Saturday, 15 June 2013

King George Square Mime Hate

There is a man who positions himself just outside King George Square Bus Station and paints himself entirely silver. His tie is permanently erect, so that if you were partially blind or intoxicated he would look windswept. My friend informs me that these people (who act like statues) are called models (Stickler, 2013).

Now it was always my highly unqualified opinion that these models had the express purpose of resembling a statue.   So, you must be able to vaguely understand my confusion when every time I see the windswept ironman of King George Square he is moving as freely as any other individual in the square.

 Please feel free to leap at me with corrections but, models have the express purpose of resembling a statue.  You are suppose share a beautiful moment of bonding as you waft pass them and donate your ten cents to stop them starring at your crotch. If they move they are supposed to be incredibly stiff; as though they are recovering from a lifetime of being a cement monument. 

The windswept man in King George Square has it all wrong. Every time I see him he appears to be doing the robot or scratching himself, even shaking children's hands. I used to give him the benefit of the doubt; perhaps I just caught him at a moment where his nose was particularly itchy or his bladder particularly full, or even his urges to shake hands with little children particularly overwhelming. I mean as Miley once said, Everybody has those days. But alas, I feel as though windswept ironman is having one of those years. 

I think the bottom line is, if I was a (for lack of better term) a professional model (like the lady painted white in the middle of the mall; kudos) I would be really shitted off at someone who feels he has a right to the model gettup but not the etiquette. I mean it is a little like dressing up as a guard outside Buckingham palace, only to salute passers with a strip tease. 

I know it shouldn't bother me how this poor excuse for ironman builds his modelling career, but come on mate; if you want to act like a statue who has exceeded their Valium prescription dress up in a freaking clown costume. 

Wednesday, 5 June 2013

Dear Leonardo Dicaprio,

I totally understand that you may not remember me and that is fine. Let's just reacquaint ourselves with the basics here. I'm Kobi, you may remember me from being my wallpaper in 08, helping me understand Shakespeare in 2010, my art collage with evolved around your facial features? No? That's okay.
I have one of those catchy, hard to forget faces. Ringing any bells?
No? That's fairly ok. I understand you must come in contact with a lot
of mediocre models etc.

Now Leo (can I call you that? Fuck it, I will call you that), hope life has been treatin' you okay.
I just want to get one thing straight, you are a lucky man that ole' Baz cast you as a star crossed lover when he did. Because, (now I am only being honest here) to me your creased brow makes you look a little like the men that sit in vans parked outside playgrounds and schools. Nothing personal Leo, just calling it how it is.

I should probably thank you for helping me understand Shakespeare. Without your kind of blonde pixie cut, on-land snorkeling skills and gang antics, I would probably not fully understand the underage love story of R & J. I would probably also think that a sword was weapon consisting of a long, straight or slightly curved blade, with one end pointed and the other fixed in a hilt or handle. When silly me, it is just brand of pistol; duh.

Anyway Leo, I realize you have a totally heckers sched, so I won't keep you long. I just wanted give you a good pat on da back man. You seem to be an immortal 25 year old man who is rollin'. Kudos.

Warm Regards always,

firm fan and anti-dolphin rape enthusiast,

Kobi Blake-Craig


ps. It would be great to get you on board as the face of my Dolphin Rape Happens campaign; but look I know it isn't your typical filthy rich type of character (so I will lovingly forgive your rejection).

Monday, 3 June 2013

Re: The Great Gatsby

Luhrmann dropz dem modern beats in the latest his 2013 film adaptation of The Great Gatsby. He seems to update the coolness of 1920's jazz with a frenzy of ghetto hip-hop. I love Luhrmann as much as the scent of peppermint chewing bum; but something just seemed profoundly amiss in his latest box office hit.
The 1925 American novel is in my mind one of the greatest love stories of all time. Can love be as possessive and as corruptive as Gatsby proves  it to be? Is love the most motivating force in man? Is love always our ultimate demise? I would like to think F. Scott was onto something here; just find a man who ghettos it up to build a mansion on love and dreams and you have yourself a believer.
In all seriousness, Gatsby is to me more of a novel about hope. Yes, it demands hope in love. But I find Gatsby as an individual the most hopelessly hopeful character of all time; and I like that. I really am starting to ramble here, but my love for this hunk of literature is too much.
I think that is think that is the point. To me when seeing a film adaption of slices of literature which are tastier than cake you have to disconnect yourself from the story line. I think you must view it as an independent. I think if you fair to recongise them as two independent art forms you end up loathing a perfectly good film which is an utter shame.
When it comes to Luhrmann's Gatsby adaption I adore it as a Luhrmann fan. As a F.Scott fan however I must crease my brow and throw a tanty. I think there was something missed. The passion between Daisy and Gatsby seems week (despite Leo's incredible Gatsby performance) and I think the film is more about the aesthetic than the story. This is a shame because Gatsby is one of those timeless tales more riddled with themes than parliament question time. I think he turned a true and honest story into a bit of a show; and it made me sad.
As The Standard's, Matt Neal put so eloquently....
Like Gatsby himself, it comes so close to achieving its dream, only to fall agonisingly and frustratingly short.