Lost...

Here's a recent ad campaign I worked on with Travis Robertson and Cedrick Bearss. We entered it in CMYK's student competition.






On a side note, the Biblioteknine is 100 posts young today. Hooty-hooo.

Milo & Otis

Ski time in t-minus 3 months

I think I just peed a little bit.

Burger Rhymes

Look out Weezy; the Swedes are gunnin'.

via Mad Decent.

Change

Here's a weird, sweeping thought I had today. I tried to capture the feeling by the way I wrote the following:

I left the world for two years.

When I boarded a plane bound for the most isolated city on the planet, on August 16, 2001, I didn't know what the world had in store. No one did. The unfathomable coming days, and months.

26 days later, the world changed. A loss of innocence. Gone were the days of leisurely air travel.

Drastic measures were taken. Metal detectors. Meticulous carry-on exams. Belt removal. Shoe removal. Orange alert levels.

Business and economy would change. Enron. Corporate corruption paved the way for the economic equivalent of airport security.

The world vaulted into war.

"A war we shouldn't be fighting," they say. "Bring our kids home."

Terrorism. Fighting terrorism. Rumors of wars.

Nightly news fear-mongering. Body counts. Toxins. New cancers and scourges.

Touchdown on earth June 26, 2003. The sun still shone. The sky still stark blue. Birds still sang. Is there melancholy in their song? Perhaps.

For days gone by.

Weather Report

"Hey, What's it like living in Georgia in the Summer?"


"Blaargh."


"You're funny. I bet it's pretty hot. No...what's it really like?"


"Okay. Imagine living in someone's crotch. Then add 10 degrees. And about 30% humidity."

This girl around the way

I run into the same people a lot. I guess it's because 95% percent of my time is spent within a 6-block radius. When I stray a couple blocks to my apartment complex pool, I see the same characters all the time. This post is dedicated to one of those people.

I call this girl "Southern Tara Reid." This title is very valid- she's pretty hot. Hot enough to turn heads at a pool. The similarities don't stop there though. Southern Tara has an affinity to alcoholic beverages. Every time I see her she's either drinking Natty light, or talking about drinking. From the sounds of it, she could drink a Lumberjack under the table.

There's another similarity. Well, not really. Southern Tara's voice is husky too. Not cute husky, though. Think Gremlin husky. Or Dr. Claw. Or Ma Fratelli. Like there's some pea gravel in her larynx. Whatever you're picturing, it's probably deeper than mine. Her 4-pack-per-day smoking habit probably doesn't help the voice thing.

Anyway, she'd probably be a good person to have your back in a bar fight. I guess my other point is: looks can be deceiving. The hot girl at the pool is, much like Tara Reid, a train wreck.

(I'm sure she's a nice person.)

Musak

Vampire Weekend frolicks out of my earbuds as I type this. The self-titled album struck a chord with me. Track 2 muses about the use of a serial comma (i.e trains, plains[,] and automobiles.)

Anyways this album seems like it was written for Wes Anderson. It has that smart-as-a-whip quirk that is Anderson's calling card. I instantly imagine a scene from Rushmore, as a backdrop to Jason Shwartzman plotting some tomfoolery.

Mark my words, he'll use it in his next film.

This album also smacks of Paul Simon. Both of Simon and Garfunkel vintage, and the stuff with Ladysmith Black Mombazo. Yet it also has a throwback feel--like the Animals.

The album is great. It's a perfect break from your normal playlist.

By the way

Batman was rad. Almost too rad to comprehend.

I had to pee for the last 66% of the movie, which significantly increased the tension of the goings on.

Did you see the goo on Harvey Dent's pillow when he was in Gotham General? Nice touch.

Speaking of Harvey Dent, Aaron Eckhart went to BYU- my alma mater.

In the year 2000

Empty Your Pockets

I mentioned in an earlier post that I've been flying a lot lately. Flying means one thing: security. And stress. I've been thinking about it a lot too.

Airport security is a good thing. It's meant to protect the common good. It's a noble task, protecting our heartland. But it's a little overboard.

