Remember back when...

I was thinking back to our childhood the other night, and realised just how great it actually was. When averaging all the ups and downs of our past, it sorta comes up roses... as opposed to those large brazilian jungle flowers that smell like rotting meat, put it that way. I'd like to think we're pretty stable personalities now, with very little going on upstairs in regards to deep-seated* issues from our childhood, and I think I'm gonna attribute a lot of that to the first 13 or so years of our life. Oh, and our parents probably had something to do with it too.  Cheers guys.

As you can imagine, loneliness was never an issue growing up. Competitiveness, stealthy food fights, top and lower bunk rotation, always buying two of everything in blue AND red... those were issues, but never loneliness. We didn't have the widest circle of friends growing up either, but we certainly didn't discriminate. We'd play with anybody... the nerds, the cool kids, the girls and even the little punks down the road that'd burst into tears, pack up their toys and leave in a wild cussing fit if and when they so pleased [what's up Tyrone]. Actually, I'd like to think most kids enjoyed the little adrenaline rush of coming over to the twin's house, because they knew they'd be involved in some activities they couldn't or wouldn't try at their own place. Not that we were the evil kids that peer pressured your ass into shooting birds or something [not AT ALL], think more along the A-Team lines of things... the Ninja lines if you will.  

We were blessed with slightly more adventurous spirits than the average 9 year olds, and this became evident in the post-school hours of the day. Building a cubby house in the sappy backyard pine tree, which honestly only consisted of a single wooden board to seat ONE... it became a race to get up there, and then a charade to make it look like you were having way more fun up the tree than down. This probably started our obsession for constructing things outta the junk in Dad's garage. The ways of the Ninja also became a big part of our childhood... throwing-stars cut from lead or tin, katanas and sais made from sharpened wood, bo-staffs made from... well not really made, more adapted from the kitchen broom. And of course, the black tee-shirt wrapped intricately around the head to reveal ninja eyes, but which had to be taken off due to breathing complications. Night falls, and we'd run around battling nobody, and hiding from nothing.

The 'game' though that achieved legendary, nay MYTHICAL repute in the adolescent community, would have had to be 'Missions'. Missions were born simply through 'dares', like so many other pure games before it. "I dare you to jump our back fence, run through Mr Johnson's yard and meet me on the next street"... or Mission A. "I dare you to walk along our back fence until it becomes the crazy woman's house, then run through her yard, jump the fence into the yard with the rottweiler, over their gate and out through the back lane".. or Mission C [which was only ever done once by the way, and just barely once]. By Mission D, we were on people's roofs, and I'm pretty sure you couldn't complete Mission G without a grappling hook... [or was it bolt cutters?] The one piece of equipment required for every Mission though, was the trusty tennis ball. If ever caught while on enemy territory, you'd immediately resort to making exaggerated head movements while squinting the eyes, and swatting at random plantlife. You'd be surprised at exactly how well "I'm just looking for my tennis ball" can get you out of an awkward trespassing dilemma. One time when I forgot to bring one, I can remember having the owner of the house looking with me for half an hour for a ball that was never there, only to pull out from the garden an actual tennis ball covered in a thick layer of dried mud and leaves that was so obviously NOT the ball in question... "Is this what you're looking for?" C'monnn, what would you have said if you were given such a quick out? Anyway, bottom line is... you came to the twin's house when you wanted to star in your own personal spy movie, and we were proud of that fact [it actually became our most responsive viral marketing line!].

Maybe it was due to not owning a TV for much of our early years? [although I'm definitely sure that's why we're obsessed with it now!] Maybe it was the double-story design of our house that just begged to be climbed up, swung from and jumped off? Maybe it was our parents, that maintained a firm-but-fair attitude of 'just be careful', and were probably okay with letting us prance around because they knew we had each other's backs. I don't know, but I feel like we had a pretty solid childhood... and a part of me wishes we could start up Missions again without the fear of serious jail time.

Jon [Josh].

* 'Deep-seeded' or 'deep-seated'? http://www.wsu.edu/~brians/errors/deep.html

"It's ringing!"

