This is the second year that I’ve kept a list of all the books I’ve finished, sharing that list on New Year’s Eve once I’ve realized that I won’t finish anything else before midnight. I’ve read plus-or-minus 56 books this year (the +/- will make sense if you read on), not counting re-reads or partial reads.
2015 was a complex, challenging, exciting year for the Berens Family, as we spent the first half of the year living in Norway, moving back to Oregon over the summer. Looking back at where my head was and correlated that to where my body was geographically helps to make sense of the year in intriguing ways— not unlike when I look into my sent-and-received email when I need to figure out what the heck I was doing on a given day.
You’ll see that I’m eclectic in my reading: lots of non-fiction, science fiction, media and marketing, with a new-this-year focus on behavioral economics.
Here’s the list:
1. Hurwitz, Gregg. Trust No One. Finished 1/9/15.
I’d enjoyed Hurwitz’s “Crime Writer” book a few years back, but I don’t remember when this one made it into my iBooks on the iPad. Perhaps it was a free volume somewhere along the lines. A terrific thriller, fast paced with an interesting and flawed protagonist in Nick Horrigan.
2. Levitin, Daniel J. The Organized Mind: Thinking Straight in the Age of Information Overload. Finished 1/22/15.
Fantastic, smart, insightful. I’ll need to read it again to gather my thoughts into order. I don’t say that often… although I think I felt the same way after finishing the Carse book Finite and Infinite Games.
Levitan’s work on the significance of physical environments in an evermore digital world is not to be missed by any digital thinker. It felt weird to read this book on the iPad, since one thrust of its argument is to be careful about digitization.
3. Sansom, C.J. Lamentation. (Book 6 in the Matthew Shardlake series.) Finished 1/24/15.
Terrific book, as all the Shardlake novels are. This one marked a major transition in the series as it moves from the reign of Henry VIII to young King Edward and with an eye towards Queen Elizabeth 1.
4. Thomas, Rob & Jennifer Graham. Veronica Mars: Mr. Kiss and Tell. (Book 2 in the Veronica Mars novels.) Finished 2/1/15.
Finished this during the flight back from London to Bergen after my iMedia UK “Data-Fuelled Marketing” keynote and subsequent hangout with my buddy Kevin M. Ryan in Amsterdam. It’s in no way a surprise that Thomas, who created Veronica Mars, nails the sensibility and rhythms of the show and movie. The only surprise is how much I loved both this book and the first one that I read last year: it’s like watching a long episode of the show.
5. Jones, October. Texts From Dog. Finished 2/6/15.
Dogless since the death of beloved Dexter in October of 2013, when my son happened across the hilarious Texts from Dog site we decided that we must support the creator, October Jones, by buying the book for my birthday. If you’ve ever had a dog, then this prolonged fantasy of what a dog would text if he only had thumbs will bring a smile to your face. The fact that it’s utterly profane as well makes the experience even better.
6. Aaronovitch, Ben. Foxglove Summer (Peter Grant/Rivers of London Book #5). Finished 2/8/15.
Delightful fantasy novels written by a Doctor Who alumnus writer. I imagine that #6 must be coming-real-soon.
7. Harris, Sam. Waking Up: Searching for spirituality without religion. Finished 2/13/15.
Way back in graduate school, my friend David Brewer told me about Richard Rorty’s Contingency, Irony and Solidarity and said that reading that book helped him to figure out his personal politics. Likewise, this magnificent book by Sam Harris helped me to figure out my own sense of spirituality. It’s a fascinating, bracing, personal, helpful work about mindfulness, who we are and who we aren’t, and how to live in the world. One of the most important books of my year.
8. Hornby, Nick. Funny Girl. Finished 2/14/15.
Hornby is always good, and the nice this about this book is that it takes him back into the 1960s, away from his usual modern milieu. An enjoyable, fast read.
