This article was written by Justin McGuirk, for guardian.co.uk on Friday 2nd July 2010 11.03 UTC

Travelators are wonderful things. They turn the longest, dullest airport concourses into meditations on human potential. There you are, merely strolling, yet effortlessly gliding past all the losers who opted for the floor. If only life was like a travelator, with its rigged ratio of energy to speed.

I had this thought slidewalking through Geneva airport recently. On either side of the travelator, the adverts are all for the same thing: watches. Diamond-studded ones for women, performance-enhancing ones for men (Mainly they’re for men).

Here, in the private banking capital of the world, the walls are trying to seduce the masters of the universe. The place is a blur of bezels. There are watches with so many dials within dials they’re almost psychedelic. Others are for endurance, with casings of thick titanium to protect against accidental scratching under tank tracks. They have names like Quantum Gravity and Grand Tourbillon Mysterieuses – a language of alpha-male mysticism. Wear one of these timepieces, the adverts say, and you’ll feel like you’re striding through life on, well, a travelator.

But everyone knows that no one needs a watch anymore. You know what the time is, all the time. It’s right there, on your computer or on your phone, and you spend most of the day staring at one or the other. We live in manic times, you may argue, and every second counts. But does Audemars Piguet’s £500,000 Jules Audemars Grande Complication tell the time any better than a £20 Casio from Asda? No. It’s not that the people who buy these watches simply can’t bear a skipped microsecond. What they’re saying is this: my time is more important than your time.

Fewer and fewer people under the age 40 appear to bother with watches anymore. Yet, while sales of luxury Swiss models have been hit by the recession, they are steadily going up. As the watch becomes technologically redundant, its cachet as a luxury item is rising. Like newspapers peddling ever-scarier headlines, it is having to work harder to justify its existence.

And so watches are retracting into an arcane culture designed to exclude the uninitiated. They’ve become “chronometers”. They are loaded up with “complications” – horology-speak for anything not simply to do with telling the time. The more technobabble, the more expensive the watch. And there is no upper limit: you can spend millions for a Louis Moinet model containing a piece of meteorite from Mars.

There is an old cliché that Swiss architects and designers can only express themselves through details, that grand creative gestures are simply out of character. Watchmaking takes that to extremes. At the same time, however, there is an excessiveness to many of these watches that is uncharacteristic. Switzerland was a bastion of modernism.

Think of Le Corbusier and the designer Max Bill, or of the typeface Helvetica . This is a puritanical tradition. To dogmatic modernists, an object was supposed to express its function and no more. But the luxury watch takes functionality to its absurd limit. This is modernism Mach 2 – a world of instruments screaming ludicrous potential.

Breitling, for instance, makes chronometers for men who wish they were pilots or astronauts. Its Cosmonaute Navitimer measures time in fifths of a second and looks like a ruler seen through a kaleidoscope. Under the crystal of cambered sapphire it’s just a fog of numbers – a layer of technical precision that’s meant to be reassuring but I find as panic-inducing as a maths exam in a nightmare. No doubt some of their owners really are pilots, if only part-timers. But most are presumably stockbrokers in second-floor offices.

The research, precision and perhaps even genius that go into these instruments far exceeds our ability to use them. They’re the modern equivalent of medieval Qur’ans written with a horsehair and barely legible to the naked eye. “Professional” watches offer an illusion of proficiency, but everyone knows you choose the one that you think looks the best. This is function as decorative veneer.

There’s no denying, however, that watch culture can be extremely seductive. I admit I used to covet the Panerai Luminor, which I spotted one day floating in the black space of a glossy magazine ad. Then I saw one in a shop window and realised it was bigger than the clock around Flava Flav’s neck. You’d have to wear it on your thigh for it to look in proportion. Perhaps it was just a case of cultural elitism failing to translate. Think of Dan Ackroyd in Trading Places, trying to explain how valuable his Swiss watch is to a guy in a pawn shop, and always getting the same reply: “In Philadelphia,” the guy says, “it’s worth 50 bucks.”

Sales of luxury watches may still be going up, but in a sense they are analogue’s last gasp. They are engineering’s last shot at high culture – a multibillion pound argument that there is no poetry in the simple digital readout. More than that, they perpetuate the romantic notion that man is a species in exquisite control.

guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 ]]> http://www.scumbagmillionaire.com/is-this-a-watch-or-pointless-alpha-male-jewellery/feed/ 1 http://www.scumbagmillionaire.com/twilight-saga-of-cash-in-collectibles/ http://www.scumbagmillionaire.com/twilight-saga-of-cash-in-collectibles/#comments Fri, 02 Jul 2010 11:13:11 +0000 The Scumbag http://www.scumbagmillionaire.com/?p=1574

This article was written by Mark King, for guardian.co.uk on Friday 2nd July 2010 11.01 UTC

While you are reading this, tens of thousands of teenage girls will have fainted in front of their bedroom poster of Twilight star Robert Pattinson and a similar number will no doubt have swooned over his screen rival Taylor Lautner’s ripped abs as they prepare to watch their heroes in the latest Twilight Saga movie, Eclipse, which opens in selected cinemas today and nationwide on 9 July.

