By AA

In short, it’s all about beautiful and stunning videos.

I’ve been busy, real busy lately and the clouds of uncertainty are starting to break, the sunshine is pouring in and it is beginning to feel like I have something really special on my hands here and I am ridiculously excited about it.

I’m talking about a new Production company that I have started called OYFE Productions.

What the hell is OYFE Productions I can hear echoing around the chambers of the EiOK temple, well, it’s two guys who want to make awesome videos. Myself and a good friend who I have worked with for years are throwing off the shackles of our day jobs and pouring all our energy and heart and souls into something new, something special and something that will fire us up creatively and warm our souls with pure unadulterated awesomeness.

We are now open for business and looking for filming jobs to do!

The basic plan is this, we want to shoot Music Videos, Live Events, Corporate Videos and Wedding Videos – so lots of things really and we are totally capable of doing this so we are now just looking for the opportunity. It looks like a long road ahead, but we’re already off, we made our first fully produced music video for our friends, Circle of Rage and the video went live across the social networks yesterday and was well received.

It’s cool, you should watch it.

Our next project has already been filmed and we’re in the process of editing a mountain of footage.

So far, so good.

There are a number of other projects I want to film, just for the hell of it as well, stuff I may well have been thinking about for years so they are being storyboarded and planned too.

So I am writing all this because there is nothing else in my head going on to report on. Every night last week I toiled at my computer organising and building us a website to showcase our talents and wares and I have spent an inordinate amount of time setting up a social network for our business using Twitter (a little bit of sick came in my mouth as I typed that, but I recognise the power of this beast), Tumblr, Facebook, YouTube (obviously) and Vimeo so to coin a phrase that those goatee bearded assholes in PR and advertising use, “we have all our social media ducks in a row”.

Someone kill me now please.

I’m enjoying this immensely though and it’s giving me something creative that I can really do and something I can focus on. For many years I have worked in Web Design but really these web orientated endeavours, while commonplace and with plenty of work out there I am just bored, bored, bored. Bored to tears with producing the same old web sites over and over again, but with film making it’s a real clean sheet every time and I can start from the beginning and I am thirsty to make gorgeous and stunning films that blow audiences away.

In fact we benchmark ourselves, for example if we are going to shoot a wedding video for someone, we know we have succeeded if the bride cries after watching it. In a good way crying of course.

For music videos, I don’t really know what the benchmark is, but when I showed the recently made “Ignorance is this” film to Circle of Rage, their reaction was massive – they loved it and Tommo Rage the lead singer said;

“It was EXACTLY how I imagined it to be – you did it man, you did it!”

Which has boosted my confidence massively and I want to do more now please.

So we have a showreel in production for another band, the Crashers Party Band who do corporate events and weddings, they play covers and provide entertainment so we’re working on a film to showcase their talents and who knows what else might come our way.

They are even paying us to do this!

I was talking to my currently-missing-in-action blog partner, Agent J about my ideas for OYFE Productions just a month or so ago and knowing me as she does said, I bet you don’t do it, I bet it’s just more dreaming but here I am, I am doing it and we are off on a mission to make awesome films, so I guess I can really only thank her for the challenge.

Challenge TOTALLY accepted AJ!

Maybe I will challenge her to write something for EiOK too perhaps?

So if you need a film made or you are getting married or want us to make you something, a phrase I have been using a lot is “shoe-string budgets are our speciality” so come and see OYFE Productions.

Or of course you can hit us up on Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, Tumblr- take your pick!

OYFE Productions – Friendly & affordable filming services for everyone.

Everything is OK

AA

By AA.

I haven’t posted on the EiOK blog for ages. I think I may address this point right… NOW!

It’s been so long since I posted that the WordPress dashboard that I knew so well looks all weird and unusual now!

It’s been funny though I notice as I dust off the stats and blow the cobwebs away, people are still hitting EiOK despite a four month writing hiatus. The Living Bridges article I wrote still gets a massive hit of people on a regular basis and there are 36 comments in my queue to read through – really quite amazing that all this EiOK stuff is still out there and people are still coming to find out about the cool stuff we’ve blogged. Erm, thanks I guess!

EiOK = Still worthy. Still valid.

Anyway back to the matter at hand here, today’s blog post.

I’ve been fighting and I don’t mean in a Tyler Durden, really cool and slightly grimy “Fight Club” kind of way, no instead I have been fighting to survive, fighting to keep the world I love and adore together and preventing it from falling into rack and ruin.

What the hell is this author on about I hear you ask?

I’m talking about the slave society that many of us can recognise, notice and agree that you’re a part of. This world, where we remember the decadent times akin to those happy halcyon times where it was cool to worship false idols, that world where you can in fact live your life happily without fear of the financial doubt, you could blow £100 in one nights drinking, knowing that you still had the coffers to make it to the next payday.

For me, like you, those days are long gone. If I was to draw a picture of a world where you have a week and a half before you get paid and yet your cupboard is bare and there are no pennies in your piggy bank – that’s the reality of where we are as a people, deeply entrenched in this slave society. Constantly hunting the next pay day and I know that I am not alone.

That perhaps I can strike a cord among you.