Crazy things happen in New York City, no-one can argue with that - it's a proven scientific fact. TWiN can be privy to some fairly strange, rare, and some say 'lucky' happenings... but even we were speechless with some of the happycrap that went down on this recent U.S trip. There's really only room for one story here... so let me go ahead and elaborate, thus opening the door for a stream of colourful and pretty unavoidable reader comments. No please, go nuts.

Here we are, crossing 5th Avenue after yet another fruitful session of 'what special edition DVDs can we find in the Virgin Megastore that haven't made it to our shores yet... and look, only $10', when this nice blonde lady stops us in front of a rather potent cart of 'street meat'. She quickly explains that her good friend, who just happens to be 'the best casting agent in NYC', has asked her to keep a peeled eyeball out for interesting faces around the city. She then rather excitedly goes on to tell us it's all for an upcoming Converse print campaign to shoot in the next couple weeks. O... Kay. "Here... take down her number on that mangled DVD receipt from your back pocket, and call her as soon as you can!!" Obviously this doesn't happen to TWiN every day (it tends to be more of a weekly to bi-weekly occasion)... so needless to say we were surprised, and there was definitely more than our regular required dose of cynicism.  

So, four days go by... and it's only on the morning of the fifth day that we come across this now almost unreadable strip of paper from my back pocket. We look at each other and giggle like little girls. We argue about who's going to call... like little girls. I say, "It's ringing", in a high-pitched squeal like a skinny 6'1 little girl that hasn't shaved in a week. For some reason the assistant on the phone asks "is this one of the twins?" [I SHIT you NOT], and before you know it we're standing in a painfully slow elevator on our way up to get our photos taken at the Soho casting office.

(I'll speed through this next bit in point form)... Photos of us are quick, digital, and subsequently quite lame. We're pretty sure we have zero chance. The mood boards and designs for the campaign look quite cool though, and we're pleasantly surprised that they want 'black & white 70's indie-punk-cool' over 'cheesy American kids smiling so wide you wanna kick a puppy'. They give us the "we'll call you when we hear something", and we leave the building expecting that we've just scored a cool New York story, but not much else.  

Soon enough we get a call from the casting office - "The photos aren't great... we're gonna need to get you in to take some better ones".  Again we find ourselves in one of Manhattan's slowest elevators on our way to the office of John Varvatos. We quickly assume this must be the famous photographer on the job ('cause that's certainly how the room comes across), and we sit there flicking through his massive leather-bound folio. Justin, Tom Cruise, Usher, Hugh Jackman, LL, Matthew Fox... and... TWiN(?!?) Our churning guts switch up a gear. Turns out John Varvatos is the fashion designer [derr!], and a pretty friggin well-known one too! [Lucky we didn't compliment him on his 'work' huh?] We meet... he's all smiles... a little gay... jokes that we're gonna have to get naked... they snap a few (moderately) better photos, NOT NAKED... and we're suddenly back in the elevator not knowing much more than we did 20 minutes ago.

A little more than a week goes by, and we're in the back of a cool coffee shop when my phone rings. It's bloody hard to hear much of anything, but I do seem to catch the words, "You've just booked Converse". Pity the shoot's over in NY, while we're supposed to be on a 14 hour flight back to Sydney from LA! Ultimately we decide, 'if the client loves us, and the agency loves us, and the designer loves us... they'll make it happen.' And they did. Flights back to New York from LA, a hotel for 2 nights, and a car with a driver waiting out front to take us to set.

The shoot was crazy. Needless to say, we're usually on the other side of the camera when shoot's get crazy... but it was cool to experience how a fashion shoot goes down on the opposite side of the globe. There were stunningly gorgeous females, iconic Brooklyn locations, and more TV On The Radio blearing from a boombox than you can shake a big American stick at. The track 'Wolf Like Me' is now a permanent reminder of grab-assing/rooftop-pissing/water-spitting/trash-diving craziness that was the New York shoot for Converse - John Varvatos 2006. Big thank you to photographer Cass Bird, Jennifer & crew, and Mr Varvatos. Only in mofo'n New York City.  

[You can peep the final Converse ads in the blog post 'It's in the pudding'].

Josh[Jon].