9. McCloud, Scott. The Sculptor. Finished 2/15/15. (Graphic novel, but at 488 pages it counts!)
I used to teach McCloud’s Understanding Comics as a writing text, and like all McCloud fans have been waiting for years for his next fictional work. This doesn’t disappoint: it’s a masterpiece of comics writing, brilliantly fusing words and pictures in a moving story about art, passion and life.
10. Sillitoe, Peter. The Guide to Shakespearean London Theatres. Finished 2/17/15.
A short, handy and fact-filled guide to the theaters of Shakespeare’s London that I zipped through as I was preparing a talk about Shakespeare for the iMedia UK team.
11. Nadel, Barbara. A Passion for Killing. Finished 2/22/15.
An Inspector Ikmen and Inspector Suleyman mystery, set in Turkey. Nothing exceptional here, but a quick and well-crafted read. I wasn’t moved to read any more in the series, but didn’t regret reading this one, which is #9 in a series.
12. Nourbakhsh, Illah Reza. Robot Futures. Finished 3/2/15.
Smart meditation about how robotics will change our lives in the startlingly near future by a Carnegie Mellon roboticist. The book veers away from robotics towards the end — or expands the definition of robotics in ways I found unhelpful — but the first 3/4 were smart and clarifying.
13. Berger, Jonah. Contagious: why things catch on. Started & finished 3/7/15.
It’s rare that I can finish a non-fiction book in one day, but Berger is a fine writer explaining his research with clarity and gusto. If you’re interested in what works and what doesn’t in advertising, then don’t miss this.
14. Dolan, Paul. Happiness by Design: Finding pleasure and purpose in everyday life. Finished 3/16/15.
Remarkable. I’ve continued to think about this book at least weekly since reading it — along with Harris (and Kahneman, coming up next) one of my tops for 2015 — and I don’t know why this isn’t being read in every book club in the English speaking world. A fascinating combination of economics and psychology.
15. Kahneman, Daniel. Thinking Fast and Slow. Finished 4/11/15.
At last, at last! I have too much to say about this book in this compendium, so please see my blog post: “Daniel Kahneman kicks my ass, or Reading Fast and Slow.”
16. Schrage, Michael. Who Do You Want Your Customers to Become? Finished 4/18/15.
A short, impressive book that pivots the reader’s understanding of the project of a business from asking a consumer to “buy this thing” to asking that consumer to “become this person.” It’s one of those exercises that will help any business going through a strategy session or major transition.
17. Riordan, Rick. The Lost Hero. (Heroes of Olympus #1.) Finished 4/21/15.
I promised my son that I’d catch up on the Percy Jackson novels, and this was the first of the second series. Terrific YA fiction. Riordan is prolific and always good.
18. Sterling, Bruce, ed. Twelve Tomorrows 2014: MIT Technology Review Annual SF Anthology. Finished 4/22/15.
The always-strong, always-provocative anthology of SF stories from MIT’s Technology Review— I never miss it.
19. Riordan, Rick. The Son of Neptune. (Heroes of Olympus #2.) Finished 4/25/15.
20. Sicart, Miguel. Play Matters. Finished 5/3/15.
Play has been a notion increasingly on my mind as key to why some technologies proliferate and some don’t.
Play is different than the popular term gamification, and Sicart’s brief but well-written book teases out the differences nicely. “Designing for play means creating a setting weather than a system, a stage rather than a world, a model rather than a puzzle. Whatever is created has to be open, flexible, and malleable to allow players to appropriate, express, act and interact, make, and become part of the form itself” (90).
21. Wright, Helen S. A Matter of Oaths. Finished 5/13/15.
Steve Patrizi linked to a list of great SciFi that included Wright’s 1990, sadly out of print, but delightfully free on her website space opera. Ahead of its time in its gender politics with gay characters, the Locus review is right when it suggests that this is an entire series crammed into one novel, but it’s still great fun.
22. Gibbs, Stuart. Spy School. Finished 5/15/15.
Another in a series that I read with my son: this is Austin Powers for middle schoolers. Great fun, and we’ve enjoyed the whole trilogy. I hope Gibbs writes more!