I see a news article this week where the Bank of England are investing £75 BILLION pounds into “The Economy” as times are hard, recession is very real, food prices and fuel prices are rising out of control. And as I read about this from our dear propaganda machine that is the BBC, this money will just be given to banks to enable them to enact some bollocks about quantitative easing – how does this really help the economy in real terms, I mean really?

If you were to invest £75 billion pounds into the economy of Great Britain, I’ve done some sums here, lets say Great Britain consists of 70 million people, that divided by £75BN equates to £1071.00 for every man, woman and child in this great country of ours.

Great, so that means for me, my wife and two children, we’ll be helped out by the Bank of England by a trifling £4280.00.

That seems like a small figure, but think about it, that’s a good few months of mortgage payment or if you base it on my family’s budget, that means we eat freely for 42 weeks, nearly a year. Why is this NOT being done? That’s the ECONOMY that they speak about.

Of course that’s not what this article was about though, it was in fact more complete and utter nonsense, where a privately owned corporation (The Bank of England Corporation) can just make money out of thin air – what a massive con our monetary system truly is, it’s frankly disgusting. It turns out that I am not actually part of ‘the economy’ like I thought I was and in fact I am a slave in the system the same as the rest of you.

Anyway, economics, quite a boring subject.

I’m really quite sick of chasing every single penny. As a proud man who goes to work, has a supposedly good job, why the hell am I penniless with nearly a week or so to go before my coffers are restocked?

Ridiculous and.. I’m sorry to announce this, but totally wrong.

I do a lot, I do my day job which sucks the very life force and superhuman powers out of me on a daily basis. When that’s done, I’m looking around for the next buck and I have several ways of creating money, out of a pure drive to feed my family, keep them safe and fed – I’m living a life without luxury and contributing to society that says I should be entitled to a life without worry, but I am not getting it – what has gone wrong here? It used to be like that didn’t it?

Those days are gone my friends.

What else can I offer, my heart and soul goes into my day job, then I create websites and short films, I do design work, I take pictures, I like to produce something you can stand back and look upon with a sense of pride and awe, that’s what this life should be about, and that’s what I should be able to do. I should be able to write words that inspire, that create awareness and oneness and keep us all together in unity but no, theres no time for all that now is there.

I have come to notice that we’re not looking to better ourselves creatively or artistically, we are fighting in fact, fighting with every ounce of our souls to ensure that we keep a roof over our heads and our children fed and it’s wrong and I’m sick of it all.

..and I am not the only one to notice this.

So this is one element as to why the EiOK blog has suffered from lack of posts, how can I honestly take an hour out of my schedule to write thought provoking and interesting posts while in this depression and fear of not being able to survive the harsh reality of the economic condition of the United Kingdom, where the rich are lighting cigars with stacks of fifty pound notes and laughing, while the common working man is scrabbling around for pennies in old cigar boxes just to feed the electric meter.

I’m not making excuses and really I don’t care anymore, its come to the time where everything we do, from manual work to creative endeavours, however it transpires there must be some money in it for you or you cant waste your time on it. That’s wrong, I hate it completely, but that’s the world we live in, people. I have so much to share yet it’s trapped behind a fear of making it to next payday and all that unenjoyable stuff we do is just to make it through the next month. The joy and fun takes a hit every time and it’s wrong.

Our brains are melting rapidly with the pressure and simple joys like amusing you guys with anecdotes from my life is a rare luxury as I need to get on, I need to do things to make sure my children can eat dippy eggs on Sunday and so that I can put petrol in my car, and so that the children don’t go without and that’s entirely where my focus is right now.

But I hope to amuse again one day..

…I hope to inspire and enthrall and I will, when I can.

Collectively and between us we can change this bullshit mess of a world that we’ve been left with and we can help each other, we can go beyond the slave society and break free from it and create a new world for us all with no fat cats, no fifty pound notes to light cigars with, one day we’ll all realise that this stuff truly, is simply paper after all.

Let’s hope so.

Everything is OK.

AA. #EiOK

By AA.

Two reasons why women get on my nerves.

So I come home from work…

All the women that read this are either going to slowly nod sadly or they are going to be angry and disagree with me, and call me a sexist bastard or something and will get their knickers all in a twist. Basically one way or another this is going to upset someone and there will be consequences, but to hell with that, blogging is a chance to say whatever the hell you want, which is a good thing right?

Yes it is.

Especially when it’s me doing the saying.

So earlier today…

A battle has been raging, long and hard for years between these two little boys and their loving parents, my Wife and me. The war is a struggle between good (i.e: my wife and me) and evil (my two children) and it’s all about having power and control in the family environment. You’re effectively fighting for your right to do something, be that squeeze an entire tube of toothpaste down the toilet or to be able to sit in peace and quiet with a nice cup of tea.

These are the values that you believe in and are fighting your opponents for and sometimes you’ll win and sometimes you wont.

It’s about having power.

Power to wipe chocolate covered fingers on fresh paintwork and get away with it versus power to take away the Ben 10 DVDs for a whole week. And enforce a chocolate treat ban, or bed without any supper, the list is practically endless on both sides of this war.

There are many, many weapons used on both sides.

Evil, good, good, evil – pick a team.

Usually it’s big people vs little people.

So today’s war was raging on apparently since school kicking out time and my wife was outnumbered and outgunned (which is presumably my fault) and seemed to be losing control of the war going on in my house.

