Fan Mail

I recently received this message from a friend of mine via facebook, or MyFace, or FailSpace or Witter or whatever they're calling it these days...

Him: Dear Ellen,

I have recently taken to perusing the current (albeit long-lasted) fad of online diary keeping, colloquially referred to as "blogging". I wish to inform you that I find your blog to contain within it traits with which I can only describe as pure, unadulterated randomness! Congratulations! Of the untold millions, perhaps eve...n billions, of blogs in existence I have actually deemed yours worthy of that utmost of honours, "My Attention". So, congratulate yourself this evening and know that officially your rantings and pedantism are not legitimately "of interest".

Me: Dear [name],

Thank you for your comments. It is sincerely awesome to hear that someone occasionally reads that shite what I write. In case you did not know, 'blogging' is short for the term 'web-logging', although what it has to do with lumberjacks is somewhat beyond me. Please do keep up your reading, young fan, as I hear it is the best way to avoid jail time.

Yours ambiguously,

Ellen

Me: PS this is totally going on the blog



**UPDATE**

Him: Dear Ellen,

I am glad that mine own ramblings have helped add to the creative 'pot', I too am somewhat confused towards the need for lumberjacks and was completely unaware of the correct teminology. For this I whole-heartedly thank thee. Per...haps 'web-logging' is in some way a playful jibe at lumberjacks on the basis that their days of employment are numbered, for as we all know; the internet is virtual reality not requiring paper and therefore the tree's need not be cut to provide the raw materials. The may continue to stand proud and tall as the planets pubic regions, rather than shaved and crass like a middle aged hooker, too ugly to be a milf, too young to be a granny, and too old for anyone to want.

Him: PS. Thank you for the tips on how to avoid prison, until now I had merely been hiding in drainage holes and stealing in to my 'neighbours' homes for internet access.

Me: Dear [name],

Who said anything about pot?? You keep your drug-addled ramblings to yourself, young sir!

I feel that your insight on the subject of the origin of the term 'web-logging' is potentially enlightening. Or perhaps the ravings of a reality-starved cretin. Who knows?

I am glad that my worldly wisdom can be of use to you in terms of prison avoidance. You might run into Lindsey Lohan if you go to prison, and nobody wants that. I hear she can give you crabs from across the room...

Yours frivolously,

Ellen

Him: Dear Ellen,

My initial thoughts of a pot, were in fact a reference to a "tea-pot" (http://www.stonesoup.org/design/cauldron.gif) wherein the 'pot' is a device to collect ingredients and cook. With the basis being that, that which is produced is greater than the sum of it's parts. As such, I was commenting on my desire to help you with the creative process, and felt the term 'muse' (not the band, just to clarify) to be somewhat reminiscent of fat bottomed pre-Raphaelite women. Although your immediate leap to drugs speaks loudly by itself.

I shall do my utmost to avoid capture and the potential crabs Lindsey Lohan is capable of producing. I have been similar stories in the past, and must confess my heightened desire to not catch crabs, to this end I have determined to avoid beaches at all costs!

Finally, I believe it safe to assume that mine own musings have added greatly to the potential material for your 'blogging' and as such my insights may be considered the spouting of enlightened wit reaching Oscar Wildian proportions!

Yours humbly,

[name]

Me: Dear [name],

TLDR

Dear Jason Derulo...

I have noticed your song, 'Ridin' Solo', lately. I have noticed it because it is on Galaxy radio approximately 5,240 times an hour. Every day. I would like to draw your attention to this fact, so that you can make another song. While I appreciate your need to relentlessly inform us of your desire to bang Harrison Ford, the sad fact is that your pathetic and reedy vocal is slowly forcing me to the edge of my already-tenuous sanity. If you were to make a new song, perhaps called something equally meaningful such as 'Wet Lettuce', at least it would be a change. Still godawful audio tripe, but DIFFERENT godawful audio tripe nonetheless. Now, you might ask why I don't just change the radio station to one that does not incessantly force your 'song' down my ear canals. Good point, and I would totally do this if the radio would ever pick up any station other than Galaxy or some mad Polish one. I much prefer the Polish one, as at least its insane method of song selection defies all logic and repetition (Aerosmith followed immediately by Britney Spears on one occasion). But sometimes we can't get a good enough signal for that, and it appears that I'm not authorized to turn the radio off altogether. My ruse of pretending to need quiet for a phonecall has been marginally successful, as I've taken to turning it down until the volume is so low that I can pretend something good is actually playing. And then 'forget' to turn it back up. But plans like these can only work for a short while, until someone notices and turns the drivel back up again!

