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Headbanger

Headbanger

photo c/o czoper

The Urban Dictionary defines headbanger thusly: A guy who listens to heavy metal while vigorously nodding his head up and down. Ideally throwing his long hair back and forth for added effect.

I’ve been to a few heavy metal gigs in my time (the Motorhead Merry Bastard Christmas bash in 1989 stands out as a quality affair) and though I often enjoyed the music and the atmos and all that, I define the act of headbanging itself as repetitive, painful and ultimately pointless.

Next week the employee engagement task-force group rolls into town again. As regular readers will know I’ve been blogging about my thoughts on this group since it emerged blinking into the light about ten months ago. For the brave among you this marathon starts here, then goes here and here before taking the summer off then reappearing here and here.

Many of you have already contributed to the engagement dialogue in previous posts and messages and you are of course welcome to comment and suggest further. I’ve tried to represent your comments and suggestions and feedback into the group. I’ve made specific offers of help to the group and vague ones too. So far – nothing concrete (or even vaguely solid for that matter) has emerged.

I may be wrong, I often am, and I’m going into next week’s session with a sense of impending headbanger. Don’t get me wrong, I still like Motorhead I’m just not sure I could manage a whole concert.

More to follow?

Fancy a Curry?

Sadly I’m not talking chicken jalfrezi. Currys, the pushy high street retailer has finally pushed me too far.

Rewind to July 2011 and after seeking advice from my Twitter buddies I went shopping for a netbook. I ended up in the Currys/PC World on the outskirts of Croydon. They had the item I wanted in stock at an acceptable price. I bought it. I left, not before asking the cashier to ensure that I wasn’t added to any email marketing lists…please.

Since the date of purchase I’ve been receiving regular sales emails from Currys and PC World. Each time one arrives I click unsubscribe and their web site tells me:

Currys unsubscribe messageThen a day or two later another email arrives trying to flog me a TV, DVD player, microwave, washing machine…I click unsubscribe, they acknowledge, they ignore. You get the picture.

I put up with this for months, man how lame is that? Anyhoo – before Christmas I had a go at contacting Sebastian James, one of the company directors who has a twitter account. I expressed my frustration and asked for help. I got no reply. Maybe in the run up to Christmas wasn’t a great time to contact him so I tried again in the New Year. Nowt, nada, not a sausage. Sebastian clearly uses his Twitter account, though seemingly not to direct and help resolve customer complaints.

A few days ago I hopped onto the Stop Doing Dumb Things to Customers Facebook page and asked for help. Julia suggested that Currys might appreciate a rocket up the backside (my interpretation of what she actually said), courtesy of the Advertising Standards Authority. So today – I’ve registered a complaint with the ASA. How tedious, and if it gets Currys off my back well it will have been worth it.

I’ll keep you posted – and if anyone can suggest a suitably mischievous way I might repay Currys for persistently ignoring my requests, I’m open to suggestions.

Update: Thanks to Julia for suggesting the ICO as another place to get help with removing unwanted email

Mister Magorium. Life is an occasion

photo c/o FICG.mx

Over the Christmas break I reacquainted myself with Mister Magorium’s Wonder Emporium. I didn’t go looking for the movie, truth be told it found me half way through a box of chocolates and three glasses of Cote du Rhone. It’s an OK film with one scene in particular that knocks me for six. Mister Magorium (played by Dustin Hoffman) is talking with his assistant Molly Mahoney (played by Natalie Portman) about death. I hope you enjoy this excerpt from the script – see you at the other end of it.

Molly Mahoney: Are you dying?

Mr. Edward Magorium: Light bulbs die, my sweet. I will depart.

Mr. Edward Magorium: [to Molly] When King Lear dies in Act V, do you know what Shakespeare has written? He’s written “He dies.” That’s all, nothing more. No fanfare, no metaphor, no brilliant final words. The culmination of the most influential work of dramatic literature is “He dies.” It takes Shakespeare, a genius, to come up with “He dies.” And yet every time I read those two words, I find myself overwhelmed with dysphoria. And I know it’s only natural to be sad, but not because of the words “He dies.” but because of the life we saw prior to the words.

[pause, walks over to Molly]

Mr. Edward Magorium: I’ve lived all five of my acts, Mahoney, and I am not asking you to be happy that I must go. I’m only asking that you turn the page, continue reading… and let the next story begin. And if anyone asks what became of me, you relate my life in all its wonder, and end it with a simple and modest “He died.”

Molly Mahoney: [starting to sob] I love you.

Mr. Edward Magorium: I love you, too. [picks Molly up, sighs heavily]

Mr. Edward Magorium: Your life is an occasion. Rise to it.

I love two things about this scene. First there is the observation on death. Described with beautiful simplicity, and the sadness it evokes. Not for death itself, but for the life that goes before. Second there is the observation on life. We are familiar with the term rise to the occasion, and I think linking that phrase with life itself is a master stroke.

Doing great work makes for a great life. Doing it because you love it, because it makes you want to rise to the occasion. Having already decided that 2012 is gonna be great, I am now seeing some clarity around how this will be so. More to follow, and you can bet that rising to the occasion of life will drive a great year. I hope it drives you too.