#thankfulthursday

I was wondering the other morning whatever happened to #followfriday. Turns out it just became a bit old hat and quietly petered out. Then Vaughn suggested, half-joking, that it had been replaced by #hatefultuesday. Twitter being what it is (or at least occasionally becomes), it seemed pretty plausible that something generous and positive might be replaced by something bitter and angry.

So, while accepting the risk that I will come across as throat-punchingly new-age, I think we should try for a new hashtag.

Let’s introduce #thankfulthursday.

The clue’s in the hashtag. Please either share something that you’re thankful for or recommend people you have reason to thank. Thank a a mechanic who stayed late, a bartender who double-poured or a brother who didn’t tell Dad. Thank a teacher who listened, a bus driver who waited or a colleague who let you have the last biscuit on the plate. Thank Sam for hippos, Matt for consistently unexpected (and brilliant) links and Angela for a great blog.

It’s Thursday. Thank away.

[Updated] So, proving once and for all that you should always check at least three times before suggesting anything, it turns out #thankfulthursday is already a thing. A very good thing. And whoever started it, I thank you.

Some things simply must be blogged

Some days the universe gives generously. After an extended period of non-blogging, today I have been hit by a torrent of things that simply must be blogged.

First up we have an unfortunate piece of art direction. Or a brilliantly subversive piece of advertising sabotage by an ideologically-opposed designer. (via Copyranter)


Then we have Hipster Hitler. I hate the phrase ‘wrong on so many levels’. I hate it almost as much as I hate the word ’special‘. But it does seem apt when describing a comic strip that re-imagines Hitler as a slightly wet Hipster. (via StopPress)

Lastly, we have what I believe I may state without fear of contradiction is the greatest achievement in the history of the internet. I give you, Otters who look like Benedict Cumberbatch. (via Sell, Sell, Sell)

Doing what you’re good at

I’ve resigned from my job. This is an act that can best be described as reckless. The simple explanation is that enjoyment comes from doing something that you’re good at, and while the job I was doing was perfectly pleasant in many ways, I spent very little time doing the things I’m good at. Which meant I didn’t enjoy it very much.

Now you may be able to help.  Because apparently the key when you’re looking for a change is to spend as much time as possible doing the things you’re good at. There’s some theory of inter-connectedness that has it that by focussing on doing specific things you create the opportunity to do more of those things (which I know sounds uncomfortably like a theory Deepak Chopra might espouse, but then someone I follow did retweet something of his the other day and that new-age stuff is virulent).

I find this all rather difficult, because to do lots of what you’re good at, you have to be comfortable claiming to be good at something. And I’m very uncomfortable claiming to be good at anything. Not just mildly uncomfortable, either. I find it properly, kidney-punchingly, uncomfortable, like the time I bumped into my client as he exited the ‘adult’ section of the video store. (True story. Hi, Hugh.)

So with a deep breath and an apology for being so hideously conceited, I am good at a couple of things and I’m hoping you might be able to help me do more of them.

I’m good at public speaking.  Apparently being called on to speak in public is most people’s greatest fear.  They fear it more than spiders, more than flying, more than heights. More than dying, even. But not me. I love public speaking. In fact I’m never happier than when speaking to a group of people, ideally in a very high place on the subject of spiders. Because I know no fear.

(That’s not true. I fear the Lace Monitor lizard, pictured below.  I once encountered one when running in Noosa National Park. I rounded a corner and it was standing in the middle of the track, languidly masticating.  Locals tried to tell me that Monitor Lizards are vegetarian.  Bollocks they are. They look vegetarian like Demi Moore looks 48.)

So, if you find yourself in need of someone to speak publicly, I’m your guy. I can talk about pretty much anything.  Marketing and advertising stuff, obviously, and spiders. But I’ll give any subject a go. (As evidence, I once gave a speech on what Carlos Spencer can teach us about effective corporate culture.)

I’m also good at writing. That said, I only have one way of writing. I always sound like me – a middle-class, slightly-pretentious, faux-intellectual, anglophile with a fondness for parentheses. That generally doesn’t work too badly for advertising and marketing stuff because, let’s be honest, a decent chunk of that audience is middle-class, slightly-pretentious, faux-intellectual anglophiles. So if you want something written in that voice, I’m your man.

On that subject, I have massive admiration for people who can write in different voices. I have a friend who used to write the letters that American Express sent to its high value customers as well as the replies to the little girls who wrote to tell Barbie that they hated their brothers and wanted to swap them for puppies. (True story. Hi, Andy.)

So there you have it. If you need something written, or you need something spoken, I’m your guy.  Just let me know.

The IRB does care about the rules. But which rules exactly?

I read Wynne Gray’s column in the Herald yesterday and agreed with most of what he said.  His column supported a lot of coverage over the last week suggesting that in this Rugby World Cup the IRB has demonstrated a clear bias against the smaller unions, most obviously via the scheduling arrangements and the $10,000 fine handed down to Samoan wing Alesana Tuilagi for wearing a non-approved mouthguard.

The prevailing view is that the IRB favours the larger unions that deliver the revenue, while undermining the smaller unions that require the investment.

I’m not sure I agree that this is true, and I also think there’s a more alarming conclusion that can be drawn. Perhaps the real issue is that the IRB has more concern for the rules of the event than it does for the rules of the game.