I hope you will consider my request, and by 'consider' I mean 'act upon immediately, or preferably just shut up'.

And if you see Justin Bieber, tell her she needs a haircut.

Best regards,

Ellen

UPDATE: The Polish radio station just played the Muppets version of Bohemian Rhapsody, which is possibly the most bizarre thing ever when you can't actually SEE the Muppets. It's pretty bizarre if you can, but a totally insane thing to put on the radio! One word: WIN.

No. Just... No.

It seems to be a common practice to use the word 'action' as a verb in the business world. For example, 'Ellen, please take this file and action it today'. Sentences like that actually make me want to smash things. It's incredibly difficult to follow an instruction at work when it doesn't actually make grammatical sense. Yes, I know what it MEANS, but that does NOT mean that I can hear it without grinding my teeth and experiencing a facial spasm!! It’s also very tempting to reply 'Of course, and then would you like me to computer the results?' NO! JUST NO!

Telemarketers beware, I have a slight hangover and have run out of green tea...

ME: Good morning, [COMPANY NAME], how can I help you?
TELEMARKETER: May I please speak to Mr [NAME OF MY BOSS]
ME: May I ask who's calling?
TELEMARKETER: This is American Express.
ME: Would this be a sales call?
TELEMARKETER: [PAUSE] We... wouldn't be selling anything over the phone...
ME: Ah, so it is a sales call.
TELEMARKETER: Uh, no...
ME: Yes it is.
TELEMARKETER: Um...
ME: I'm afraid I am not authorized to put this sort of call through
TELEMARKETER [HUFFILY]: What do you mean, 'this sort of call'?
ME: Calls from American Express.
TELEMARKETER [BLUSTERS]: And who told you that you are not authorized?
ME: Our company director.
TELEMARKETER: Oh, Mr [GETS THE NAME OF MY BOSS WRONG]
ME: Yes. Except that isn't his name. But good try!
TELEMARKETER [SOUNDING UPSET]: And when did he tell you this?
ME: Several months ago, around the time that he found out his girlfriend was having an affair with an American Express executive.
TELEMARKETER: [FAINT SQUEAK]
ME: Oh yes, it was very traumatic. It was a female executive actually, so he's had that to deal with as well. I think he thinks it was his fault somehow. He's now having major issues with gender confusion, but he's working through it with his therapist.
TELEMARKETER: I hardly think this is appropriate...
ME: Oh it was VERY inappropriate. They had just opened a joint account when she left him, with American Express actually. So it was supposed to be a serious relationship...
TELEMARKETER [IMPATIENTLY]: Can you PLEASE just put me through to Mr [NAME OF MY BOSS]
ME: Oh, you got his name right this time! Well that's better. But he's still not interested in taking this call. Not after all the trauma. If he so much as hears the words 'American Express', he breaks out in a rash and gets vertigo.
TELEMARKETER [ANGRILY]: WELL THEN IT'S HIS LOSS!!!
[SLAMS THE PHONE DOWN]

There's bad things, and then there's BAD things...

Although I'm still cheerful, I've had a slightly stupid day today. My shoe completely disintegrated on the way to work, forcing me to stop on the way in and buy new shoes (for £3, win!) and be late by about half an hour. Then I got a ninja paper-cut on my finger (that's the type where you don't notice it until you see it, then it's like AAAAAAAARGH!), so now writing with a pen without pulling a weird face is impossible. Also, I got my foot stuck under my desk somehow, and was slightly too embarrassed to admit it, so I had to act like I was too busy to get up and answer the entryphone when it rang. My foot is now free, but has a scratch on it to match the ninja papercut. Also, the ice-cream van keeps driving by my place of work, loudly taunting me with its songs of liberation and joie de vivre. I have been called 'Eleanor' 4 times on the phone, and received one obscene email. I have also been proposed to by a tramp through the medium of song. All this in one day, and it's only the afternoon!

