From the category archives:

rants

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Mr. Right-Click left a copy of the latest Wired magazine on my vanity this morning. He claimed that there were some things of interest in it for me, and while flipping through it, he said, “See, they’ll have all this cool stuff, and then they bust out with something like this:
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. . . and then their credibility goes down the toilet.”
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Wired seems to forget that all geeks are not the same. And while this little how-to feature is presumably meant to be tongue-in-cheek, it just ends up being stupid because it doesn’t have a target audience. It makes the mistake of thinking all geeks are the same.
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One would assume that Wired readers could care less about having spent their “formative years favoring the Vulcan salute,” right? Because now, they’re all grown up. And they became software millionaires. Or dot com millionaires. Or web 2.0 millionaires. And, geek or not, they’re laughing all the way to the bank, right?
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Well, not so much.
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Because people who care about Vulcans and technology entrepreneurs are not the same group, are they? I mean a real geek-gone-rich is somebody who has business sense AND just happens to be gifted with computers and technology, and/or knows who to hire to do what, when, like any gifted entrepreneur. Perhaps if Nancy Miller, a former Entertainment Weekly writer who lives in LA, spent some time in Silicon Valley or–hey, just some time on the internet–she would realize this.
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A geek of the Star Trek variety is not necessarily going to be the most gifted businessman, generally speaking. Because nobody wants to buy their apps or databases–or whatever the hell it is that these people do–from someone who insists that Klingon is a real language. They want somebody who maybe is a little nerdy, but still is personable and has their eye set on technology, the future, AND the market. Look at the Klingons’ website. It’s a word document uploaded on the interwebs View definition in a new window. These geeks don’t even know CSS!
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The true geeks, the ones that people are addressing here–are the most extreme kind of geek. These are geeks who CARE WHAT PEOPLE THINK OF THEM, which means they might not even realize that they are geeks. No, worse, this is a magazine printed for geeks who are good in business, but also read by people who are just plain old geeks, who aren’t good at business, and aren’t funny–and we have staff writers, who are neither geeks, good at business, nor funny, NOR in touch with what unfunny geeks like . . . and these are the people coming up with the idea for a story.
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So, how much would a 3/4 ad cost in the printed issue of Wired? I’m not sure, but it’s certainly in the tens of thousands at the very least, no? Is this story worth tens of thousands of dollars or more in reader enjoyment? And people wonder why the publishing business is in the toilet! I am trying to picture the pitch session for this thing.
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Nancy Miller: So I have an idea. A nearly full-page, complete with graphics humor piece.
Wired: Sounds great!
NM: So, basically, what we do is, we teach people how to high-five.
W: Right.
NM: We do it with lots of demographically appropriate references to popular culture and kicky retro graphics. They’ll eat it up.
W: So, the premise is that you would be teaching people how to do a high-five–
NM: Properly. How to do it properly.
W: I’m having a hard time picturing this.
NM: Look, Wired readers want to be cool, just like everyone else.
W: Right.
NM: So we make this graphic up, and we sort of appeal to their uncoolness, like that is a source of cool–say something about Star Trek. And 21 Jump Street.
W: I’m not sure that–
NM: And we’re doing a public service, too, because, really–it’s embarrassing to do this incorrectly
W: People do it incorrectly? Really? Wasn’t 21 Jump Street more of a chick show?
NW: Geeks like to watch Scrubs. We’ll piggy back off their characterization of Todd–he’s always high-fiving people.
W: People want to be like Todd?
NW: No! That’s the joke.
W: Oh.
NW: And then we’ll spice up the copy with catchphrases and hot terms like “bogie,” “mitts,” “wingman,” “fist bump.”
W: Isn’t “fist-bump” some kind of Obama thing? I’m not sure that we want to appear as though we are favoring one side or the other.
NW: Well, it’s tongue in cheek, you see.
W: Right, but where’s the tongue, and who’s cheek is it? I’m lost.
NW: Listen, I used to write about celebrities. I think it’s safe to say I know what’s HOT.
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This is the problem with writers going from one magazine to the next–sure, the basic raw skills are the same, and a good writer here is a good writer there. But readers are having a hard time giving any credibility to anyone anymore, because the writers are so divorced from their topics that they don’t seem to even understand audience anymore. This is why people like blogs, Wired and all you other magazines* out there who can’t seem to remember who your readers are.

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*Domino, I’m looking in your direction. Your audience needs to know how to remodel on a budget–not how to make your house look fantastic with $3,000 table lamps.