The two men, who face off as vampire Edward Cullen and wolf Jacob Black respectively, are part of a huge industry spawned by Stephenie Meyer’s stratospherically popular novels about the creatures and the woman (the indecisive Bella Swan, played by Kristen Stewart) struggling to choose between them.

Its popularity has extended to the collectibles and memorabilia industry – meaning parents face a hefty bill if they are to satisfy the demands of their fanatical offspring.

First there are the Twilight books themselves, which will already have set parents back over £50 (including the latest spin-off novella, The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner) if they paid full price, and £25 if they’d bought them all from Amazon. Then there’s the movie tickets (at least £24 if a child has seen all three films at a rough price of £8 a pop) and the DVDs (£10-£20 each in stores or £5-£8 each online). The films generated $396m (£264m) at the US box office and $191m in DVD sales in America.

Now, anything featuring Pattinson, Stewart or Lautner’s picture, signature or sweat will find a market on film memorabilia websites such as Prop Store and auction sites such as eBay.

A quick trawl of “Robert Pattinson autograph” on eBay shows 67 Pattinson-signed posters (typical price £50), prints and film cells. One person is selling a signed Twilight film cell with Pattinson and Stewart’s signatures on for a whopping £499 (postage free).

As with all memorabilia, buyers need to beware of cheaper printed autographs – the cheapest of these are going for just 99p.

Dodgy-looking replica props (such as a “dreamcatcher”) can be found on eBay for £50 upwards, while “Edward Cullen-style” jackets go for similar amounts and devoted fans can hug a Twilight pillow for £9.99. If that doesn’t excite the teens in your household, there are always Forbidden Planet‘s keychains (£3.99), badges (£4.49 for a set of four), metal lunch boxes (£14.99), fleece blanket (£9.99), reversible Edward/Jacob double duvet cover (£29.99) and dolls designed to look like the characters (£139.99). Whether you are Team Jacob or Team Edward, there’s clearly something for everyone.

But is any of this going to be worth something in future years or should Twilight fans be looking for something more memorable?

“The general rule is to avoid anything that is produced to make money,” says Adrian Roose, director at Paul Fraser Collectibles. “They’re fun items but the millions of badges, caps and pens are unlikely to ever be worth much. We’d advise collectors to look out for signed copies of the Twilight books. First edition books are the best bet – a signed Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone first edition sold for $24,000 at auction in February 2010, against an estimate of $15,000.”

Roose also recommends movie posters as very few people have access to them and they tend to get thrown away. “Also look out for original art work and unpublished writings of Stephenie Meyer. JK Rowling’s The Tales of Beedle the Bard (one of seven known copies) sold for £1.95m at auction in 2007, against a £50,000 estimate. Annoyingly we were outbid by Amazon.”

Neil Roberts, head of popular culture at auction house Christie’s, says his company only deals with original movie props and Twilight fans should play it similarly safe. “There is a cult of limited edition products these days, but no proof as to whether they will ever appreciate in value. There are so many limited edition things now that you have no idea whether you have a piece of genuine interest or just rubbish, so original props stand a better chance. Be realistic and play it safe.”

“The most valuable items today come from films made decades ago but which are now considered a classic, such as King Kong, Citizen Kane or The Wizard of Oz,” says Value My Stuff Now‘s Stephen Maycock, also a consultant specialist for Bonhams.

“Are the Twilight films going to be up there with Citizen Kane in 50 years’ time? Who knows – but an original prop or something else made in tiny numbers might be worth something. If you have the gun that shot the villain or a costume worn by Robert Pattinson, you stand a good chance, certainly more of a chance than buying a Twilight figurine or toy. But then, maybe the world won’t remember Robert Pattinson in 50 years’ time. Maybe he’ll give up acting and become a teacher.”

If you go down the prop route, you might also look out for the film production companies that have affiliations with major auction houses or hold charity auctions, as this could be a good chance to snap up a piece of film-making history.