However, I can only imagine that things will get worse later if England don't win... I imagine the inhabitants of Acton (Crackton) don't take kindly to sporting defeat, especially since a healthy majority of them love sports so much that they wear the clothing in spite of a total lack of participation...

Twits of Telephony, or 'NO! I AM NOT ALEXANDER!!'

Today I have decided to change my landline number. I am moving to a new flat soon, and had been toying with the idea of trying to take my phone number with me so I wouldn't have to get used to a new one. I am now distinctly not toying with that idea. That idea is now been firmly locked in the toybox, with ten padlocks and a fat Rottweiler sitting on top. This is because I have recently received a deluge of answerphone messages from people clearly under the impression that they are leaving a message for someone who IS NOT HERE. Often, said messages are in interesting languages or accents, but are thus indecipherable and therefore simply require immediate deletion.

There was the mad old Irish lady who rambled on for a good five minutes about wanting to close her building society account (at least I think that's what she was saying; I'm pretty sure she was drunk, too). I felt quite sorry for her, as she'd obviously poured out everything she wanted to say to the building society in this message, and it was never going to be heard by them. To be honest, it wouldn't have been much use even if she had got through to their voicemail instead of mine, as she wittered on so much that she forgot to leave her name and number. It was like some sort of tragic romance of missed connections. 'The Old Drunk and the Building Society'. Very Mills & Boone.

Then there was the woman who was trying to call someone named Robert Ayre. I've had a few calls for this guy, so I assume he's either lived here at some point in the past, or he's gleefully handing out a fake number to people he doesn't want to talk to, and it just happens to be mine. Perhaps I was unwittingly employed as his own personal 'flirt divert'. Either way, this one woman called, asked for him, and politely apologised when I explained that she had the wrong number. She then instantly redialled the same number, and got me again. I explained her mistake again, and she apologised a little more impatiently, and hung up. At this point, most people would have realised that the number they had written down was not correct, and either given up or resorted to one of the many other avenues of communication that technology has granted us. But not this lady. She knew who she wanted to speak to, and she had written down this exact number, so she was going to keep calling it until Robert Ayre had the decency to drop by and answer it, goddamnit! I ended up explaining to her that, no matter how many times she called this number, Robert Ayre simply wasn't going to pick up. And politely asked her to stop trying, as it was buggering up my Michael Cera marathon. And nobody should EVER obstruct the watching of Michael Cera movies. The phone rang again two minutes later. I picked it up and immediately hung up again.

I'll never understand the tenacity of people who are convinced that your phone number belongs to someone else, with whom they need to get in touch. I used to get a very old woman calling me at around 3am, asking for Alexander. I don't know why she would repeatedly call Alexander at 3am, but I don't blame him for giving her a fake number if that's what she's likely to do with it! Even more than the antisocial hour, I was more pissed off by the fact that, after I answered, she'd always begin her call with 'Is that Alexander?'. Do I bloody well sound like an Alexander?? I know I don't exactly have a chipmunk voice, but I was a bit offended that she'd hear my voice and instantly think 'Ah yes, clearly a bloke'! I had to work hard to stave off the potential tranny-voice-complex that she could have sparked off there. Anyway, I explained on about six separate occasions that she had the wrong number, and ended up almost begging her to stop calling because I had to be up early in the mornings! After that, I just did my instant hang-up trick, and that seemed to finally get the message across.