23. Delany, Samuel R. The Einstein Intersection. Finished 5/17/15.
When I asked my friend Joseph Carrabis who his favorite science fiction authors are, Delany topped his list. I can see why: this 1967 book is fascinating and hard to describe since it is told from the POV of aliens who have inhabited a far-future dead Earth and are attempting to live out human lives reconstructed from what the species left behind. Smart, deep, moving, esoteric and memorable.
24. Macleod, Ken. The Cassini Division. 5/19/15.
Published in 2000, this was an interesting, unplanned juxtaposition with Delany, since it deals with what happens to the normal humans left behind when some members of our species become post-human. A sci-fi version of HBO’s “The Leftovers” series that talks about what happens to the rest of us post-Rapture. Interesting, well written.
25. Gibbs, Stuart. Spy Camp (Spy School #2). Finished 5/24/15.
26. Bujold, Lois McMaster. Ethan of Athos. Finished 5/31/15. (A reread technically but I didn’t remember most of it for some reason.)
Bujold, as I’ve said many times, is my favorite living science fiction writer, and one of my favorite writers ever. This book is set in a cul-de-sac off the main path of her award-winning Vorkosigan universe, and it asks the question “what would an all-male society do to make babies?” Not a great introduction to the Vorkosigan books, but a great independent read.
27. Sharp, Byron. How Brands Grow: what marketers don’t know. Finished 6/3/15.
When two friends in two countries (Carol Phillips in the US and Michael Bayler in the UK) independently raved about this book, I had to get it. It’s hands down the smartest marketing book I’ve ever read, and one that delightfully punctures through a lot of market mumbo jumbo. Sharp is brilliant, incisive and sometimes wince-inducingly mean in his footnotes. Will keep thinking on this one, and I’m thrilled that a sequel has just come out!
28. Baker, Kage. In the Garden of Iden (A Novel of The Company #1). Finished 6/11/15.
A crazy time-travel story where a mega-corporation recruits orphans throughout time and turns them into immortals to do their bidding, secretly taking control of all civilization. Imagine the Time Lords of Doctor Who, only without conscience. The protagonist is a woman named Mendoza, whose first adventure is in pre-Shakespearean Elizabethan England. A speedy, fun read… enjoyable enough that I read the second one as well, and may go onto the others some day.
29. Asaro, Catharine. Undercity. Finished 6/21/15.
A new murder mystery series set in a prequel time to Asaro’s terrific Skolian Empire series. Science Fiction and Mystery often don’t mesh well, but they do here. This is a less soapy, more SF version of J. D. Robb’s “In Death” series (Robb is a pseudonym for romance novelist Nora Roberts).
Note: this novel includes “City of Cries,” a novella that I read in 2013.
30. Thaler, Richard. Misbehaving: the Making of Behavioral Economics. Finished 6/24/15.
Behavioral Economics fascinates me, and Thaler has been at ground zero for the birth and development of this new academic discipline. He’s an insightful and hilarious writer, and so this is not to be missed if you’re interested in these matters. It was a lucky chance that I got to read this and Kahneman within just a few weeks of each other.
31. Baker, Kage. Sky Coyote (A Novel of The Company #2). Finished 6/29/15.
32. Lee, Sharon & Steve Miller. Dragon in Exile. (Liaden Universe.) Finished 7/3/15.
A robust new entry in Lee and Millers wide-spanning Liaden Universe SF series. There is simply no way that a new reader will understand what’s going on in this book if she or he hasn’t read a half dozen other books, short stories and chapbooks, but I’ve read most of them and think they’re terrific space opera. Start by heading over to this page on the authors’ website if you’re looking for a new series.
33. Wolff, Michael. Television is the New Television: the Unexpected Triumph of Old Media in the Digital Age. Finished 7/7/15.
This book frustrated and puzzled me: see this post for details.
34. Wilson, G. Willow & Adrian Alphona. Ms. Marvel: No Normal. (Trade paperback of issues 1-5.) Finished 7/7/15.
Wilson, G. Willow & Adrian Alphona. Ms. Marvel: Generation Why. (Trade paperback of issues 6-10.) Finished 7/23/15.
