Thursday, March 29, 2007

The Benz Experience

Just been through the Mercedes Benz A-class-to-S-class experience, and I can only say I have seen nothing even remotely like it. Now that could be because I haven't seen much (which, incidentally is not completely untrue!) or simply because the thing really rocks. The link really deserves a separate line. So:

What blows my mind is the amount of thought that has gone into the work on each letter. Every single presentation is a perfect marketing pitch. Precise content focused on what the customer needs, and how the feature concerned offers the best in its line. The animation in the fore (assuming animation is a part of the "text") / back (assuming it isn't: work it your way!)ground contextualizes and enhances the message. And the best thing of all ... no technical stuff! My only crib ... I ain't no Sheikh. Or I'd have bought myself a fleet or two.

Another thing I find interesting is the element of surprise. Each presentation behaves differently, and I was like ... what's gonna happen now. And when it did happen, it was like Wow!!

On a slightly different note, the entire experience makes a very telling statement on how the nature of communication has changed for us. Text, design, animation and sound intermingle to create an experience that is as edifying as it is entertaining. The back-end: technology. Multidisciplinarity really getting into the groove now, ladies and gentlemen, look sharp now! Mark C Taylor had this book called Imagologies published a few years ago. When I read that book, it was more like yeah, that way lies the future. But the past few years have so revolutionized communication, I have very serious doubts. We live in an age of rapid evolution, and euphoria and wonder need to give way to innovative improvisation. What are we going to do with what we got?

How about novels that tell the story with the background animated and sound effects bolstering the tale. That could do wonders for Wuthering Heights, don't you think? But how would you sell them? This opens another pandora's box of copyright issues, illegal copying, etc. If we are to offer our new Wuthering Heights as an online thing, web access, software requirements, etc. open up another plethora of issues. Writers will no longer need to go for reading sessions; writers will no longer write their novels. They will need to have an extremely well-qualified team reading the manuscript, figuring out what each nuance means, deciding which nuance they want to go with, and the writer needs to sit in with the gang and watch his book explode in size, scope, and format; while his message shrinks to a movie that can only be told one way ... or can it? One could go on ... but there.

'Wonder what they paid the team that built that Merc thing though!!!!

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

Excuse of a Post

I haven't posted anything here for very long now, and I had promised myself that I shall put in something at least once a week! This is simply not done. Ratting on promises made to others is what drives civilization; I am all for that. But ratting on one's promises own to oneself is something I frown on, like all civilized citizens of august mettle. Ergo, this excuse for a blog.

I hereby write in this blog that I haven't anything to write about, and have neither the wit, nor the patience to think up something new and churn out something even remotely palatable.

I wonder what people do when they want to write (or have to write), but can't for nuts think of anything worth writing about. What do you do then?

You lemme know!

Tuesday, March 6, 2007

Culinary Lament

The more I taste of curd and cheese,
And others of that ilk,
The more it grieves my heart to think
What man has made of milk.

Thursday, March 1, 2007


sleepy silky smooth and slow
turning slowly with the flow
winded intertwined and yet
long unwinded softly spread
under shadesun interplaying
wakasleep in spring noondaying
loning lie somnullent glow
waving breezes touch and go.

crystal blue the sparkle sky
cotton clouds and you and I
bumblebees that land or drone
while the peepuls creak and moan
crickets somewhere close at hand
birds a pecking on the land
rustling grasses leaves that fly
in the breeze that gentles by.