A Queen's guardsman cracks

And puts a not inconsiderable dent in the British sense of identity. He didn't just smile. He didn't just flinch. He flipped out.

The remaking of America

Got a funny call from my mum the other day. She called to ask me if it was ok for my dad to take my letter jacket from high school to the charity shop on Martin Luther King Day. I said no, on the grounds that my childhood memories have already, save the aforementioned jacket, been resigned to just one box in the basement. And that earning that letter jacket is still one of my proudest achievements.

I didn't give much thought to the call. I was thinking about other things. Like the speech. How wonderful it felt to not feel cynicism and hatred for your government. To believe in something again.

There's an interesting take on the speech over at I Noticed This and I won't get into an analysis of Obama's speech. Mostly because it's done better at the NY Times. But also because I thought his call to remake America was a bit glib, and that it would fall on the deaf ears of a populace who had been burned too many times by politicans who said one thing, and then did another. It had obvious links to JFK's 'ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country', and could therefore be considered political posturing.

But I was wrong to think that the Obamas would not be able to mobilise the country. I'd asked my mum why, out of character, my dad was taking old clothes to the charity shop.

'Because he got an email from Michelle Obama asking him to celebrate MLK day by doing something for poor people.'

Spread the word

Please watch this video. Well, if you're here, you probably already have. I have posted this video for several reasons.

Ths first is that it, as a piece of art and how I learned about it, is a perfect example of what the tools and behaviours of the internet can do that no other medium (and I hesitate to use that word) can do.

It is a beautiful piece of work that only a few years ago would not have been possible without the backing of a wealthy client. It's a piece of art that did not get forced into the middle of my favourite TV show, but rather one that I have chosen to watch, because a friend of mine sent it to me.

Now I share it with you. And this is exactly what you can do in digital that you can't do anywhere else. I was the 230,109th person to watch it. And that will only grow as it goes viral. I would like to use my rather limited reach to help the makers of this film out. That's the important thing you can do with a film digitally that you can't do with a well-made commercial. You can immediately help out by sending it on. No £2 ask, no number to call.

But the main reason why I am writing to you tonight, as a member of humanity (and their much over-analisyed alter egos, consumers), is that this film, and it course through the Internet , drew a straight line between the homeless people featured and my own experience. As someone who only made it through the ass end of freelancing because of the compassion of his friends, I recognise the desolation and isolation from humanity.

And I wouldn't wish that on anyone. Ever.

Thanks to Lucas Levitan for reminding me.

Barry Gibb

This makes me giggle like a little schoolgirl.

Wind turbines

Wind turbines. Never understood what the fuss was all about. As my mate Matt says, they give him hope. They give me hope too. We think they're beautiful and graceful.

So what the hell happened to this one? The Sun claims, rather truthfully, that a UFO hit it.

The Guardian claims to have solved the mystery, or not. But the comments at the end of the Guardian article are priceless.

A London Night

Last night I was walking home from Barons Court station. Being a little late in the evening, it was dark, and the cold had broken so that it was only chilly. It was attempting to rain, which meant the air was misty.

Walking down the near-deserted street, I caught it. The unmistakable whiff of peat burning in a fireplace. It smells like wood burning, but is sweeter, like grass burning. And I knew instantly where it was coming from.

I always cut through the carpark of a church, and it was coming from the vicar's house. I knew this because his house and garden is a little oasis of country in the city. A lovely brick two-story, with an obviously lovingly-tended garden.

Having been here for so long, I often forget that I live in a foreign country. Lovely, warm reminders are always welcome.

A Minnesota Night

Something lurked in the back of my mind today as I was trolling through my recipes looking for my supper. I didn't know it at the time.

I was wearing a shirt from a Japanese store, socks and pants from English makers. A T-shirt from God knows where. Jeans were 501s.

Opted for Beer and Mushroom Mac 'n' Cheese. Didn't know why until I put the package that'd arrived on. It was the Cities 97 Sampler.

It's a compliation of artists who have come into the Minneapolis station's studio doing acoutstic sets. And for tonight, at least, I would like to be at home, listening to these people, eating this food. understanding who I am.

Today I talked to, and played with, some very serious people. Global Creative Directors, Global Marketing Directors. Global Kings and Queens. And I played, but it was a dice game.

I'm playing, and maybe by rules I can define. But I have now learned the hard way that you can take the boy out of the Midwest, but you can't change who you are.

A nod to Jeremy Messersmith.