Today's answerphone messages (the inspiration for this post) struck me as being particularly silly. I had two messages, presumably left while I was at work, from a woman who seemed to think I was an office of some kind. She was trying to speak to somebody named 'Ian'. Obviously she saw through my ruse of setting up an answerphone clearly stating YOU HAVE REACHED ELLEN GALLAGHER, PLEASE LEAVE A MESSAGE AND I'LL GET BACK TO YOU AS SOON AS I CAN, and realised that I am in fact a business office with an employee named Ian. That doesn't answer its phones during business hours and instead lets you go to answerphone. Twice. Dang, I hate when people see through my attempts to disguise my secret business as a private address!

**UPDATE** Part 2 of this insanity here

Disney and Marvel - odd or fabulous?

Don't worry - no spoilers for Iron Man 2 here. I am just examining a tiny plot detail that does not give anything away!

I went to see Iron Man 2 yesterday evening, and thoroughly enjoyed it at least as much as I expected to. Not only was it fast-paced and witty, but the visual effects were stunning and (mostly) excellently crafted. And Robert Downey Jr isn't half yummy for an old bloke!

I also greatly appreciated the scenes featuring footage of Tony Stark's father, Howard Stark. These seemed to be a direct homage to the televised speeches of the futuristically-minded Walt Disney, right down to the model 'city of the future' that was so clearly modelled on Walt's plans for EPCOT. For non-Disneyphiles, EPCOT is an acronym for Experimental Prototype Community of Tomorrow. Much like Stark senior, Disney firmly believed that technological advances and a new take on city structure would lead to an amazing and bright future of ease, comfort and peace. Although EPCOT is now a theme park with interestingly eclectic (but rather bizarre) selection of zones. Among these, one can explore an 'Innoventions' pavilion, which is focused on the future and latest, or next, technological advances. Or a short stroll away, it is possible to wander through eleven different (miniature) countries in a single afternoon. However, Walt Disney's plan for the land was to install a real town, where people could live and work, and take advantage of the latest technology in public transport and domestic convenience. He planned to lease out the living quarters, and then kit them out with cutting-edge appliances. In order to do this he hoped to partner with the manufacturing companies. They would use his model town as a sort of large-scale showhome, where their products could be demonstrated and admired in action. They would then come in and replace the items for the tenants as soon as something new and better came onto the market, and so the inhabitants would live in a permanent, idealistic state of futuristic comfort and ease. Whether this would have worked cannot be seen, as Walt died before his plans could be put into action, and his successors decided that an odd but interesting theme park would be a better use of the hub-and-spoke based layout. If you're interested in Disney theme park history, or just want to know what happened to rides that are no longer there, I strongly recommend that you visit Yesterland.

Click here to see Walt warmly discussing his vision of the future; if you've seen Iron Man 2 you'll know what I mean. Right down to the colour saturation in the film, and Howard Stark's groomed, neatly mustachioed appearance; this is a subtle but excellently executed reference. I assume that it is intended as an homage rather than anything more subversive, as Disney recently completed their acquisition of Marvel Entertainment (read the official announcement here). This means that they hold the license to all of Marvel's characters, including Iron Man, of course. The deal took at least the best part of a year to complete, and so it is logical to assume that Iron Man 2 was made with this in mind. The Disney logo appears before the film in the movie theatre, and Disney stores have begun to market Iron Man merchandise. While some would see this nod to Disney's vision as a despicable bit of branding, I was actually quite touched by it. A reference point considered widely recognisable (although most would relate to it subconsciously) in popular culture was used to convey a sense of history and familiarity. Even if the movie-going public do not instantly make the connection (as many Disney nerds surely did!), the image and cadence of 'Uncle Walt's television appearances have been so omnipresent since the middle of the last century, I believe that one cannot help but feel nostalgic during these scenes. Although Howard Stark is portrayed as a driven and serious businessman, his vision of the future is just as safe and pleasant as Walt's.

Of course, there the analogy begins to break down, as Walt then went and ruined his lovely image (to a modern observer, at least) by shopping several innocent animators to the House Un-American Activities Committee of Congress because they were involved in unions that got in his way. He also went a bit mental and claimed that the Screen Actors' Guild was a communist organisation. I think it's safe to say his lovely future vision did not include communism then...