As for Twilight itself, Neil Roberts says he is unsure about its enduring appeal. “Films can work on two levels, they can be a popular movie as well as a genre film. Twilight falls into the vampire genre which is popular again now, which might help collectibles. But then you might find that the purists, who are potential buyers further down the line, believe something as light as Twilight is diluting the vampire genre.”

guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 ]]> http://www.scumbagmillionaire.com/twilight-saga-of-cash-in-collectibles/feed/ 1 http://www.scumbagmillionaire.com/insert-title-here/ http://www.scumbagmillionaire.com/insert-title-here/#comments Mon, 15 Feb 2010 14:28:22 +0000 The Scumbag http://www.scumbagmillionaire.com/?p=1552 When one’s last update contains the word “Christmas” in the title, I think that’s a fair indicator of neglect as far as maintaining this thing is concerned.  Jesus is it a drag.  Like a disabled relative.  Anyway, I’m not going to ship it off to some Swiss hotel room just yet, but I’m not going to babble on about anything in particular either.  The fact is I have about 100 (*divide by 10 for actual number) things that are more important to do, but I’m already at the keyboard and seeing some nonsense written on the page will trick my brain into satisfaction at a task completed, just long enough for me to reward myself with some leisure time.  In fact, just reading that back has justified a purchase of some new trousers.  I’ve just come back from the shops by the way.  And you’d never have known that I’d been away, such is the awesome power of the internet.  I’m even eating a banana behind this screen and you’d never know.  What to know something?  I just made that up!  I’m not eating anything at all.

Anyway, I suppose there is something that has been praying on my mind for a while, and that’s anti-banker sentiment.  Yea yea, so they have huge bonuses, sometimes they can sound a bit wanky, and yea, they in part contributed to the financial crisis.  But ask any self-assured bank-basher and they can’t give you a reason exactly why these pinstriped super-villains are so deserving of condemnation.  The almost sickeningly predictable result is tax!  Yay, tax fixing everything!  No, wait, aren’t we usually really angry at how much we get taxed?  Oh, no, wait it’s the bankers.  They can afford it.  Compared to me.  But when I get taxed, compared to the poorest and most disadvantaged people in my country, not to mention the world, maybe I can afford it too, but that Sky subscription isn’t going to pay itself, you know?  And so, our feeling of collective yet ultimately ironic indignation has culminated in a campaign for the “Robin Hood Tax”.  Where *the fuck* can I start with this.  You know what, I’ll just say this, because when it comes down to it, this is all people really care about.  There’s a tax on all speculative transactions the banks make: derivatives, currency, etc.  Prices rise as markets adjust or surcharges are made to the end consumer.  Your pension will be worth less.  Your holidays will cost more.  Commodities will cost more.  You’ll have less money in your pocket, just like if you’d been taxed yourself.  Not to mention the fact that it’ll be yet more damage to the UK’s standing as a financial centre, that at it’s height contributed 1/3 of our GDP.  Yay!  Robin Hood, Robin Hood!

Sorry, blacked out there.  Anyway, back to fluffy nonsense like, I don’t know, the Brit Awards or something.  Can’t wait to see Michelle Gayle, or the big Beddingfield duet, or Mr Hudson pricking around like some albino talent-vacuum.  Am I more or less on the money?  I once was at an MTV casting and mentioned “The big Beddingfield duet” with lashings of irony and mock-enthusiasm and the production assistant looked at me like I was mentally ill.  Can’t imagine why they didn’t hire me*.

*NB Principally because I was crap in nearly all respects.

Pretty sure I stole the Beddingfield thing anyway.  The consummate professional…

Since we’ve last spoken I’ve developed a sinister obsession with what I shall now call “kitchen heroin”.  Seemingly innocuous, but potent enough to default even the most materially contented human being to a total junkie.  Not even a good, glamorous, artistic junkie.  A pathetic consumer of espresso cups, garlic crushers; all that stuff.  And that’s me.  Mugging my own great grandmother for pennies to get my hands on an Alessi milk jug in the shape of a banana.  And my great grandmother has been dead for decades.  I’m almost certain I never even met her.  Who the hell did I rob?

Anyway, Happy Christmas, blah blah blah.  Hope it’s been good and your bowels aren’t completely immolated from the onslaught.  A quick tip to avoiding gastric stress is to develop an addiction, not to kitchen heroin, but to something similar to actual heroin.  Bang, and you’re appetite is gone.  Seasons greetings.

Read more after the jump.

So it’s a Leica.  Why is it got some near-edible orange leather on it?  Because Hermès have got involved of course.  It’s called the Leica M7 Edition Hermès, comes in orange or étoupe (green).  The special Leica M7 Edition Hermès set also includes a matching, silver anodised Leica wide-angle lens and lens hood, and a sexy leather strap or something.  The two major points to note in this is that a/ this thing is a 35mm camera, not a digital, and b/ it costs $14,000.

Looks like I won’t be buying it then.  Not because I can’t afford it, no no.  It’s just last time I was developing film in a darkroom, as the photos became clear I saw Satan in them and it kinda freaked me out.  Wait, is this the plot from whats-it-called?  Nope.