So I walk in and there is tension in the air, and there are wooden bricks mixed with DVD cases featuring Kung Fu Panda and Fireman Sam liberally scattered all across my living room floor. The Go-Go’s, cheeky little Japanese plastic alien freaks that they are quite rightly have tried to escape the brick tsunami going on in the living room and are making a break for the stairs.

So it all appears to me anyway, doing my initial forensic analysis of the battlefield.

Wifey, quite rightly I might add is cooking the dinner and fuming. The two children are looking like they’ve just been told that Father Christmas isn’t real (he is of course, don’t start freaking out there) so it’s all a little crazy here it seems.

I ask wifey what’s going on, who, instead of telling me starts yelling at me at, I guess, in the same pitch and volume that she’s been using just now to yell at the two sad little monkey faces in the other room in explanation of what’s been going on.

To this moment, several hours later I am still none the wiser.

How come I am just a target, I’m supposed to be on the same team, yet I am getting yelled out just for arriving on the battlefield!

Woah, woah friendly fire !!

In fact that’s probably why I am being yelled at because I have been out having a ‘great time’ all day battling for my life and soul in the corporate jungle, fighting flying wildebeasts with bionic stapler guns and fire breathing dragons that attack from the boardroom. My efforts of course are done in order so that the rest of the people in my house actually have food and somewhere to go to sleep most of the time so why!

WHY do I get yelled at?

Makes me want to side with the rebels and join with the naughty boys if I’m going to get yelled at anyway. Why can’t I just be naughty on my own accord and get yelled at when I actually deserve it, why do I get yelled at simply by default?

I also don’t get it when my eldest son got a “Learner of the Week” award at school, surely it should all be happy days over here?

So that’s one reason why women get on my nerves. With all their yelling.

Love them so much as I do.

The second reason women get on my nerves is because on the one hand they tell you or yell to you about how annoying and frustrating it is trying to raise good, well-mannered children, usually in tears like a nervous wreck while on the other hand as soon as a small baby comes within a 5 metre radius of them – suddenly they say they want more children!

What the hell is all that about?

I love all the people in my house of course, and raising children is a very serious and important topic for me and I am doing my best to provide an environment that is fun for them, where anything is possible and to provide a place where they can be safe, warm and loved.

But when they are naughty and drive us all mad, why the hell would you want to add more of the cheeky, beautiful, angelic little horrors into the equation?

I don’t get it, must be a girl thing.

Everything is OK.

Now that they’re asleep in bed anyhow…

AA

By AJ.

Turns out people actually laugh at shit I say

After the excited sick I just did on myself just now – I am proud to tell you all that I made it into the league of funny bitches. Yes, there is an actual league people LOOK I am on that list!!

Or should I say ‘this blog’ is on that list and this little lady got us there with some girl power and zero glitter or balls.

Screw you boys cause this chick just beat your ass!

Right now I am trying to figure out how to reward myself for my awesomeness. I was thinking maybe lots of alcohol and a fine beach holiday? What was that? My bank account is at zero again?  Jeez – I guess I will have to resort to making myself a home-made trophy then. YEY!

Why yes I am photographing it on a bin. It's f***ing retro!

My first attempt at a trophy. EVER. Do you think maybe I should have washed the milk out first? Na. Fuck it. It’s authentic.

I am now peeling glue off my face and my foot.. WTF?! How'd it get on my FOOT?!

I got a bit carried away with this one didn’t I.

Simple and a complete pile of dog shit genius.

This is my favourite – it took me ages to rip the speech bubble shape into paper, how hard is that?! It’s hard. Trust me.

I actually think the felt hair is uncanny.

So here I am with my trophy – the dog shit one cause it’s the best.

I made it, I love it and now I will go hug it and make a speech in the bathroom for extra echoing effects.

I am actually going to do the speech.

The funny bitch who runs the league of funny bitches who deserves a mention this week is funny bitch Noa the girl who is funnier than your grandma.

Thank you Noa for adding me to your league I will promise to kick ass and shit rainbows while I am at it.

I imagine your grandma to be as cool as this!

This bitch is bad ass!

I think these aprons are essential and it should definitely be added to the “grab this essential household item if your house is burning down” list.

Oh Noa just in case you do read today…funny boy thinks he is in bible times and keeps nick naming you Noa’s ark, you know like when you don’t call someone by their proper name just to annoy them.. yeah he got all the hate going on.. he is jealous of our three clicks from your blog to our blog awesomeness and he admitted he is my bitch now, oh and maybe the fact he could be gay too.. it’s all coming out now bitch.

Everything is OK you are in the hands of a funny bitch or so she says.

#eiok

Why I hate flying. A blog post at 30,000 feet or something…

Here I am strapped into what is effectively a long thin tube of aluminium hurtling along at 586 miles per hour somewhere over Europe, I have no idea where I am in the world or what time they are going to crash this thing into the ground either.

I hate flying.

I’m not alone in this I am sure, the whole thing sucks arse from start to finish so with that in mind I thought I would write a blog post on the topic while I am actually like up here, in the air. For some reason I have noticed that they don’t have wi-fi at 30,000 feet so I will have to just type this out on a notepad and post it when I get home, IF I ever get home that is.