Wilson, G. Willow & Adrian Alphona. Ms. Marvel: Crushed. (Trade paperback of issues 12-15 & S.H.I.E.D. #2.) Finished 11/23/15.
Ordinarily, I don’t include comics in this list, but Ms. Marvel is remarkable: a 16 year old Pakistani-American who get superpowers while still going to high school in Jersey City. It evokes memories of Buffy the Vampire Slayer in the best possible way, although it’s much different. Counting all of these as one book: a must if you have teenagers in the house.
35. Bujold, Lois McMaster. Penric’s Demon. Finished 7/22/15.
Bujold is Just. So. Good. This is a short work in her “Five Gods” fantasy series, but you don’t need to have read any of the other works in that series to enjoy this yarn about what happens when a ne’er do well second son of a minor aristocratic family accidentally becomes possessed by a powerful demon.
36. Lambert, Craig. Shadow Work: The Unpaid, Unseen Jobs That Fill Your Day. Finished 7/26/15.
I first bumped into the notion of Shadow Work in Levitin’s Information Overload (Book #2 this year), and thought it was a compelling notion. Lambert’s is a more exhaustive (although not exhausting) treatise on how our DIY culture expects us to do things ourselves that other people used to help us accomplish. Worthwhile, although unless you’re fascinated with this sort of thing the passage in Levitin that covers Shadow Work will serve.
37. Gibbs, Stuart. Evil Spy School. (Spy School #3). Finished 7/31/15.
38. Corey, James S.A. Leviathan Wakes (The Expanse Book 1). Finished August 9, 2015.
Terrific space opera, now a TV series on SyFy. The book is mammoth, and therefore daunting (there are six of them each around 600 pages), but well-crafted, briskly plotted and enjoyable. It’s the kind of commitment that Kim Stanley Robinson’s Mars series was a few years back: worth it, but not if you’re in a rush.
39. Moore, Geoffrey A. Crossing the Chasm: Marketing and Selling Disruptive Products to Mainstream Customers. (3rd Edition). Finished 8/13/15.
Recently-updated classic work about technology adoption written from a B2B marketing point of view but applicable elsewhere.
40. Cline, Ernest. Armada: a novel. Finished 8/24/15.
Disappointing, particularly after Cline’s interesting debut Ready Player One. Armada is too disappointing even to write a snarky review. Don’t bother. It’s a lesser version of the movie Pixels.
41. Scalzi, John. The End of All Things (#6 in the Old Man’s War series). Finished 8/26/15.
Great read, but only if you’re already devoted to the series, which I am.
42. Yancey, Rick. The 5th Wave. Finished 8/30/15.
Recommended by my friend Brian David Johnson, who told me it was dark. He wasn’t kidding! The most disturbing thing about this book is that it’s intended for the YA crowd. The plot is horrifyingly dark, with a teen girl losing everything as humanity’s darkest hour arrives. I am in shock that they’ve made a soon-to-be-released movie of this, although after the success of the atrocious Hunger Games series I suppose anything is possible.
43. Leckie, Ann. Ancillary Justice. Finished 9/10/15.
Once again from that list shared by Steve Patrizi, the conceit of this book is remarkable: a human body formerly animated as a Borg-like drone member of a hive mind that helped to crew a starship has been sundered from her vessel, and now must make her way as an individual. Far future space opera: I loved this book so much that I had to let it sit for a couple of weeks, but then I inhaled the second and third.
44. Lagercrantz, David. The Girl in the Spider’s Web (Millennium #4). Finished 9/14/15.
A perfectly adequate continuation of the Steig Larsson “Girl with the Dragon Tattoo” series, which peaked with #1. This is one of those books that will only be enjoyable if you read it when it first comes out, so I grabbed it and read it immediately.
