April 1st, 2009
You could hardly sue them for misrepresentation of the facts - the name ‘Twitter’ said it all. But uncovering your client’s 140-character musings had its attractions, especially when the client was Ignacious Spore.
10th Nov 2008. Spore: “Found suitable patsy to dupe with misleading trail of non-existent symbols. Meeting Stephen Fry later.”
Admittedly, I would follow a trail of peanuts if they were laid out with a modicum of design sense. But at this stage there was nothing more than that to suggest I was the patsy in question. I continued to read.
1st Dec 2008. Spore: “Discussed fiscal arrangements with FF. Met Fry again and have decided he’s a knob.”
There was only one FF worth the name and that was LaFlamme. So the raven-haired minx was in collusion with Spore? And who the hell was this Fry character?
Feb 8th 2009. Spore: “Framing the patsy later today. Fry has taken the huff.”
A panic attack of seismic proportions began to take hold as I realised I was being overwhelmed by information. I had the urge to start removing clothes, but with Spore’s picture and Fry’s omnipresence this seemed improper.
I calmed myself with thoughts of giving up computers forever, and living in an electricity-free state. Eventually, I managed to skip forward to the current week. This time, there was a single entry:
29th Mar 2009. Spore: “Fait Accompli.”
Fait Accompli? The panic passed but was now replaced by all-out alarm. Whatever the loon-supreme was up to, I sure as hell didn’t want it accompli-ed, with or without Stephen Fry.
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Tags: Ignacious Spore, Stephen Fry, Twitter | No Comments
March 20th, 2009
The discovery that my design client Ignacious Spore had been using Twitter had jolted me out of my force ten apathy towards the micro blogging site.
Spore had already sent me on a wild goose chase involving the worst logo in the world, Jack Daniels, and the raven-haired minx Fifi LaFlamme (who was now a best-selling author after her self-help book ‘Help Yourself To Drink’ had gone top ten).
His nefarious activities began with a request that I analyse the religious symbology of his ‘IS’ monogram, in the mistaken belief that I was a certain Harvard professor. This column had become increasingly silly ever since.
But the fact that the slippery nutjob could have been posting 140-character clues on the utterly pointless typing-based me-fest that is Twitter was just too intriguing to pass up.
My path was clear. I clicked ‘follow.’
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March 18th, 2009
The Admiral had explained ‘twittering’ to me in words of one syllable and yet I still found the concept baffling. I asked for a diagram.
Later that evening I began to explore for myself. There had to be a reason for the popularity of this typing-based pastime and I was determined to find it.
I arrived at the conclusion that the world was in the grip of typing-induced delirium, because after several hours spent amongst all this random keyboard spawn, I was unable to find any actual writing.
I was also finding it difficult to see the possible attraction in following the nonsensical ramblings of strangers when I could barely follow my own.
But just when I was about to give up on the idea altogether and slide into coma-level apathy, I stumbled upon a correspondent by the oddly familiar name of @Spore, who was about to change my opinion altogether.
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Tags: Ignacious Spore, The Admiral, Twitter | No Comments
March 12th, 2009
Even though the Admiral was using a mobile phone rather than a keyboard, I still felt that he was essentially typing. But he took issue with this, insisting he was neither typing nor texting, but in fact ‘twittering.’
“Twittering?” I queried. “Not typing?”
“Hmm.”
“Not texting?”
“That’s right. It’s when you describe in 140 characters or less what you are doing. Let me give you an example.” He began poking at the device. “Going to meet my colleague, the eminent psychologist Lydia Pine-Coffin.” He looked pleased with this.
“But you’re not. You’re typing.”
“Well yes, but you misunderstand. It’s about social networking, it’s about micro blogging.”
“It’s about typing.” I took the device and punched in the following letters: ‘hav just stuffd my armdillo and now thinkng tacos for brekfst.’ I showed him this marvellous piece of prose. “Typing.”
“You’re being childish now,” he scolded. “Deliberately obtuse.”
“Bum bum bum,” I retaliated, deciding to stick with childish rather than have to look up obtuse. “You don’t need 140 characters to describe what you’re doing. Just write ‘typing.’”
But it seemed the Admiral was far from alone. Most people’s list of hobbies would be headed with ‘typing’ if they ever dared admit it. Maybe it was like going to the bathroom - I enjoy my rest breaks but I wouldn’t necessarily class them as a hobby.
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Tags: Ignacious Spore, The Admiral, Twitter | No Comments
March 3rd, 2009
I went to visit the Admiral hoping he might be able to explain the Da Vinci Code to me in semaphore or some other language I might understand. I felt the story may help me solve the mystery behind the worst logo in the world, but I wasn’t so committed to the idea that I would read all 600 pages myself.
I found the Admiral in typical pose, hunched over some miniscule technical device, poking and prodding, his milk-bottle glasses growing thicker by the hour.
But it turned out this wasn’t another piece of his electronic fiddling. He was texting, and the miniscule device was in fact a phone.
It was difficult to see how this gadget could be dialled by anyone outside Lilliput, and this gave rise to my theory that either phones were shrinking or my hands were expanding at an alarming rate.
And just when I was getting to my next question - how could a form of typing ever become so popular? - the Admiral dropped a bombshell. He wasn’t typing. He was ‘twittering.’
