James VS The Recession IV

I have spent the best part of the last month 'frumping' about in my crisp Peter Alexanders, moaning about unemployment rates and The National Deficits.

'I hate The Recession!' I said. 'I'm not going to get out of bed until a female friend comes over and tells me that I'm not ugly.'

'You don't have any female friends, James.' My better judgement said. 'You've never liked women, remember? In fact, in the back of your mind you suspect you may be one of those suppressed gays, like the military dad from American Beauty.'

'That's true! Thanks for cheering my up, Better Judgement.'

I bounded out the front door, laughing and eating chips and shouting at women as I went.

Since I started going to AWARD school, I take ideas generation very seriously. If I was going to draw blood in this fight against The Recession I would need black Artline pens and A3 bleedproof drawing pads immediately. 

I made a quick stop at the newsagent on Devonshire St, approaching the man at the counter, 'one of each please,' I said.

'One each of what?'

This was not good enough. I'm ashamed to say that, although he wasn't a woman, I physically lashed out at him. I grabbed him by the front of his sweater. 'Listen here sir,' I said. 'It is absolutely essential that I get what I need today. There will be no ink bleeding on my pad, do you hear?'

'Ah, A3 bleedproof pad for you then sir?'

'Please. And I might also take two cans of Mother. It will be like a quadruple hit of energy, no?'

I didn't have time to wait for his response. I walked out of the door, crossed Elizabeth street and entered into Belmore Park. It was nearly empty, which was good, as under my thin cotton pyjamas I was naked as hell.

There was one man standing on the grass, doing some kind of homeless Philosophy to himself. I decided to join his one-man conversation. What a great opportunity for ideas generation!

'You called the screws on me dintcha (sic). You fucken dog!'

I did my best to get into character. 'I did no such thing, sir. I hate the screw myself, you see! They're all swine!*'

'You ruined my bloody stake. We had a stake, you and me!' He said.

'Don't worry, sir. As soon as this Recession finishes up, we'll get our own stake, just the two of us. I have some cash saved up from unskilled labour. I don't eat much, and I'd be happy to do such as plant corn and the less manly jobs. I ensure you wouldn't hear but a peep out of me.'

'You lied to my face, you dog!'

Now I was bored. Still though, what about my own talent!

Did you noticed how I just 'sampled' some incidental noise and used it to make a conversation? Imagine if I could use my this talent to find a solution to The Recession? You know, crowd-sourced content, user-generated content, flip cameras, CMS, public space, messing with expectations, start-up company, follow a band round for a day, blogs, myspace, lighting up the Opera House, performances in obscure locations, blogs, people from Iceland.

'Wait a minute!' I said. 'I've got it!'

I pulled out my phone... 'Hello, Mayor's office please. Tell her it's James. Thank you. Clover? Babe, how are you? Now listen. Free up your diary for the 3rd of November and bring your best scissors... Why?'

I turned around dramatically and cracked seal on the second can of Mother: 'because I'm putting on an Arts festival.'

TBC

* I had to project my voice, as I was over 50m away.