My mother forwarded me an email yesterday from a group soliciting responses to be posted on a blog called Women Against Sarah Palin. Though I think Sarah Palin is an ignorant bigot fucktard, I must admit that I am hesitant to join a group that calls itself such a reactionary name–what are we against, exactly? Her right to live? The fact that she exists? The ideology for which she stands? Do we aim to get her to change her name? Her politics? Her choice of weaponry? Too many questions.

Tacked onto this email was a list of books that Palin supposedly tried to have banned in Alaska. I have since discovered that this list is bogus, but in the interest of comedy and in direct contradiction to the ideals of responsible journalism, I will now pretend that 1) it is true, 2) I have access to Sarah Palin, and 3) she agreed to be interviewed by me about these books.

Why? Because OH MY CHRISTLORD what a boondoggle! I cannot think of better blog fodder for a commie pinko ex-English Lit academic to sink her teeth into. [rubs hands together]

So, now, in the honor of the first Republican Woman VP Candidate (to be pronounced in the manner of an elder statesman benevolently allowing that there exist “woman candidates,” just as there are “woman doctors,” and “woman lawyers,” but not, as of yet, any “woman indian chiefs,” at least not as far as I know), I now present you with a my interview of Sarah Palin regarding her choice of proposed banned books in Alaska. To review, for any independent counsel that might be reading, this is an interview that definitely did not take place.

ABDPBT View definition in a new window: Well, I have to say it’s rather sporting of you to join me today, Governor Palin, given that I called you an ignorant bigot fucktard recently. Can I offer you something to drink?
PALIN: Do you have any Captain Morgan? I’ve heard it’s pretty good.
ABDPBT View definition in a new window: I guess you don’t know I’m a recovering alcoholic, Gov. Palin.
PALIN: Oh, my gosh dern, dear. That LA Lifestyle is really not very healthy, you know. I guess you must be one of its many victims, like my daughter, who sees it on TV.
ABDPBT View definition in a new window: You do realize that when you say things like that, you are alienating like, say over ten times as many people who live in your entire state. Right?
PALIN: Los Angeles is not the world!
ABDPBT View definition in a new window: No, but there are almost ten million of us who live here. That’s just the city. The county has like twice that, and Alaska has a total of just over 600,000 people. And it’s as big as half of the US. You might want to think about expanding your demographic. I don’t think moose can vote.
PALIN: Mmm, mmmm, moose.
ABDPBT View definition in a new window: OK, moving on, let’s get to this list of books, because I’m pretty sure I don’t know enough about you to come up with enough political responses that my audience will actually buy as coming from you. I might have more to go on with books.
PALIN: [Adjusting lipstick and pig nose.] Sexist!
ABDPBT View definition in a new window: Me?
PALIN: Yes, I read that “lipstick on a pig” comment. You are only saying that because I’m a woman.
ABDPBT View definition in a new window: But you are literally wearing a pig nose attached to your face with elastic. What am I supposed to say?
PALIN: Sexist!
ADBDPBT: OK, like I said, let’s get to the books. I notice some oldies but goodies here, alongside a few headscratchers. Have you read all of these books, Gov. Palin?
PALIN: I have read everything I need to know.
ABDPBT View definition in a new window: Really, because just glancing over this list, there are several I haven’t read. And I feel like I have a decent working knowledge of the canon.
PALIN: I thought we weren’t going to discuss the war. They’re using cannons now? Dear lordamercy, these heathens really are straight from three thousand years ago.
ABDPBT View definition in a new window: Sigh. Talk to me about Judy Blume’s Blubber. I read this as a child. I cannot imagine what you would have against it–
PALIN: It deals with childhood obesity and we are working to rectify that problem.
ABDPBT View definition in a new window: Actually, it is a book about difference, and the chief thrust of the book’s argument is about how it is not okay to make fun of people for being different–whether that difference is in the form of race, gender, religion or–in this case–weight.
PALIN: Maybe if people made fun of fat people more, we wouldn’t have so many of them.
ABDPBT View definition in a new window: So, you are advocating that we teach our children to marginalize fat people, and Blubber works against that goal. And this is why you would ban the book?
PALIN: I never banned any books!
ABDPBT View definition in a new window: Right, because it’s illegal. We are talking about books you wanted to have banned. You might want to check on these kinds of things, in the event View definition in a new window you get elected. Let’s see, next, Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice. Hath not a Jew eyes, Gov. Palin? If you cut him, does he not bleed?
PALIN: Oh he’ll bleed, alright, but he might also lay an egg. Or grow horns.
ABDPBT View definition in a new window: And Anthony Burgess’ A Clockwork Orange? Is it the violence? I cannot imagine you have a problem with the brainwashing element . . . maybe it’s the glorification of crime?
PALIN: It’s the modernist furniture.
ABDPBT View definition in a new window: But, it’s a book. Not the movie.
PALIN: Listen, if I see one more orb pendant lamp or a Le Courbusier chair I’m going to scream.
ABDPBT View definition in a new window: OK, it’s hardly a work of great literature, but what’s the problem with Cujo?
PALIN: It’s anti-dog. Anti-dog=anti-wolf=anti-Alaska.
ABDPBT View definition in a new window: And Christine is . . .
PALIN: Anti-car. Anti-car=anti-gas=anti-Alaska.
ABDPBT View definition in a new window: I see. What about Catch-22? Anti-military? It’s just a satire, you know.
PALIN: Yes, but I always thought Joseph Heller was a one trick pony.
ABDPBT View definition in a new window: Touché. But why the Harry Potter series? I love that series! Why wouldn’t you want your children to grow up with it?
PALIN: You mean other than the sinful sorcery?
ABDPBT View definition in a new window: But it’s make believe. Like Disney. You people love that shit. Just as long as the mouse goes to church it’s OK, right?
PALIN: Yes, but Dumbledore is gay. Rowling admitted it.
ABDPBT View definition in a new window: Ooooooh. What about How to Eat Fried Worms?
PALIN: Pro-gambling. Pro-gambling=pro-Indian=pro-Eskimo=anti-Alaska.
ABDPBT View definition in a new window: Weren’t the Eskimos there first? Aren’t they part of Alaska?
PALIN: You know what I mean.
ABDPBT View definition in a new window: Of course I do. I want you to spell it out.
PALIN: Too bad.
ABDPBT View definition in a new window: OK, just one more title I’d like clarification on–Lord of the Flies?
PALIN: Oh, is that on there?
ABDPBT View definition in a new window: Yes!
PALIN: Oh, that’s a mistake.
ABDPBT View definition in a new window: So, you agree that it’s a good way to illustrate how fear-mongering can exploit the tendencies of people in groups to obey authority, even when that authority is malicious, and that fear artificially manufactured?
PALIN: I was thinking of it more as a handbook. For myself.
ABDPBT View definition in a new window: Yes, maybe it will tell you what a Vice President does.
PALIN: Exactly.