Think about it.  Two of the IRB’s biggest calls in relation to this event have been to fine a player for wearing an incorrect mouthguard and to insist that a group of commentators be referred to by their first names, not by their nicknames. Remember that?  That was when the IRB insisted that TJ, Nisbo, Kamo and Coops must only be referred to as Tony, Grant, Ian and Matthew while commentating during the Rugby World Cup.

This is simply the IRB playing to its strengths.  Because it certainly appears from the outside that the key strength of the IRB is officious administration.

I imagine the IRB has a very large (and very happy) team of people responsible for developing and communicating guidelines to which all participating RWC teams must adhere.  (For the 2003 event this document ran to 199 pages, and it’s difficult to imagine it’s had much of an edit.)

You can bet that the detailed rules governing approved mouthguards were covered in these guidelines and that Samoa received them.  So from the IRB’s perspective the rules of the event were communicated and it’s clear a player broke them. So that’ll be $10,000.

But contrast that with the two England coaching staff who were caught illegally changing the ball prior to conversion attempts in the game against Romania.  There’s equally no question that rules were broken.  The RFU admitted this as part of their investigation of the incident that it shared with the IRB.  But England’s punishment for breaking the rules?  The two coaches were banned from the touchline for their pool match against Scotland. No fine. No points docked. No meaningful censure at all.

So the simple conclusion is that the IRB has one rule for rich, potential tournament winner England and another for struggling, probable early loser Samoa.

But I think that’s the wrong comparison. This isn’t about rich vs poor, Six Nations vs Pacific Nations, potential winner vs honest trier. All it shows is that the IRB is more concerned with the rules of its event than it is with the rules of the game.

England wasn’t fined because it didn’t break the IRB’s rules. Samoa was fined because it did. And unfortunately in the eyes of the IRB, that’s a far greater infraction.

What can you do that’s of any consequence?

I grew up in Napier, the town that in 1931 suffered a devastating earthquake. It was, and hopefully will forever remain, New Zealand’s deadliest natural disaster.

The earthquake defined Napier – February 3rd, 1931 became its most infamous day, and the necessary rebuilding made Napier world famous for its Art Deco architecture. (It always struck me as cruelly ironic that a city that fell to the ground became famous for its buildings.)

I remember reading the story of a survivor, recorded, as I remember it, in a newspaper supplement commemorating an anniversary of the earthquake. I was in my early teens when I read it, about the age she had been when the earthquake struck. She described the terror of seeing buildings fall, the loneliness of standing in a school field wondering, the guilt of being alive.

But what she remembered most were friends, now 50 odd years dead, but old enough then to have been looking forward. She talked about friends who wanted to be builders, to enter the church, to be married, to sail, to keep books. Friends who wanted to see Paris, see a musical, see the All Blacks play. Her sadness, she said, was that it was those plans that were lost.

Like most people I’ve spent today feeling pretty helpless. You want to help, but seriously, what can you do? I’d give blood but the Blood Service says they have enough of that. I’ve given money, and I guess there can’t ever be enough of that. But at a practical level you can’t help but feel like you’re not doing, not giving, anything of consequence.

So I’m thinking about what a Napier earthquake survivor said. So much was lost in 1931, but it was the lost opportunity that still pained her 50 years later.

And that’s what you can give. Give a commitment to doing something big, to not losing your opportunity. What’s the one thing you know you desperately want to do? If you’re honest, you know what it is. Everyone does. On a summer Sunday afternoon, just before you drift into an unplanned nap, what’s the last thing you think of? The place you want to go, the song you want to write, the job you know you should be doing, the race you should have run? You know what it is. So do that.

Please send money. Please give blood when it’s needed. Please make beds available. But please do something with your life. That’s something of consequence you can do.

The Bermuda Triangle of Productivity

So perfect, so painfully true.  From the tumblr of Fuchsia Macaree (via notcot).

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This was a nice surprise

I stumbled across this last week.  A very nice young man by the name of Anthony Kondeati has made a video called Media Neutral vs Media Passionate, quoting me. He’s posted it on his Vimeo channel here.

It was a nice surprise to find that someone I’d never met, toiling for Wolff Olins (I think) in the UK, found a post interesting.

The internet. It’s a crazy old place.

A few fun things

Here are a few things I’ve been meaning to share.

I want one of these quite desperately.  From Dunhill, it’s a leather notebook cover in the style of a mailing envelope into which you can have your own address details pressed (image courtesy of Acquire).

These images are from a series of drawings by Ulrich Schroder for Elle Spain in which fashion designers are re-imagined as Disney characters.

In this Oooms birdhouse a solar panel in the roof charges a battery that illuminates the landing stick at the front of the house, attracting bugs. So whenever the bird hears a buzz it just leans out and dinner’s there. It’s just like Domino’s.

Nothing like shafting the Australians

Brilliant, delightfully subversive, work from Tourism New Zealand.

Yesterday Tourism Australia launched its new campaign line – ‘There’s nothing like Australia’.

Tourism New Zealand grabbed the Twitter profile @NothinglikeAus,

I wish I’d thought of that.


Juvenile. And funny. But not altogether clean.

Go on. Click it.  You know you want to.

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