Transmissible spongiform encephalopathies.
Back toward the end of the ’90s, a throwaway bit in Wired imagined advertising as a virus, mutating and adapting to fill every conceivable niche in the ecosphere of attention-mongering. —A meme, yes yes, but at least a rather specific and concretized example of one, with better metrics.
The bit ended by proposing a king-hell ad-beast slouching through a climax forest of synergistic marketing opportunities: let’s say (it said) that Nike starts buying 30-second TV spots and airing nothing. Not an image, not a sound, not an icon, not a blipvert at the end to brand the logo on your consciousness: just 30 seconds of empty blank nothing. We’d all know, of course, because everyone would be talking about Nike and their crazy empty ad scheme, and constant repetition would drive the point home until every blank wall, every cloudless sky, every television tuned to a dead channel would whisper Nike to our lizard-brains.
Magnificent (for some values of magnificent)—and yet we all know that pound for pound it’s the little things that best succeed in filling niches: the microbes, the bacteria, the virii and prions, like what I saw crawling through the ESPN chyron as I was buying a burrito for lunch: the San Diego County Credit Union Poinsettia Bowl. How can one begin to measure the return on an investment like that?
Harsh, yes, but also unfair.
It only just now occurred to me: Alan Moore’s (and Kevin O’Neill’s, yes yes) Black Dossier is really his Number of the Beast.
Don’t shake out your dandruff and tell me it’s snowing, either.
Nordstrom used to have a piano player in each store, genteelly wassailing holiday shoppers, but this year the players have been rendered redundant: “The Seattle-based chain said the company is carrying out its hyper-attentive approach to customers, who it said compliment canned music more often than live musicians,” reports the Oregonian. —Somehow, I have a hard time believing they’re really doing this just to keep their customers complimentary. Golly. I guess Mr. Easterbrook was right.
Don’t hate on a—oh, who are we kidding.
In linking to this post by Carrie Brownstein, Matthew Perpetua—Mr. Fluxblog his own dam’ self—all but proves he’s never seen a Decemberists show.
Drive-by kulturklatsch.
I’m needed elsewhere; I’m trying to Get Things Done. (Never mind the sooty faces tugging at the Forge!) —This is mostly me using the Outboard Brain. And so: this (which found via this) seems somehow to me to be saying something, what, obverse? to this, which is (indirectly) about this. (I’d add something about the stagnation of the direct market in comics as everyone waits for trades that never come because the floppies don’t sell, but I’m not sure where to put it.) So: no thought, just bookmarks. (On a seemingly unrelated note: should I kill the joke about the three lions entirely? I mean, head, hand, and heart, but who the fuck’s gonna follow that?)
A humble request.
I was going to rant about how nobody’s letting In Our Bedroom After the War breathe in the shadow of Set Yourself on Fire, but I have work to do, and really, you all probably knew this already, so instead I’ll just ask this: please, please, please stop saying “postmodern” when all you mean is “metatextual.” It’s so 1984.
More on the behemoth.
Dylan, as ever, says it best. —Meanwhile, Momus is trying to take the piss out of Potter and The Wire at the same time, and for such an intellective jackanapes falls distressingly flat. Announcing to the world that you think the point of a name like Severus Snape is “you don’t have to waste much time working out whether they’re good or evil” is to mistake the set-up for the punchline, and if you require nothing more than a weepy third party’s word to accept that Bubbles must be “the most sympathetic character ever to appear in a TV drama,” well, you’re pretty much doomed to repeat the downfall of Tom Townsend, who never read novels, just good criticism, thus to efficiently garner the thoughts of a critic as well as the novelist.
—Ah, well. Momus is not without his point re: “wholly human,” and at least it’s—wittier? more insightful?—better than Ron Charles’ weary screed about how it’s all not really, you know, reading.
Eight hours and 759 pages later.
Well. That’s done. —Next?
The power of names.
No, Barkley; no. You can cite Juan Cole all you want, but this decade will not be called the zeroes, or the naughties, or the naughts; not even the old-skool aughts. It’s going to be a little more cumbersome: the aught-naughts. As in, “We really ought not to have done that—”
Harry Potter and the Lost Light.
I had no idea. I honestly had no idea. (via)
It’s the little things.
Shouldn’t he be saying “Myanmar”?
O to be in Brooklyn in the Spring!
On May 18th, my older younger sister’s birthday, Rose Thomson, Hanna Fox, and Tim Thomas will all be onstage again in their various separate incarnations, at the Magnetic Field. —Explains all the searches lately for Babe the Blue Ox. (Laura: you gotta go and tell me all about it.)
Count Bérubé’s passage over Piedmont.
You’ve read it elsewhere, but the sinistral contract obligates I mention it, and so: Michael Bérubé renounces blogging exile, joins the gang at Crooked Timber. Hot holy damn.
Liverwurst, Battenburg, Emmenthal, Syllabub, Muscadet—
Throw it away! We need more height! Toss it all over the side!
O Newton, release this apple from its earthly shackles!
Throw it all away, and live to fight another day—
Time to Frenzy.
Distressing news via BlogTown: Reading Frenzy, the amazing zine and comics and independent press emporium that’s been a Portland fixture for 13 years, needs our help. Here’s the message from Chloe Eudaly:
We’re rounding the corner on our 13th year, and while I’m not particularily superstitious, it does seem to be adding up to a rather unlucky phase in our long, illustrious history. A series of unfortunate events, both business and personal, have brought us to a critical juncture and we need your support to see us through.
As a faithful reader, I’m sure you appreciate Reading Frenzy and what we offer to our community of readers and publishers: a rare outlet for independent and alternative media, a hub of local literary activity, and a cozy space for art and literary events. Internationally recognized for our devotion to the small press and zines in particular, we’ve even inspired others to follow suit and open shops in their own towns.
Reading Frenzy is as much a community resource as it is a business, and as such has always depended on the generousity of volunteer staff, a team of supportive professionals who help us for free or cheap, and the occasional fundraiser. We have a couple bigger events in the works, but in the meantime here’s how you can help break the spell:
- Go on a Reading Frenzy shopping spree! Can’t find what you want now? Buy yourself (and a few of your friends) gift certificates!
- Buy a Co-Frenzy membership for $100—you receive a 10% discount for one year, plus a signed/numbered Reading Frenzy/Spiral Bound print by Aaron Renier!
- Have a bright idea for a fundraiser? Bring it on! We’re thinking rock show, spaghetti feed, and book sale—but not at the same time!
Thanks so much for your continued support!
Go. Continue your support. And spread the word!
Miss Aqua; Miss Aquia; Miss Aguia; D’Equi; “Doc”—
Dr. Marie Diana Equi, noted for the commonplace book on my way elsewhere. “Her personal friend and companion is Miss Aqua, a spirited young lady, who says that she will not tamely submit to see Miss Holcomb cheated out of $100 of her salary, and that she will whip O.D. Taylor if it is the last act of her life. The sympathy of the crowd was with the young lady, and if she had horse-whipped the reverend gentleman the fine would have been subscribed within five minutes. Miss Holcomb is a scholarly and highly accomplished young lady, and is held in high estimation in this community. Miss Aqua is very much attached to her, and her friendship amounts to adoration.”
Empathy and usefulness,
or, Innovative design solutions.
“Traditional tools such as pencils or markers may be used to develop graphic design ideas, even when computers are used for finalization.” —And y’all thought Conservapedia was funny.
