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About me and the site | Twenty-something male who likes text. Obsessed with things such as books, reality, communication, and one or two tv-shows.

Archives | Things written here since... well, 2001. Some of it is good, some is utter shait.

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e-mail | J. Nicklas Andersson

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2001-09-03

Originally I thought about writing about my view regarding design in general, but something got in the way. That something is a bus. Nothing serious, I’m just one of those persons who in order to get to the small U must take the bus. On the early mornings, there is little that can go wrong. It’s quiet and I can sleep. On the way home, that’s an entirely other matter.

Today I feel intellectually drained from listening to I don’t know, four? persons of dubious genetic mix-up. They sat there, behind me and I could not shut out their words. “Did you see Judge Dredd yesterday? Yeah, that was awesome!” and they continued talk about the movie on a level that makes Pauly Shore believable as a card-carrying member of mensa.

-- When he walked into the room and said, “I am the Law”, oh man, that was cool.
-- And the robot.
-- What robot?
-- The big robot. He who just you know...
-- No, not that one, I mean the other one. The one... the... cannibal?
-- Oh, yeah. That was awesome. I think he should have joined Judge Dread and stayed for the rest of the movie.
-- Yeah, that would have been really cool.
-- You know what else is cool? The specialist, where Stallone blows up some shit.

But Judge Dredd? A good movie? What the fuck just happened to reality? I’m a sucker for all bad flicks, so I, per definition, can withstand awful magnitudes of badness but even I must draw the line somewhere. And that’s where I draw it, just in front of Judge Dredd and You Got Mail (Did that one suck or what? For a good romantic comedy, rent Fight Club instead).

But Judge Dredd? I need to take a shower and a brain enema. A big fucking brain enema that will knock me out for at least a month.

For some reason I needed time to go through what I did today. While other people did whatever they normaly do in the morning, such as per chance surfing around or listening to music, I was not so lucky.

Instead I sat in a bizarre booth doing pronouncing-exercises. Transparent glass in front of me and at both sides two red and not at all funky Maplewood “walls”. On my head I had these goofy-looking headphones with a mic which where connected to the equally goofy-looking tape recorder that was in front of me on the table. If a button had been pressed down, a red light flashed until you pressed stop. But then, the light next to the stop-button started to flash and well... You get my point.

The whole thing radiated seventies. The wood and plastic felt seventies. It probably, dare I say it, was built some time during the seventies. I wished I’d had a camera to immortalize the moment, but sadly I don’t own one.

My God, I want to own one of those booths and hook it up to the phone.