Tag Archives: braindump

Just in case anyone gives a toss

I’ve started a workblog, which is mostly just a place to dump all those webdev and web culture related bits of nonsense that occur to me. Part of an ongoing effort to general tidy up my professional life. If you fancy keeping an eye on it, you can find it at alasdair.biz.

I mention it because from time to time, I do intend to actaully write the odd article on there, and have just put the first one “The Joy Of The Commons” up there – about the monetisation of mass amateurisation. Feel free to check it out, and tell me I’m talking out of my arse.

Post-Politics

I’m buried in Simon Reynolds “Rip It Up And Start Again” at the moment.  It’s a history of the post-punk movement from (about) 78-84, and it’s very good.  By “very good”, what I mean is “it’s making me think”.

Some of what follows will almost certainly be blinding obvious.  I’m thinking, and frankly, there’s not a lot of functioning grey matter in here to do that with.  I need to start with the obvious, or I just go round in lots of little circles.

Post-punk, the internet, art movements, politics and enfranchisement

“Well, you bit off more than you could chew the first day you met me.”

The lyric is from The Dropkick Murphys’ “The Dirty Glass”.  There are days when I really feel that it could describe my relationship with creativity.  That it could very easily be whatever passes for my “muse” talking to me.

[This is really quite long, and is basically self-indulgent/important introspection and self-examination.  Although to give myself due credit, I’m not actually whining about anything – it’s not something I remotely need to whine about, just figure out a bit better.  Skip it if you’re busy, or not remotely interested in listening to me work through a few thoughts on my relationship with creativity.]

You’ve been warned.

Trousers

I note that Lyssa has much the same reaction to nu-metal kids as I do. Something along the lines of “It’s not like it was back in my day…”

Mostly, it’s the trousers that frighten me. I feel like stopping them them in the street and demanding that they show me their feet, just so I know that they’ve got some under the scary, scary trousers.