The Ideas Farm

Binge Thinkin'

Mon, 30 Nov 2009 14:00:00 -0500

“They say you can change the world for a fiver, but the book costs £7.” It is unusual to have a weekend of social activity, even more so to be spending out of work hours with my dear and lovely colleagues. The Jack Hammer, The Ridler and I spend Saturday night researching in depth the Drinkin’ aspect of our splinter endeavour, touching briefly on Postmodern Thinkin’. It ends in Jerk Chicken and narrowly avoided fisticuffs. I get a text at 4am. “Then we’ll have something to show him”. Keep watching this space.

shutupguys: French Champagne On Sunday Grandpa, Sarcastic...

Mon, 30 Nov 2009 13:59:51 -0500

shutupguys:

French Champagne

On Sunday Grandpa, Sarcastic Chris, Moley and I get slowly, wonderfully hammered to a soundtrack of Orson Welles.

shutupguys: Jellyfish in the Abyss. We nurse our collective,...

Mon, 30 Nov 2009 13:59:10 -0500

shutupguys:

Jellyfish in the Abyss.

We nurse our collective, cumulative hangovers over a beer and burger on Monday lunchtime, and chat about Postmodern filmic structure, the left brain negating the right brain, and the fact that Magic Mouse, our new full time developer, has a TWENTY SEVEN INCH IMAC. For programming on. Now, we’re all creatives, but even we know that you can use C++ on Windows 95, and a quad core imac would come in really handy for our meagre ‘editing suite’. Still, it’s just not as aesthetically pleasing as our 17”, 15” and 13” Macbook Pros all lined up side by side like a sleek aluminium Russian Doll, is it now?

Sarcastic Chris is teaching his computer to recognise his voice.

Mon, 30 Nov 2009 13:58:55 -0500

Sarcastic Chris: Facebook. FACE BOOK.
Macbook Pro: *Sits benignly on desk*
SC: Open my i-tunes. I-TUNES
MP: *Placid like a cow chewing cud*
SC: Open my fucking i-tunes you cunt
MP: *Raises a cgi-brow*
SC: I didn’t even want to go on Facebook anyway.

Set Dressing

Fri, 13 Nov 2009 11:24:58 -0500

J-Dog gives the scooby on the newer members of the Leap office. She’s so, like, witty.

shutupguys:

There are a few new cast members in the office today. One of them, our PR Cheerleader who’s going to save the world as well as our sorry asses, is actually female. The other isn’t. I enquire whether he has a nickname. “An ex-girlfriend used to call me Superman Horse Penis, if you want to use that.” I’ve shortened this to Penis to make it easier for everyone to remember. I know he’ll thank me.

Penis and Sarcastic Chris have disappeared into the Editing Fridge to finish off a video, leaving the rest of us in our lounge-cum-boardroom of an office. Seriously, It’s like working in a bizarre hybrid of The Apprentice and Wife-Swap. Space for work, and a separate space for domestic altercations to be played out over cups of tea. I wonder what Martha Lane Fox would say about it? Apparently, when pitching lastminute.com, the only question her male investors had for her was “what happens if you have a baby?” I propose that the next home furnishings addition to the Leap Anywhere office is a birthing pool.

It could double up as a Jacuzzi.

Men's Bathrooms

Fri, 13 Nov 2009 06:54:00 -0500

Only 10% of men wash their hands. I’ve waited in a bathroom and counted it myself. Before they kicked me out (granted I only needed a hundred specimens to formulate my statistic, I just got a little greedy) it struck me (not the bouncer), why oh why do so many public bathrooms require you to pull the door to escape into the fresh air?

As one of the few fellas who do wash my hands, there’s nothing worse than knowing that a certain stranger’s particulars are on the particular handle you just grabbed. Surely it makes sense from a safety point of view as well. Say you’re pinching off a proverbial, when suddenly last nights fiery vindaloo manages to set the porcelain throne alight? A door that gives way under the momentum of half a dozen semi-dressed men is a far faster escape than the alternative.

From today I am never leaving the house without my trusty screwdriver. No hinge will be safe from my reversal revolution.

Bro-mance

Wed, 11 Nov 2009 20:23:07 -0500

So I just got home from a night in the pub with my male friends. The usual anecdotes were delivered. Some involved women. Others involved specific parts of their body. But all of them were firmly rooted in the classic world of male behaviour i.e. shy of a few bones to beat one another with, we pretty much walked the same slightly hunched circles our forefathers did.

However, something unusual happened afterwards. Instead of grabbing a greasy kebab, we grabbed eggs. Instead of asking for added mayonnaise, we asked for red peppers and tomato. In fact, I just spent the preceding hour putting together a six egg omelette for all to share come morning. A great, healthy way to start the day? Absolutely. Hyper organised? Most definitely. A gentle slip into the precipice that marks my decline into middle-aged senility? I can’t even remember.