Why do I hate flying, well it’s not the actual being in the air thing, it’s not the actual fear of plummeting to my doom either, the plane can do a fucking barrel roll for all I care, in fact that would make the whole thing a hell of a lot more interesting actually, lets face it. The being on the plane bit is ok, if you like being crushed, but lets get through the whole godamn airport thing first.

I hate airports.

The whole essence of these places sucks, and it feels like in fact I am in a prison or something, when really as I am either going on my holiday or coming home the whole process just annoys the bejesus out of me when it should be fun and exciting.

It used to be half the fun of going on holiday is actually the travelling. I would like to state now, for the record, and for the purpose of the tape: this is total bollocks.

Maybe it’s because I am pissed off that my holiday is over that makes the coming home bit a little more sucky, but I want to explain why each step of todays experience has been totally and utterly crap.

1. Arriving at the airport.

The first thing you do when you arrive at the airport is that you have to find where the hell you need to check-in, however as all nicotine junkies will atest, SMOKE before you even consider doing this as you are in for a long smoke-free ride from here on out. So once you have smoked you then start dragging your allocated 20 kilograms of holiday clothes and souvenir fridge magnets and local wine towards a big screen that tells you what’s what.

Then once you have located said screen, scan down the list and find wherever the hell it is you are attempting to get to, in my case Gatwick and note a number that is next to said destinaton, in my case 41. Then follow signs to check-in desk 41. Now I find that whatever number this is, chances are you need to navigate your way through to it, probably up (and down) an escalator or two. Believe me, with two crazy, punch-drunk exhausted children, this bit actually HURTS you as they crash into other people, run over a few peoples toes and actually cause a little bit of havoc with their little disney sponsored mini-suitcases.

Eventually you will get there if you really concentrate and carefully navigate your way through the maze of signs and fences and people. Oh my god, people. Why do they have to be EVERYWHERE I go?

2. Checking In

Once you have found the elusive desk 41, you will now be pleased to note that the screen above it says “41″ and “Gatwick” but in fact there is nobody there.

Wait a short while, bored and with two children telling you that they are hungry, want a drink or are generally being annoying and getting in other peoples way or dancing around like crazed lunatics until someone from Easyjet (or whatever, I really couldn’t give a fuck at this point) decides to turn up.

Now be scowled at while they look at your boarding pass print outs that you specially printed out just this morning and also watch as they raise a cursive eyebrow as they look at your passports and ask you all kinds of weird questions, like:

“are these your bags?”

Me: “Yes of course they’re my bags, who the hell would turn up with someone elses?”

“Do you have any prohibited items in them and did you pack them yourself?”

Me: “No, I got the magic bag packing fairies to pack them for me and I specially asked them to include some C4, some Semtex and a little bit of dynamite for good measure. Not to mention the half pound of the finest weed known to man that’s strictly for personal use of course..”

So once you are done with the fascism, it’s time to put the bags on the scales and woe betide any poor motherfucker who goes over the 20 kilograms.

“Do you realise you have gone over the 20 kilogram limit?”

Me: “No, I didn’t realise that, yet I see the scales say 20.7kg..”

“Well, we are within our rights to charge an excess baggage fee of €10.00 per additional kilogram..”

Me: “Ahh, but technically, I am not a kilogram over now am I, just point 7 of a kilogram, how much does that cost?”

“You’re OK” she smiled.

Thanks, you’re not so bad yourself once you remember that you are a human.

Wooo a smile, I cracked the veneer finally, and her face didn’t shatter into a thousand pieces either. Wankers quibbling over a point 7 kilogram, screw you fuckers! I weigh something like 10 stone and I can see behind me some fat dude who weighs probably twice that, you gonna charge him €10.00 extra per kilo that he’s bringing attached to his body?

No of course not, so lick my balls bitch.

Finally at last all the bags are checked in and my boys are amazed about the conveyor belt that apparently whisks our bags to England for us to collect when we get there. I wish you two would be whisked to England as well instead of breaking my balls and driving me mad this whole godforsaken journey.

3. Security

Before you do this bit, remember you are crossing the threshold here and once you go through this, you are totally screwed and WILL NOT be able to smoke, basically for what seems like forever.

Also, please place your FREEDOM in the overhead lockers.

Go smoke, and don’t worry, the nearest smoking department is about 2 escalators and about 3 miles away, but to hell with it, it’s worth it, the security bit is the worst, so go smoke, fuck em.
So when you are ready, take a deep breath and get ready to be dehumanized.

At this point, it is well worth thoroughly going through all your pockets and dumping ALL of that shite you carry around with you, ALL of it, into your bag. You know, all that scary terrorist stuff like wallets, lighters and iPhone. I mean who the hell do you think you are carrying all that stuff on your person – what’s your name? Osama bin Laden? You should be ashamed of yourself you damn, dirty god-damned terrorist.

Once that’s done, you can start my favourite game of all time which is smiling at customs people and doing all you can to try and win a smile back from them while they bark orders at you…

“Put your bags up in here!”

Me: “Oh really, what right here you say?”

“Take your hat off!”

Me: “My hat, oh my, really oooh, this is so exciting.

“Have you got a laptop in your bag?”

