Posts by Curtis Westman
It’s been a little while for us here at Bunch of Ice and we’ve been busy — busy writing, busy working and busy giving people a hard time out back of the Yorkdale Mall just for kicks. In the meantime, though, we’ve also been publishing a podcast semi-weekly about all the old sitcoms you may […]
Have you ever fallen asleep on a Sunday evening only to wake up 6 days later lying in two inches of soot, with a loaded revolver and a phone full of pictures you don’t remember taking? Welcome to my world. The following is a reconstruction of what I can only assume happened at the Wizard […]
Well, gee, I feel a little vindicated. Everyone told me that studying both English Literature and Comparative Religion would get me nowhere. They told me that outside of the classroom, I would never use both disciplines simultaneously. People told me how dumb I looked reading Portrait of a Lady in a kurta. Dear doubters: everyone […]
Hey, look! Here’s an article I’ve written for Big Orange Slide on the extent to which a company’s image affects the behavior of its employees.
I’m still not going to see it, and at this point it’s less about scruples and more of a war of attrition than anything else, because my scruples are way off in the distance next to a cactus somewhere with my accuracy and predictive reasoning.
A great article on Applied Arts Magazine, marrying advertising, culture and comic books. Written by a copywriter at Grip Ltd., Ian Mackenzie (also, coincidentally, the founding editor emeritus of Big Orange Slide.
In honour of the fact that it’s Sunday and I’m at work, I thought I’d take a moment to reflect on all the things I’ve written for Big Orange Slide, the blog of Grip Limited, the wildly creative ad agency where I work. I also wanted to draw attention to the fact that they allow anyone who works there to write articles, regardless of whether or not they’re employed as a writer.
Some days I wonder if the entranceway into Hell is guarded by Ben Mulroney, and others I just take it for granted.
I’m a fourteen-year-old boy. I’m complex and quiet, and often, nobody knows what I’m thinking. I spend most of the day sitting alone in my room with my quill pen at the ready, expounding endlessly on the ontological paradoxes that form my generation’s philosophical milieu.
Human beings are hard-wired to seek out shocking and unnatural images, stories or ideas, perhaps out of some sick fascination with our own morbid end, or perhaps just because it comforts us to know that something out there exists that is more screwed up than we are. Why, then, would anyone doubt that we ever think to use that natural gag reflex as a selling point?