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Tags: Ignacious Spore, The Admiral, Twitter | No Comments
February 23rd, 2009
“I believe your logo may be haunted,” I informed Ignacious Spore, when I finally managed to tear myself away from his deceptively simple ‘IS’ monogram and pick up the phone.
I had revised my opinion of the worst logo in the world after an afternoon spent locked up in it’s presence without any drink. Initial revulsion turned to playful curiosity which turned to semi-religious epiphany, as I became transfixed with the zen-like beauty of the word ‘is’. Unfortunately this was followed by nausea.
My client sensed my emotional state and decided to tread carefully. “My dear boy, have you lost your bleeding marbles?” He was a sensitive soul.
But I knew Spore had been secretly searching for the Holy Grail and I believed he’d be interested in knowing this logo might hold the key.
“Ok maybe not haunted but it’s definitely creepy.”
This was where my knowledge of the Da Vinci Code let me down. If I could have wowed him with some nonsense about priories and keystones, he might have taken more interest. But I had nothing. There just weren’t many possibilities for an anagram of the word ‘is.’
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Tags: Da Vinci Code, Holy Grail, Ignacious Spore | No Comments
February 9th, 2009
Despite being awash with Jack Daniels, it was several hours before LaFlamme and I realised it was actually the solution to our problem. That is to say, ‘Jack Daniels’ was the solution to the anagram ‘Jackal dines’ that my dubious client Ignacious Spore had left whilst dropping dead in my doorway.
By this time LaFlamme’s ‘liquid inspiration’ had left us very heavily inspired, and we failed to notice that Spore was nowhere to be found. He was a slippery character alright, but he would have had to slip across the landing and down four flights of stairs, something dead clients can’t normally do.
“Maybe he was just having a lie down,” LaFlamme said helpfully.
“He walked up four flights of stairs with a cryptic message just to have a lie down? Wouldn’t it have been easier to stay home in bed?”
“Spirited away?” she suggested, with only a hint of silliness. In our current inspired state this began to sound quite likely, at least more likely than my slipping down the stairs explanation. But something didn’t fit.
And if he didn’t slide out the door and he wasn’t spirited away, that only left one conclusion - I had no idea what was going on.
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Tags: Fifi LaFlamme, Ignacious Spore | No Comments
December 23rd, 2008
“Why would my client want to kill me?” I asked LaFlamme. “I’m not that bad a designer.”
It was often hard to gauge what the raven-haired minx was thinking behind the wraparounds, but I never had long to wait for an opinion.
“Spore has you heavily insured,” she replied a little coyly. “You’re worth more dead than alive to him.”
“Insured? How can my client have insured me without my knowledge?” I demanded, confident now that I could get this whole case to unravel like one of the Admiral’s bobbly cardigans. “Shouldn’t I have some say in that?”
“Clients have all kinds of rights these days,” she said matter-of-factly. “They need to protect their investments. It’s standard procedure now.” She paused to take a full-throated blast from the troublesome red, tamed now in her hands. “In fact the underwriters treat it like pet insurance.”
It was hard not to feel humiliated by the notion that my life could have been quoted for alongside the family budgie’s. But there it was.
“Don’t worry, Spore didn’t insure your talent,” LaFlamme added.
“That’s a pity, because he could have claimed last week when it deserted me.” I paused and then spun around to face her. “So what did he insure?”
LaFlamme looked up. “Your soul,” she said.
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Tags: Fifi LaFlamme, Ignacious Spore | No Comments
December 22nd, 2008
- LaFlamme’s take on murder.
“Murder?” I asked LaFlamme. “Who’s dead?”
“That’s not important,” she replied.
“You’re telling me my design client is framing me for murder but it doesn’t matter whose?” Ordinarily I’d have thought that the subject of any murder might be a critical point but LaFlamme disagreed.
“There’s no death,” she stated plainly.
“Murder without death?” I fired back. “That’s even more unusual.” I often begin these conversations with a quest for knowledge and end them settling for a quiet life.
“We both know Spore’s a slippery character,” LaFlamme continued, now in full flow. “He gave you the world’s worst logo knowing you could never work with it. Nobody could. He figured the case would drive you crazy and then he could pin a murder on you.”
“But whose murder?” I persisted.
“Yours.”
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Tags: Fifi LaFlamme, Ignacious Spore | No Comments
December 19th, 2008
A week has passed since my last communication, and my state of confusion has deepened. LaFlamme once again lulled me into a false sense of security by plying me with her sherry-like substance until my whole body radiated with a thermo-nuclear glow.
My graphic design talents, shaky to begin with, were now being tested to the maximum with the challenges that the world’s worst logo presented me. And LaFlamme’s book deal was galling enough without the realisation that the publisher was responsible for the very logo I’d been commissioned to investigate.
“Y’see, kid” she began, taking an ordinary household corkscrew and tackling a particularly troublesome red. “Your client may not have been entirely honest with you.” The corkscrew snapped off, leaving a stump of metal still engaged below the surface of the barely dislodged cork. “Metal fatigue,” she explained, plunging the cork into the bottle with her thumb - a method much favoured by desperate art students, and proof that art college education is extremely practical.
“My client’s never been honest with me,” I said, referring to the lowlife Ignacious Spore. “If he ever tried, I’d think he was up to something.”
She took a swig from the cork-infested bottle - she was a class act alright.
“Yes, but did you know he was here last night trying to frame you for murder?”
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Tags: Fifi LaFlamme, Ignacious Spore | No Comments
