bored of excitement – the griefjunkie blog 

I Once Laughed At Something

Dear Rachel

The recent census must’ve been tricky for for habitual online daters, as I should think old habits would’ve kicked in and they’d have taken a few years off their age – thus rendering themselves fraudulent – and in the case of the ‘race’ section would’ve ticked everything in order to maximise their chances.

I myself have never internet dated.   I was going to go speed dating once, curiously enough with my girlfriend at the time, at the National Portrait Gallery.  Our logic was as I recall that we both fancied seeing what all the fuss was about – speed dating was big news in 2005 – the National Portrait Gallery is a nice place to hang out, and if we didn’t get a date we’d still be winners.   If one or both of us had got a date, it would’ve been awkward as, looking back, most of the best dates I have ever been on would not have been so good if I’d shown up with my girlfriend.

This lack of internet dating experience means that mercifully I have been spared constantly meeting people who up front and stone cold describe themselves as being creative and having a GSOH.   In case you don’t know what GSOH means, it’s ‘Good Sense Of Humour’.   Dating sites should auto-correct ‘GSOH’ to ‘IOLAS’ (‘I Once Laughed At Something’) because that’s what most people think having a good sense of humour means.   Similarly, everyone describes themselves as creative, even though they aren’t, and what they’ve done is get creativity mixed up with liking Come Dine With Me.    As a side note, I am intrigued by people who claim that they ‘love to larf’, which you get a lot of on Deal Or No Deal, and probably on internet dating too.   I want someone to put ‘When not crying, I love to larf’ instead, or simply ‘I increasingly larf on my own’, both of which I bet are a bit closer the mark.    I dunno, it just seems like non-information to say that you ‘love to larf’, or that you ‘love life’, because yes, of course you do, all of us enjoy those things, even those of us who can get girlfriends normally.

Anyway.  The point I actually set out to make before getting hopelessly sidetracked is that Creatives are fucking idiots, and everyone knows it.   Or rather, people who describe themselves as Creatives are fucking idiots – myself, Gary, Keith, Danny and so on are I suppose Creatives, but we see ourselves more involved with the creation of money, rather than anything of lasting cultural or artistic significance.   Weirdly enough, I think that actually we have a bit of an edge here because we are all so impoverished that we can just chuck out stuff that we like, rather than have to hope anyone else likes it, which would be a pressure with a commercially successful design business.  Anyway.  It isn’t like this at all when you’re talking to an Artist, because an Artist is the ultimate Creative.    I’ve had to chat to several Artists recently, as I’m trying to bring through a new range of stuff that requires a design to be painted onto canvas in oil or acrylics (although oil seems cooler) and I need someone who can actually paint to do it.   The process will work like this: I have the idea.   I pass the idea on to our graphic design man, Pete, who interprets it and renders it as an image.   There’s usually a bit of to-ing and fro-ing at this point, but Pete’s got pretty good at decoding what I want – the more graphic-y tube maps that we did are his interpretations of my garbled emails, for example.   I do the final touches, and we’re done.   In this instance, however, I will take the finished graphic and give it to an Artist to slap onto a canvas.    It’s painting by numbers.   Just copy it.   Doddle.   Obviously, I can’t give too much away, but it isn’t Sunflowers or the Mona Lisa or whatever.    After the fourth occasion upon which, having offered this pretty easy and pleasingly large chunk of commissioned work to an Artist and having been told that ‘I’m sorry, but I’m just not feeling it’, I lost it a bit and pointed out that yes, I’m not asking you to feel it, I’m asking you to fucking paint it.  Hungry people, as I am fond of saying, don’t get writer’s block.  Therefore, if push comes to shove, I’ll learn how to paint in oils myself to get the job done, and see how I feel about saving a ton of cash and not having to talk to creative people ever again.

Photards.  This weeks rummage through the image library here at Griefjunkie Towers has produced:

Top: A Greenwich pub whose name I can never remember.  I think it’s the Spanish Galleon.   Anyway, it’s the one on the corner opposite where you come out from Cutty Shark DLR, and I have never once been in it.

Middle: These are the steps leading down to Moorgate tube on the City side of Moorgate itself.   I heft an awful lot of stock up and down these steps over the course of the year on our gallant yellow sack barrow.   Usually there is a homeless bloke called Mark, or less often an older one called Jim, sitting in this stairwell, and they give me a hand.  I speak to a lot of homeless people in the line of duty.    If I’m on the way to wheel stock to Leadenhall or the East End markets I quite often stop for a bit of a natter with one or other of them here.

Lower: Pikey Dave, himself a former homeless person.    Note fire damage to Hawley Arms and surrounding buildings, which dates this photard to the summer of 2008.  These were the worst days we ever knew.  On a happier note, note the handbags on Dave’s barrow.   Unbeknown to Dave, these are a few of the ones into which you may recall I placed a picture of a big cock with all spunk coming out of it for the benefit of his equally unsuspecting customers, to while away the summer afternoons.

Twitter.

Facebook.

2 Comments

  1. Rachel

    Apr 19th, 2011
    11:40 pm

    i’m actually starting to believe you about the hunger thing; i’m not particularly hungry at the moment but the other night i felt a bit peckish and, having heard some magazine would pay $700 for short stories, and though i have never even read one let alone written one, i sat down and cranked one out in 2 hrs. immediately felt satisfied that i was part of a fine tradition. even Andy Warhol and R. Crumb started out making greeting cards.

  2. Paul

    Apr 20th, 2011
    11:18 am

    Hunger is also, as my grandfather would say, the best garnish. So we’ve learned that hunger, while pretty horrendous, is good for flavouring and literary output. Every cloud.

Leave a Comment