Completely Camera-esque

Seen on a giant ad hoarding on my way home today: “Imagine… expressing your emotions with optical zoom”

I can’t even begin to understand how I have successfully expressed my emotions all these years without an optical zoom (save the built in one, where you move the lens assembly and imaging surfaces closer to the object being imaged, often by leaning forward). This said, I am English and am therefore incapable of expressing any emotions in the first place.

In case you were wondering, yes, the same phone is also described as “Completely Camera-esque”, which for my money is right up there with Leicester police declaring that circumstances surrounding the man’s death “might have been suspicious”.

These obviously aren’t mistakes: I think “expressing your emotions” is meant somehow to be understood as a noun, a warmingly human synonym for “Samsung G800”. And it’s certainly the G800 which has the optical zoom, not my emotions, nor even the expression of them. Likewise “Completely Camera-esque” is not simply verbal terrorism, trying to inject into our ailing minds some subtle new partial quality of camera-esqueness (might such things be camera-esque-esque?), but rather has some memorable sounds in and is just compellingly awkward enough to stick in the mind. Perhaps. Now I see why I didn’t go into branding.

Morrissey, Moz moz morrissey

Morrissey moz-moz, mozzer Morrissey morrisey morrissey. Morrissey “S. Patrick”, morrissey Wembley Arena morrissey mosh. Moz, mozzer morrissey, morrissey “How Soon Is Now”, “Please, Please Please Let Me Get What I Want”, morrissey morrissey. Morrissey — STEVEN PATRICK — moz morrissey “Disappointed”, morrissey moz-moz.

ps: Boz Boorer. I thank you.

A little more conversation…

I have caught, mesdames et messieurs, an earworm. And what’s more, it’s the worst kind: a little snippet, a single line of a song… with the words in the wrong order. All together now, in your best Elvis: “A little more conversation, a little less action please….”

Just that. No more. Over and over. Soon I will start giggling like Madeline Kahn at the end of Clue. Or join the People’s Whatever-it-was of Judea (“This calls for immediate discussion!”).

There’s no particular reason anyone but me should be interested in this: but I do want people to realise, as I stare over their shoulders glassily, that it’s nothing personal, simply that some reptile part of my treacherous brain has decided to torture me 24/7 just for the moment.