think demux

An item came through on the news-tape yesterday. I thought I’d seen it before.

Most likely I had. Because this year, the mainstream press has been hanging on to what it thinks it does best.

Madeleine still missing; Diana still dead; Amy Winehouse still a mess; footballers still roasting.

It’s like the sad end to a long relationship. The love has gone.

Now in its place, a clingy desperation. Hollow harking to the good old days.

But those days were spontaneous. They were full of wine and desire. Like Serge Gainsbourg when he met Whitney Houston.

However the presenter tries to translate it, you heard what Serge said.

It was mad. It was spontaneous. It was loveably news for one reason: you’d want to talk about it.

What was the last thing you found, or did, and wanted to tell people about?

Because that, my friend, is the news we want. Performance, not repeats.

Some things scare the waking shit out of commuters.

Improv Everywhere do lots of those things, including this recent stunt in Prague.

Transplant a living room onto the rush hour subway and something happens. Groggy bystanders get a little less comfortable. You’ve broken down the cosy, walled-in world of iPod shuffling and free paper flicking.

Do I want a free paper? No thanks. But chances are I’ll have to sit on one when I next board a tube in London.

The Decapitator has been lopping free papers off at the head to help save your ass. David Beckham and Motorola get the treatment here and, once again, commuters get a loud wake up call. (Thanks to Giles for the link.)

So, I put it to you: are we too headless on the underground?

What can we do to change it?