So yea, it’s for a journey that nobody will ever conceivably take – Newquay, in Cornwall to Kyle of Lochalsh, in the Scottish Highlands, and it’s first class, but we’re a tiny island.  And it gives me a rather easy shot, if I ever needed one, at trains in Britain.  In fact I won’t even do that, I’m going to show you something I wrote, with no destination at all (for the article) when I was on a train whilst I was an uppity student.  It doesn’t really mean anything in particular, but it pretty much sums up the utter contempt I have for trains.  On a serious note, I miss you guys.  Feel free to catch up with me on twitter here.

As I sit here in possibly the most soul-crushing vehicle on earth, the locomotive, I ponder that in such an unconscionably woeful environment, I could happily become a psychopath. My train is the 21:00 from London King’s Cross to Durham, a journey that I have made many times, and consistently found bafflingly shit. But wait, salvation is here, from whom you ask, but National Express! Phew. GNER has proven to be simply too crappy, and the route has been taken over by those synonymous with coaches, the second most baiting and skull-numbingly banal way of travel I can think of. Before, dear reader, you launch into the alternatives: the aeroplane, the automobile, I get it ok? I am a willing sacrifice on the altar of self-abuse. I, like everyone else, buy into the notion that it’s “easier” to travel long-distance by train. The fact is that it is not; I am still herded around, queue for everything, jostle for my seat and drag my luggage everywhere. Nor is it cheaper. Nor is it anymore enjoyable; a cramped cattle truck, the price paid for such a privilege warranting Fabergé coffee cups.

And yet, the price has increased again. For the eight percent increase, I can find nothing emeritus of it. My current journey surprised. To fete the arrival of National Express, I am treated to a worse train than I had ever experienced under GNER. Its age is incalculable; beige kitsch seemingly transcends time. Now of course, this could be a one off, but nonetheless, I find it baffling that they can do the equivalent of turning something already terrible, into the travel equivalent of Halfords. But it is reassuringly consistent – seats so close together I am practically mounting my neighbour, legroom fit for a stoat, and zero luggage space; so overflowing with luggage was a carriage on my southward journey to London that a lady got trapped in the loo. Frankly she’d have been better off staying there. One hears periodic threats on journeys from the staff that if luggage is not removed from an emergency route, (if there’s a crash we’re all fucked anyway) it will be dumped on the platform of the next stop. Two years ago one of the offending pieces of luggage was mine, and when I attempted, very politely (remember Iain, they’re only “doing their job”), to explain that it was occupying the only available square inches of the train carriage, and that POWs had better luggage provisions, I was treated as if I had just told her I was a sex offender.

The staff are a major gripe of mine. Now I fully appreciate that any length of time on the misery express would make me into a complete fuckwit also, but still. The main offenders are those who are charged with checking tickets. Not only are they invariably impolite, I am invariably a complete cretin, and have either forgotten my Railcard, missed my train, or am sat in the wrong seat. All my fault. However not once have they cut me any slack, especially when I have forgotten my Young Persons Railcard, and been slapped with a massive ticket purchase, usually £120. Not only that, but they smirk as a meekly attempt to wriggle out of it, citing late connecting trains (which is sometimes true), and appealing to their cold hearts and iron fists. This is a frequent occurrence; I am coming to the conclusion that I have something of a sadomasochistic tendency.

I won’t even rant about the train food (har har har old train sandwiches aren’t they rubbish har har). The single most depressing thing about my journey is the palpable feeling of collective despair among fellow passengers; the darting eyes, the perpetual shuffling in seats, the same people walking up and down all journey, and the feeling that we’ve all been suckered. Again.

As far as what I’m doing that’s so important, I’m reluctant to explain right now, but suffice to say I’m not going to prison, working on an oil rig or sleeping with old ladies for money.  I’ll still be updating the site, rest assured, but it certainly won’t be with the same frequency.  I’ll imagine I’ll use this more and more like therapy and vent spleen.  This considered, it’s more than likely the nature of what I’m doing will reveal itself in due course.  In the mean time, huge thanks to all who read on your support.  Do check back for updates or subscribe if you haven’t already.  Much love.

Normal programming will resume next week on monday.  Why not treat yourself for the remainder of the week.  I don’t know, go outside or something.

Made of grade-1 titanium, resin, and neodymium (is that a real material?), this Intelligent Design Bluetooth mouse is $1200.  I literally can’t care at all enough to crack wise about it.  It’s not going to change the world.  But, you know, no harm was done either.  Because usually to get in the mood for a snarky post I have to discharge all my feelings of love and compassion by tickling a kitten to death.  Back garden’s looking mighty full about now.  More here.

This is truly fantastic.  Featuring 42-inch LCD TVs and car batteries, these working iPhone Halloween costumes come from two dudes called Reko and John.  Everything in this video makes me smile, from the Euro House soundtrack to the acute self-awareness of the two that this may well be both the very most and least cool thing they’ll ever do.