Click here to see the whole list on a watchdog conservative site that is all up in arms about the whole thing. [snicker]

Boulevard of Broken Dreams

by anna on 09.11.2008

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Jon and Kate now have a billboard of their own on the Sunset Strip in West Hollywood, which is like the Times Square of Los Angeles, in case you’ve never visited it. But what’s that totally black building underneath it, you know right below the sign, below the ominous storm clouds that were gathering, this morning–September 11th, strangely enough–oh it’s the Viper Room. Why do I know that name? Hmmm, is it because it is a nightclub owned by Johnny Depp. No, that’s not it. Although that’s a strange juxtaposition, isn’t it? Are there a bunch of barfly clubkids who like to watch TLC while getting ready to go out on the town? Dunno.

Wait, I know why it’s familiar! I know! The billboard is directly above where River Phoenix died.
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What I want to know is, when they show Kate constantly on the phone now, is she talking to a PR person? Because if so, tell me their name so I can know WHO NOT TO HIRE in the event View definition in a new window I ever get famous.

As It Turns Out, People Are Dicks

by anna on 08.22.2008

My son has such a friendly, happy-go-lucky disposition, even when he is in the midst of a toddler semi-meltdown, that sometimes I think he must have figured out a way to mainline sunshine. His happiness is so precious, and so foreign to me, in fact, that I feel like I need to treat it with special care–like, wrap it in bubble wrap and surround it with plastic peanuts, and stow it away somewhere, so I don’t step on it and smash it to pieces when I’m looking for the pet hair attachment to the vacuum cleaner.

Just being around him–especially on a day like today, where he is all smiles and lovey doveys for Mommy–makes me a happier person, makes me want to believe, like he does, that people aren’t evil cesspools or bottomless pits of need. In fact, if we have a really good day, like when we go to My Gym or something, and he plays on the slide, I catch myself starting to assume that people will do the right thing, or the nice thing, or at the very least the basically CIVIL thing, when the need arises.

But then something will happen and I will come crashing back to earth, disappointed with myself and everyone else, unsure of where to place the blame, and wanting (even if just a little bit) to come down with some kind of fatal illness so I don’t have to deal with the bullshit anymore.

So I am writing this here, rather than screaming it, because as much as I believe it to be true, I would like for my son to at least have a shot at growing up and not believing and/or knowing that

PEOPLE ARE DICKS.