Me: No, well yes, well err.. it’s a netbook -does that count? You know what, yes, I am the proud owner of a shiny Samsung NC20, it’s a fab little machine, less than 3 kilograms which is SO light, I take it everywhere with me.. what?”

OK, I’ll put it in the tray so you can check it’s not a bomb or whatever when clearly, It’s a laptop your honour. Or a netbook. Depending on your level of idiosyncracy.

Now dance through the machine like a good boy, oopsy, that’s a beep, have you got a belt on sir?

Me: “why yes, fabulous invention these, keeps the old trousers up a treat!”

In the machine it goes.

“WOW, Look people, It’s a belt!” I say, probably a little too loudly..

Oh and the watch…

The watch too? Oh my God we truly are in a fascist state now.

I physically wince as the bag containing my tea of cheese sandwiches and crisps gets x-rayed. Yeah that’s great fuckers, just irradiate me AND all my food, fantastic. I forgot to mention, ditch your perfectly good and normal bottle of water you brought with you, you cant take that through security, but OH! How wonderful, for just €2.50 I can buy one of yours from the shop just past the security area, how fantastic you miserable bunch of fucking arseholes. Did anyone note that I have been using Lire for the last two weeks and we don’t have Euros in England, but never mind I can use plastic instead and then the bank can fuck me on the conversion. Happy days for HSBC then, the High Street Banking Criminals that they are.

… meanwhile my wife was banging on about putting her lip balm in a plastic bag in her bag, I mean what the fuck is wrong with the world and what is that really all about? It’s SO pointless.
I had to laugh though as she was near raped by an over-enthusiastic (presumably lesbian) screener staff member who seemed to thoroughly enjoy touching her tits during the pat down and having a nice little squeeze. I could have joined in and had a Ménage à trois although I’m not sure the other security goons would have approved.

My eldest boy ran through the metal detector, maybe too closely followed by his little brother, the security goon just shrugged his shoulders at me and had a straight up “fuck it” expression which I loved him for.

Apart from that, I hate security. With a passion.

Are you getting this, can you sense my bile-filled rage of this complete and under dehumanisation that one must endure just to get on a godamn airplane these days?
No wonder people want to blow the fucking things out of the sky, I can totally relate to it.

4. The boarding process

I just want to feel like I am getting somewhere and most of the time at airports, I just don’t. You are made to sit around in some kind of shopping mall where everything costs three times as much as normal while you wait to find out wherever the hell this elusive gate and presumably plane is that is going to take you home. Eventually.

Will the screens ever show your gate number or am I missing something, do I need to do some psychic resonance and ask the universe directly where I am supposed to go or do I sit on these fucking uncomfortable plastic seats and wait for an absolution?

…and then they wonder why people flip out on airplanes.

So once you find out your gate number, enjoy the several miles long trek to the gate, great fun for little people with short little legs and then you can sit around on some more god-awful uncomfortable seats while some little kid in charge nervously waits to get the all clear to start the boarding, as the masses gather round for the big bun fight for seats.

I don’t play this game, fuck it, I WILL create merry hell if I am not able to sit with my children on the plane, fuck em, I will say, I’m not travelling, if I cant ensure the safety of the heirs to my kingdom, so I don’t worry too much about this bit but the whole crowd of holidaymakers were freaking out about being first on the plane.

There’s also this hilarious thing where you can pay for “Priority Boarding”, hilarious in that it costs you an extra £12 per passenger and with that you can get on the plane first. What is hilarious, I have noticed is that EVERYONE gets this. So fuck it, just save the £12 and just get on the plane last, create merry hell if it’s not to your liking. Take a leaf and take this knowledge for free and save yourself ££s!

It’s a rip-off people and you all just decieve yourself by agreeing to it.

5. On Board

Once onboard, squeeze yourself into your seat and sit around for an hour or so while they do their “checks” or whatever and eventually you will take off, probably I would say, at least half an hour later than scheduled as an overall average, but maybe more.

Regarding the seats, here are your choices…

A) The window seat, offers the best view but effectively TRAPS you in place, you will not be able to easily get out when your arse starts to ache.

B) The middle seat means you are at risk of the person to your left and right leaning on you and/or dribbling on you mid-flight, plus it’s the claustraphobic option..

C) Finally, the aisle seat means you can get up and also spread your feet out in the actual aisle so it’s more comfortable BUT if you want to sleep people WILL bump into you and disturb you.

Take your pick, people, ALL choices are SHIT.

The only way that this choice can be improved is by sandwiching yourself into the middle seat with a tasty blonde on your right and a brunette on your left. Any other combination will just be rubbish, I guarantee it. I have two sleepy annoying boys in the window and middle seat and I have the aisle so I can be the one bashed by all and sundry as I try to sleep. Until I give up and start blogging of course.

My boys CRACKED me up looking at the safety card while we wait to take off..

“So Daddy if we land on the ground, we get to go down a slide, if we land on water we get to go in a life-raft, what happens if we hit another plane in the sky?”

Errr.. I guess we get blown to pieces son. Well, good night, I’m off to sleep. zzzz

Just get me home Easyjet fuckers, pretty as you are, I’ve had enough of airports and we’re nowhere near Gatwick yet and it’s all just pretty rubbish at this point, just get me home. Get me home, I want to be at home.