Security at La Guardia is a good idea. Security at Boston's Logan is also prudent. But the shoe-removing, laptop opening, fluid bagging brand of security at Bozeman, Montana's airport is unnecessary. It's also very presumptuous.

Podunk airports with the same level of security presume the next Al Qaeda attack is coming through their doors.

"The bastards won't sleep," They say. "They won't rest until we're all reading Korans."

They're causing a lot of arthritic ranchers a lot of hassle.

The same mindset is true with concerts.

Say there's a pat down and metal detectors at a Toby Keith concert. The event staff thinks someone might harm Toby Keith. Or worse yet, they'll harm someone in the crowd.

It's not gonna happen. The nefarious people in this world have better things to do than mess up soccer moms at a country concert.

They have bigger fish to fry.

MGMT Kids

Dear Judd

Dear Mr Apatow:

I recently revisited your film Knocked Up. I can't say how much I enjoyed your movie- even the second time. But I noticed something. Feel free to correct me if I'm way off base.

Your brand of humor is excellent. The formula seems to work: Lovable loser/pothead, stumbles bassackwards into relationship with totally unapproachable girl. Insert penis jokes. Love ensues.

It's fantastic.

Just a few suggestions though. Seth Rogen, Jonah Hill, Paul Rudd, and the other dudes on the couch need a break from your films. They're very appreciative of the past three years. They all have great houses in North Hollywood or Brentwood. Not bad for some dudes from Canada.

With all due respect, your formula spills over to all facets of life. For example, one of my friends used a line from Knocked Up in church. Church.

Congratulations on infecting the world with your formulaic comedies. Maybe put some other actors on the payroll. And I don't mean a different A-list female co-star.

You make personal-hygiene jokes for a living. Maybe I'm jealous.


Yours Truly,


Adam Hook.

What's going on here?

I was eating at an amazing Japanese restaurant recently. Sansei Hawaii. So we're eating our edamame or whatever and these hot girls walk in. Now when I say hot, I don't mean in a wholesome way. Or even Sports Illustrated Swimsuit way. Or even Maxim. They were at least strippers. Very collagen-y.

So these ladies strut in followed by these- I don't think douchebag is quite strong enough, Dill weeds. Huge Gold watches, Chest hair, Italian loafers. Cells phones-a-blazin'.

They sit down.

"I can't believe how much we drank today. And we all look fabulous. I swear I'm not an alcoholic."

After awhile the dudes go out for a smoke. I took this opportunity to use the facilities too. The dudes took awhile. While they were gone, the girls called the dudes out on the patio.

"Where are you? We totally thought you'd left, or something. Anyway, we're gonna order some sushi."

Now I realize this isn't the most exciting dialogue. It isn’t. Not by a long shot. It’s the dynamic of this group. Why are two gorgeous/sleazy girls breaking bread with two dudes like this? Money? Action? They’re paid accompany guys? Who knows.

It was a total mismatch. I will take a stab at the profession of the guys.

Drug Dealers
Pornographers
Aston Martin salesmen
Persian Rug importers
Owners of a strip club
Owners of a night club
Jewelers
Miami Realtors

Situations like this fascinate me.

You're now free to move about the cabin.

I flew a lot in the last little bit- zooming to and fro to see family and friends. Airplanes do funny things to people. I suppose it's the recycled air and the claustrophobia-inducing coach class seating. Here's a few observations from cruising altitude:

When people ride in planes, they instantly love ginger ale and cranberry juice. At no other time to people get thirsty for any of these drinks.

People recline their chairs to get the impression of relaxation. A reclined coach-class seat is the angle of your parent's dining room chairs.

Flight attendants love micromanaging your journey. Your tray table can only be down at certain times. Your backpack must be jammed in the trap where your feet are supposed to fit. You only get 2 ounces of your beverage at a time. Is your approved electronic device switched to off or its flight mode?

Babies and small children love screeching at inopportune moments- air turbulence especially.

Pilots love telling you pilot jargon no one understands. Well, maybe meteorologists. Wind shear, jet streams, wind speed (in nautical miles). They all sound like boat names.