Clearly I have had some bad people experiences lately. Some are of the run-of-the-mill, road rage, cutting in line, pissing in your cheerios variety, and some are peculiar, head-scratching moments of dickdom that have finally built up, boiled over and now–well, sorry, but you’re all going to have to feel the wrath.

I don’t like most people. I am not a nice person. And if you have met me, and you are under the mistaken impression that I am a nice person, it is likely that this is because I don’t say what is going on in my head most of the time. I am very good at hiding my emotions. Yes, they pass this skill out to WASPs–along with highball glasses, madras shorts, and an affected forgetfulness of numbers of houses owned–at birth. One time my stepbrother said something to the effect of “Anna is really not so bad.” My mother told him that he thought this because I hadn’t “shown [my] teeth yet.” That seems an apt description.

As you probably know, last week we started running the New York Times Crossword on this site. Despite what some people in the interwebs View definition in a new window think, I am not enough of a moron to think I could take property from the Paper of Record without their permission. But, for the sake of argument, let’s say I were that idiotic–would I also have the audacity to go to other sites and promote the fruits of my thievery–you know, to increase the chances of getting caught? Apparently not one, not two, but more like ten to fifteen people thought that I might do just this thing, and felt it was their duty to do/say something about it.

One of these valiant, high-minded blowhards readers even took it upon themselves to spam half the Times’ email list, as well as the publisher of the Times’ crossword applet that we use, alerting them to my “feeble” attempt at stealing their intellectual property. Since I don’t have clearance to discuss the finer points of this particular incident, I will just have to say that the end result was in my favor. Which is not a surprise, since I OF COURSE did much research on using the Times‘ crossword on my site, and went to great lengths to procure the rights to do so.

But this did not change the fact that when I got the email from this asshole, I was headed into the gym with Mini, checking mail on my crackberry while we waited for the gym daycare to open, and totally not emotionally ready for such an attack. Since I started this blog, I have been expecting (hoping for?) some kind of character assasination/critique of parenting/indictment of superficiality and/or spending habits from readers. Not that I would relish these kinds of attacks either, but I felt confident that they WOULD come at some point. But this particular sucker punch came out of left field, and was delivered by a frustrated graduate of a certain prestigious university who pimps out his fifteen year old book about a weeny whiny pseudointellectual pseudotopic (that is not even politically relevant any more due to advances in science and technology) on a fifth rate html site that he couldn’t even design himself. Add that to the fact that he works a Dilbertesqe day job where it is likely he has to regularly kiss the asses of more talented and successful people ad nauseum, and you have a Central Casting character sketch for the movie adaptation of The Sociopath Next Door.

So, yeah, sucks to be him, but leave me out of it, dude.

Then, like we’ve been talking about late, I’m on Twitter and have a lot of reservations about it. But I have been working very hard on this blog, and though I know it is unreasonable to expect overnight meteoric success, I feel like there should be some kiind of expectation of collegial behavior among bloggers, no? I read a lot of blogs. A LOT. And truth be told, many of them I don’t even like, I just read them because I know they are popular, and I am not so arrogant as to think there aren’t things I can learn from someone who is successful. If this person is successful at something and I am puzzled as to why, then IMO it is all the more important that I try to learn from them. So I read, and read, and comment, and comment, and participate as much as I can, when I have something to offer.

Now, I don’t expect everyone to come to my blog because I went to theirs. Nor do I expect that people will come to my blog, like it, want to stay. Sometimes they will, sometimes not. That’s life.

But if I send someone a direct message with something directly pertinent to something they have written about–or tweeted about–something they have directly asked for help with, or something they specifically take an interest in–say, something they write a weekly column about, then I think it is not unreasonable to expect some kind of acknowledgement of my message. Just something like, “hey, really, thanks.” Or even, “Oh?” I do not expect friendship. I do not expect them to even be interested in what I have to say. But SOME VERSION OF PUBLIC POLITENESS, DON’T YOU THINK–AN ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF COMMUNICATION, OR SOMETHING, IS NOT TOO MUCH TO ASK. For God’s sake.

People like to say that the blogosphere is like high school. Uh-uh. The blogosphere is more like a bunch of people who were loser dorks in high school, who get spilkies at the prospect of finally being the ones in power. They love nothing more than to abuse power the same way that they had power abused on them. So a lot of them are asshole dicks without any sense of common courtesy. Like, if people marginalized you at one point, you jump at the chance to do it someone else. Wow. Super grown up.

I don’t have a point with this post. Just feel like ranting so that I don’t take it out on my family. I’ll be back to my usual, charming, morbidly depressed self tomorrow.