So…

Dear Airline Industry officials…

Please make airports LESS stressful and your lifeblood, your customers wont be having issues like the ones I have described and you wont have people flipping out at airports or on planes – it’s really quite simple.

Make this process, comfortable, interesting and fun as at the moment, I detest it.

This is a long post and I am impressed with you for reading thus far. I’m cranky, I want to be in my bed, I want to feel my arse again and I want off this godamn airplane. And that’s basically it.
Glad I only go on holiday once every few years as I HATE this flying SHIT!

Everything is OK.

AA

By AJ.

If you have an iPhone you WILL feel my pain

I am sick to death of correcting the auto correct on my iPhone. What the hell is the point of the auto correct when it never corrects a damn thing its supposed to! Correcting the auto correct – what the hell kinda sense does this make?!

I want to spell McDonalds – the dumb-ass phone automatically writes MacroMaker. I mean WTF?! How is Macromaker anything like McDonalds and what the hell is MacroMaker anyway?!

I have had some seriously embarrassing auto correct failures in my time. Thankfully my most recent wasn’t too bad.

If you are yet to see this website of iPhone auto correct failures yet then here are some total beauties that will knock ya block off!

Will you ever just press send without checking the text is correct again?

Oh yeah Mr iPhone medicine and menstruation are totally the same thing of course!

Auto correct is causing actual heart attacks here!

Awkward

They get even worse

Ok so mine wasn’t as bad as some of these total nightmare auto correct fails but I will definitely try to  think more before I press send these days, apart from when I am drunken or something and can’t see the screen for shit then who knows what the hell I am sending?!

If you have auto correct tell it from me to curl up and die somewhere.

Everything is OK when you don’t have an auto correct from hell.

#eiok

]]> http://eiok.wordpress.com/2011/06/02/texts-from-hell/feed/ 5 joannalanephotography text photo one two twel three four five six seven eight nine ten (2) fourt ten image http://eiok.wordpress.com/2011/06/01/cypriot-arachnid-revenge-threats/ http://eiok.wordpress.com/2011/06/01/cypriot-arachnid-revenge-threats/#comments Wed, 01 Jun 2011 08:43:34 +0000 eiok http://eiok.wordpress.com/?p=935 ]]>

By AA.

I’ve got a bad feeling about this…

Last night…

We were all sitting around outside under the verandha (very posh I know) at the front of my Dad’s house drinking beers after a hearty meal, I had the fattest steak known to man so I was having a smoke and a beer and tapping my engorged belly and Everything was OK.

I had just got up, I cant remember what I had got up for, probably to get another beer when one of the assembled group shouted out “what the hell is that!?” while pointing to the wall literally a metre or two from where we were seated. I span on my heel and looked round and saw an onimous looking shape on the wall..

Arachnaphobia

Attached to the wall and presumably having ‘scuttled’ at some point sat THE BIGGEST spider I have ever seen outside of zoos, this thing, truly was a monster, tarantula sized, big legged and furry and truly freaky and evil looking. We all gathered round and stared in awe, in fact here is a picture, with my Dad’s hand next to it (he’s very brave) for scale purposes.

This is the Darth Vader of house spiders.

Incy Wincy spider was never like this…

This is NOT your common or garden house spider, this is a freak of nature as far as I am concerned.

I immediately dashed inside to grab my camera as this kind of thing needs to be documented for nostalgic family purposes, not to mention for blog purposes too. The photos I took weren’t all that great, presumably due to lack of light and being slightly pissed and maybe even because this thing is REAL, and it’s right there and there is not a friendly zookeeper in charge to tell me not be scared.

We all stood around transfixed on this thing and started having horrible thoughts of something like this joining you in the middle of the night or walking across your face while you sleep. Needless to say ALL the windows were closed in the house that night despite the perishing heat.

My Dad was very brave and pragmatic and went indoors to get some massive-spider-removal implements which turned out to be a plastic jug and ironically (for the spider at least) a plastic fly-swatter. He then deftly lifted the spider off the wall and dropped him in the jug.

What shall we do with him? we all wondered, and it did cross my mind that maybe this radioactive freak of nature should be killed but then, I’m really not into harming nature, not even freaky will probably bite and kill you tarantulas so killing this thing was ruled out. Dad put him out in the front garden much to my chagrin, arguing what if he comes back to get us, pissed off about the plastic fly-swatter insult that was just bestowed upon him.

Meanwhile the flies in the house all started getting the flags out and celebrating.

This morning…

With the sun shining, me and my Dad tasked ourselves with one of his remaining two-player gardening jobs left to do and we donned suitable hats and gloves with the idea of trimming down his Olive tree in the front garden, which would involve being heroic and manly with saws and ladders – boys stuff. I was, slightly jealous at my Dad’s cool hat, being the true stylista that he is, but still, mine was pretty cool too as you will see..

So I found myself, up a ladder in this big old Olive tree, behatted, and with a massive saw in my hands and a huge branch to hew when suddenly I recalled Simon the Spider from the night before.

“Err Dad, where exactly did you put that spider last night?”

