reason to worry.

This is too big a theme to tackle here, so over the next week or so I’ll be writing some articles about pubs, what they mean to us, where they’re going and who’s taking them away. Chain pubs, theme pubs, gastro pubs, the bass player from Dire Straits and that twat Jamie Oliver will all be in for a verbal thrashing.