House Syndrome (Quick to the point, to the point no faking).

The theme of this short but sweet post is fakery, inspired by a week filled with it (and full of it).

Maybe I’m in the minority, but I think the Apple press conference on Antenna Gate was perfect. It was such an Apple thing to do. Steve Jobs rolled up on the stage and called out all of the media for their part in spinning the story into an international headline. The videos of the other smart phones being death gripped were cool, I don’t care how many companies release rebuttal statements – if the videos were in any way unfair or inaccurate they would be suing, and they aren’t.  To silence the remaining dissenters (fanboys), Steveo offered free cases or free returns; an immediate smack down to the haters drawing parallels between Vista and iPhone 4.

My point is that I just don’t have time for the perennial Salesman type: from the guy packaged in the clothes he thinks you think he should be wearing, to the sensationlist news reporter or politician looking to spin a situation in a favourable light. I guess that’s why I like Twitter, because I have been able to build up a stable of people who are real, who are opinionated in a good way and who are able to hold sometimes polar opposite opinions and yet co-exist with each other. I am unapologetically honest because life is easier that way. I speak my mind and sometimes it gets me into trouble, but hey, that’s me – take it or leave it.

When Gregory House met Vanilla Ice.

[Note: Dear future me. Please don’t forget any of the things that inspired this post.]

Good to meh!

A colleague of mine attended a conference in Birmingham yesterday and was today explaining some of the ideas that were covered by the speakers, one of whom was Sir Clive Woodward. I was listening intently to his explanation, but began to experience a strange sort of word based déjà vu, a split second later and my colleague uttered three simple words that allowed me to reconcile the sense of déjà vu, whilst simultaneously filling me with feelings of “holy crap” and “not this shit again”. Those words were “good to great”. I have a distinct dislike for this book and most of the reasons why are captured excellently in this post by Rob May, suffice to say though that my main objection stems from my feeling that the advice within it can mainly be categorized as blindingly obvious and/or ambiguous beyond all belief. It enables managers to console themselves with the fact that they are on the road from good to great, despite them actually being in a state of moonwalking on a treadmill… next to the road to nowhere. It looks spectacular, but there really isn’t much progress being made and if one of the principles does get some traction, it won’t lead anywhere good.

As for Rob May’s comment about slimy weasels, I’m not even touching that one. <insert evil laugh here>

Fuck The World!

…was a song by Tupac Shakur which characterised his “nothing to lose” mentality. It’s not something I can understand or appreciate, which ironically, is the thing that I am able to appreciate. I was listening to Rockstar, by Nickelback, on the way to work today. I know, it serves me right for listening to the radio and not plugging in my iPod, but hey, some of the lyrics in this song are spot on:

I want a brand new house
On an episode of Cribs
And a bathroom I can play baseball in
And a king size tub big enough
For ten plus me

(So what you need?)

I’ll need a credit card that’s got no limit
And a big black jet with a bedroom in it
Gonna join the mile high club
At thirty-seven thousand feet

(Been there, done that)

I want a new tour bus full of old guitars
My own star on Hollywood Boulevard
Somewhere between Cher and
James Dean is fine for me

(So how you gonna do it?)

I’m gonna trade this life for fortune and fame
I’d even cut my hair and change my name

[Chorus:]
‘Cause we all just wanna be big rockstars
And live in hilltop houses driving fifteen cars
The girls come easy and the drugs come cheap
We’ll all stay skinny ’cause we just won’t eat
And we’ll hang out in the coolest bars
In the VIP with the movie stars
Every good gold digger’s
Gonna wind up there
Every Playboy bunny
With her bleach blond hair

Hey hey I wanna be a rockstar
Hey hey I wanna be a rockstar

I wanna be great like Elvis without the tassels
Hire eight body guards that love to beat up assholes
Sign a couple autographs
So I can eat my meals for free
(I’ll have the quesadilla, ha, ha)
I’m gonna dress my ass
With the latest fashion
Get a front door key to the Playboy mansion
Gonna date a centerfold that loves to
Blow my money for me
(So how you gonna do it?)
I’m gonna trade this life for fortune and fame
I’d even cut my hair and change my name

[Chorus]

And we’ll hide out in the private rooms
With the latest dictionary and today’s who’s who
They’ll get you anything with that evil smile
Everybody’s got a drug dealer on speed dial, well

Hey hey I wanna be a rockstar

I’m gonna sing those songs
That offend the censors
Gonna pop my pills from a pez dispenser

I’ll get washed-up singers writing all my songs
lip sync ’em every night so I don’t get ’em wrong

[Chorus]

And we’ll hide out in the private rooms
With the latest dictionary and today’s who’s who
They’ll get you anything with that evil smile
Everybody’s got a drug dealer on speed dial

Hey hey I wanna be a rockstar
Hey hey I wanna be a rockstar

I’m not going to cut my hair, or change my name and I’m never going to do drugs, but a house on cribs, fifteen cars and a key to the Playboy mansion – that is something to aim for. Reach for the stars, settle for the moon!

I just found out that “Fuck The World” was also the name of a song by Screeching Weasel. There are no words.