“It wasn’t anywhere near the Olive tree was it?” I asked suddenly feeling a little giddy about being so high up in the tree with visions of a potential massive spider threat. Dad claimed he ‘couldn’t remember’ I guess just to put me at ease, or I guess to freak me out just a little bit more than I already was. Up a tree…

So I resumed sawing, with little bits of Olive tree, ants and various other natural detritus raining down on me, I thought no more about massive spiders in olive trees and concentrated on the task at hand.

We joked about the health and safety aspect of what I was doing and reasoned that should we be in England, I would have had to have a week’s training course before I even stood on the ladder.

As I was hacking, no, beautifully sawing my way through this huge branch, Dad was below me holding onto the ladder and saying things like “yeah that’s it”, “keep going”, “great” when suddenly; CRACK, the branch gave way all on it’s own and came down fast and as the cloud of leaves, ants and dust cleared all I could see was my Dad’s hat among a sea of foliage.

I looked down and just simply said “errr.. Timber?”.

My Dad responded with something along the lines of “it’s a bit fecking late” while spitting out olive leaves and ants.

Next time, I guess I want a straight answer about where the hell this massive spider is, then I will definitely give you more of a timber warning I thought as I smiled.

The "After" shot. Hindsight is a terrible thing, trust me, this is an improvement.

Tree Surgery. But not as we know it...

We took down all the branches until he was satisfied, me, hot, sweaty and hanging on for dear life, wearing pink womens size gardening gloves and worrying far too much about big massive spiders with vengeance on their minds just above my head. We pruned a few of the flower bushes that had gone a bit mentally overgrown and did our manly thing, father and son – it was good and the garden and olive tree looks great, not to mention that the hammock slung under it will now get the full sun it deserves. We high fived when we finished and went to get some tea.

The spider was no-where to be seen thank God.

Everything is OK.

AA

By AJ.

Spreading the awkwardness…

I want to show you some of my favourite best worst awkward family photos I have ever seen EVER!

Being a photographer for a while now I see a ton of pictures all day long. Taking pictures is something that either comes naturally and you have an eye for it, or it doesn’t. If it doesn’t you should never ever be allowed to take pictures for a living let alone be allowed to hold an actual camera!

I stumbled across this truly brilliant website – awkwardfamilyphotos.com a while ago and literally can’t stop myself from going back for more.

If you haven’t seen this mullet filled website yet then you are about to be blown away with some of the best worst awkward photos you have ever seen in your frickin life.

If you like taking photos or you are a photographer yourself you will know that the more photos you look at and the more you practice – the better you get. Some photographers unfortunately will just never ever get it.

For example check this little beauty out! 

Exactly the kind of brilliant crapness that this website is full of. I mean just look at it. Really? What the heck is this even about man?! This is actually real people and you simply cannot make this shit up!

Tip – don’t tell a family to all take their tops off and pose half-naked for their family portrait it’s kinda freaking me out over here.

If you think you had some crap wedding photos all those years ago think again. Maybe they were a tad cheesy or you happened to have some uncle’s brother’s son who has just started out and had a proper Nikon and everything but no flaming clue what the hell he was doing? Well I bet they weren’t all that bad.

Check some of this shizzle out and have a think… were your cheapy family portraits really THAT bad I think some of us should be thinking ourselves lucky that we didn’t end up on this website!

When all else fails put a frickin chair on a rock

Sadly it isn’t always old photos that are a total load of crap some people just have no idea from Adam what the hell to do with the people they are taking photos of!

Please stop putting brides actually in the fricking trees like this – it’s just weirdness!

Wedding photos are tough enough to get right but maternity photos can be even harder to get right without them looking odd – this one is not just odd it scares the hell outta me!

This is just a whole other level of awkwardness 

Why would anyone think this was OK?! Helloooo! It looks like a kid painted this on. Oh yeah and get some feet!

It’s not only portraits on this website, it’s full of completely awkward photos from weddings to birthdays to holidays. I think this was my favourite of the week right here.

I hope they don’t have this in a frame somewhere in their house that would just make them bad people

The website I now look at every day just to cheer me up has now become an essential part of my laughing life.

So with lot’s of love I am sharing this awkward website with you. So you can also laugh at the complete shitness some people churn out on a daily basis. Some of these photos are just tiny pieces of genius back to front and upside down with a little psychosis thrown in for good measure!

I am still in awe of the brilliant awkwardness on display here. So from me to you – enjoy the weirdness!

EiOK

By AA.

Shocking Stuff…

I’ve been noticing something a lot as I have traversed the streets and towns of Northern Cyprus this last week, so much so that I have had to create a whole new category on the EiOK Blog called Surrealism just so I can post something about it.

I am talking about of course, the premier electronics manufacturer in Turkey, “Arcelik” or to use the English conversion; ARSELICK.

What the hell kind of name is that for electrical goods?

I noticed this straight away as soon as I arrived and saw shops and whatnot bearing this strange name:

Arselick?

Why name your company that?

Arselick HQ. Tasty.

It’s totally HUGE over here, everyone has arselick stuff in their homes too, so I decided to do a quick survey of all the Arselick stuff in my Dad’s house here and it’s amazing how much Arselick stuff he has…

Arselick dishwasher…

Arselick fridge…

Arselick washing machine…

I asked my Dad about all this and he tells me how practically Arselick dominates the whole electronics scene out here and that when he was furnishing his gaff, Arselick is the only stuff you can get. He says it’s good too, it’s good to get an Arselick, and they are really reliable.

A good reliable Arselick, can you imagine?

I guess it’s like the Phillips or LG that we have in Blighty. Well, at least we have some choice, but in Cyprus it seems to be Arselick or nothing. I’d probably go for an Arselick as opposed to nothing.

What else is there?

Arselick fan-assisted oven with integrated grill…

Arselick hob… (OK, I should have wiped this down before photographing)

Arselick watercooler – this is TOTALLY essential as drinking the water will kill you, so the propaganda tells us, although I think some of this is sponsored by the bottled water companies…

This thing is getting used a lot, a real essential Arselick and my children can operate this Arselick too.

Finally and this is the last item I promise, a good old Arselick Television:

Arselick. It’s the future.

I mentioned all this Arselick stuff to my Dad’s neighbour and I wont say her name, I guess to protect the guilty but as I mentioned it, she chimed in with “I love a good Arselick” and I think that says it all.

Come to Cyprus, you are guaranteed to encounter a good Arselick!

Everything is OK.

AA

By AA.

Always on Patrol

Here I am in the sunshine and I am totally freaking out all day long for the safety of my children. Whilst it is all wonderful that they swim every day and eat the BEST oranges known to man and that they are overdosing on Vitamin D thanks to all the sun, I am fearing all the time that they are going to drown and everything is going to go wrong, but I know this is totally stupid, but its how I feel right now.

Take earlier for example, my boys and I are in the pool and they are wearing rubber rings and jumping in the deep end which is about two metres deep. Anyway they are jumping and shouting out “cannonball!” and having a great time, that’s my eldest who is six and my youngest who is two and a half. Yes even the little one, a full blooded Libran just LOVES the water, loves swimming, baths and hosepipes, he was having a whale of a time.

Their confidence is very high and they have loved having this massive pool to themselves every day, the little one will only come out of there when he is actually shivering and turning blue and it seems to always end with a parental insistence that it is now time to come out.

I was done with my swim sooner than the boys and wifey was doing her 200 lengths as part of her exercise routines (zzz) and my sister was at the poolside as well so the lifeguard patrol was around and paying attention to these two boys cannonballing or cannonbubbling as they called it.

So I hit the sunbed and creamed up ready to enjoy some sunshine time and make my tan even better than it already was, so there I was laid out on the sunbed watching these two boys repeatedly jumping in, climbing out, jumping in laughing, rinse and repeat.

So there I was getting fried in the sun, with a beady eye fixed on these boys as I am paranoid to hell about them in the pool although they are generally quite safe and sticking to the rules. I was reading my book, I’m not going to tell you the name of this book as you will call me a nerd, but bollocks, I’m enjoying it, so I have eyes on my book for about 20 seconds, then 10 seconds watching the boys and just being really aware of what’s going on. Wifey at this point is swimming away up and down.

Oddly, as if I have some kind of sixth sense, I looked down and noted what page I was on, just in case I need to do my lifeguard thing and dive in, I would hate to lose my place in the book. I was on page 97 and then I heard the scream and gasp as my two year old jumped in and flipped over head first out of his ring and into the deep. My eldest son was right there thankfully and grabbed hold of him and pulled his head up to the surface and as I yelled out, jumped up and raced to the pool I was there in a flash, complete with hat, sunglasses, freshly creamed and even with a cigarette still in my mouth as I rescued him from the deep and treaded water as I put him out and to the safety of pool side.

Fortunately as experience has taught, I didn’t have my phone in my pocket this time.

He was crying of course and a little freaked out about it all, probably more so by my yell and epic and manly dive in to rescue him and I assured him he was safe and OK and that maybe he should come out of the pool at this point. Wifey meanwhile was the other end of the pool oblivious to what just happened and my sister was suddenly on high alert having heard my yell as well.

I am so proud of my eldest and told him so as he did everything I have drummed into him and he’s a good little swimmer and doing so well with his swimming lessons at home and I made a big deal about his part in this epic rescue and how important it is to be safe in the pool.

So at the moment I feel like Mitch Buchanon right now, although the skin tight red shorts probably aren’t my thing, and I would like to think that I am just a little bit more buff than the Hoff as I patrol the pool keeping things safe.

Later on that day I took these two youngsters and the wife to a nearby beach to enjoy the afternoon sunshine and she took my eldest boy out into the sea while I played along the shore with the youngest, all the time on super lifeguard patrol high alert, but without the red shorts, thankfully.

We went out a bit further to join the others in the deeper part, me holding his little hands and gently lifting him up each time a wave came and he loved being in the sea, they both did, but I am constantly on alert.

When junior wanted to go back to the shoreline again to dig and make sandcastles I let my guard down a little and let him make his way back with me following behind no longer clinging on to him and then a larger wave broke against us and he was under again, and again I had to pluck him from drowning in the raging sea. This was the first time he had experienced the taste of sea-water but it was all ok, in fact he laughed it off, but at no point can I relax with all these dangers of drowning so clear on a daily basis.

I will of course be keeping a close eye for the duration and keep these two daredevils safe by the pool.

Despite all this of course, EiOK in Cyprus.

…and some people stand in the darkness, afraid to look into the light.

Don’t you worry, it’s gonna be alright.

Or some shit like that…

AA.