45. Taleb, Nassim Nicholas. Antifragile: Things that Gain from Disorder. Finished 9/23/15.
Brilliant, fascinating, frustrating. I needed a buddy to make it though this complex book, and fortunately had one in John Willshire. I don’t know if this is a compliment or an insult, but having just finished Antifragile I feel that I won’t truly understand it until I read it again.
46. Leckie, Ann. Ancillary Sword. (Sequel to Ancillary Justice.) Finished 9/27/15.
47. Leckie, Ann. Ancillary Mercy. (3rd in the Ancillary Justice trilogy.) Finished 10/8/15.
I wish there were more coming in this series, but I think she’s done.
48. Selznick, Brian. The Marvels. Finished 10/21/15.
Beautiful, theatrical, lyrical and secretly complicated: Selznick’s hybrid graphic and prose works continue to impress and delight me. The Marvels is his most structurally ambitious work to date: two stories overlap each other. At first, they seem to have no point of contact, but then — Cloud Atlas-like — they do. The interlocking surprises of the last third of the book kept me reading later into the night than I’d planned. At nearly 700 pages it’s an amazingly quick read since most of those pages are single-page illustrations.
49. FitzGerald, John D. The Great Brain. Finished early November.
Childhood re-read that I grabbed out of the library for my son, and then read myself when he wasn’t interested. I’ll try again to get him to read it. It’s good.
50. Hoffman, Bob. Marketers Are From Mars: Consumers Are From New Jersey. Finished 11/6/2015.
51. Riordan, Rick. The Mark of Athena. (Heroes of Olympus: Book 3). Finished 11/8/2015.
Enjoyable installment. There are just so many characters that it is hard to engage emotionally with any of them, but it is action-packed and fun. I can’t keep up with my son’s reading these days.
52. Allison, John. Bad Machinery: The Case of the Team Spirit. Finished 11/15/15.
Collected web comic of this British series. Six kids in high middle or lower high school… kind of like the Trixie Belden gang, only British. Recommended by Karen Hohndel. Pretty good, although I’m not on fire to read another as I’m decades past the target audience.
53. Dunstall, S. K. Linesman. Finished 11/17/15.
First in a terrific new space opera series recommend by Karen Hohndel. I inhaled it and look forward to the release of #2 in February. Not a lot of science fiction deals with class engagingly, but this book does. It reminds me slightly of Heinlein’s Citizen of the Galaxy in that regard.
54. Carr, Nicholas. The Glass Cage: How Our Computers Are Changing Us. Finished 11/25/15.
An accidental companion to the Nourbakhsh book on robotics and to Levitin’s Organized Mind from earlier this year, Carr is an insightful critic of the advantages and disadvantages of our digital lives. This is a nice followup to his earlier book The Shallows, and is required reading if you’re thinking through how connected experiences will change human life.
55. Hidalgo, César. Why Information Grows: The Evolution of Order, from Atoms to Economies. Finished 12/10/15.
An eccentric take on how our tight information density is what makes Earth and its inhabitants different than the rest of the universe. The book is truly interdisciplinary, mixing “information theory, physics, sociology, and economics.” It sometimes made me think of the work of Jane Jacobs and also that of Steven Berin Johnson on environments.
Hidalgo is acute about how the physicality of objects differs from narratives about objects, and I love his notion of balance of imagination as opposed to balance of trade. On the other hand, when he starts talking about “personbytes” (how much information individuals possess) as an actual metric the argument spirals into nonsense. I also consistently wondered why the book didn’t engage deeply with how digital technologies change information and human relationships to it, but I am in touch with how much that’s me projecting my own obsessions onto the book.
56. Card, Orson Scott. Gatefather (Mithermages Book #3 of 3). Finished 12/18/15.
I’d read the first two (Lost Gate & Gate Thief) a year or so ago. When I saw that this one had come out I realized that I couldn’t remember most of Gate Thief, so I reread #1 and #2 before jumping into #3. It’s a solid, interesting fantasy series… although as with other pieces of Card’s work there’s an ongoing problem of characters getting powered up to godlike levels as the series continues. Here, the ratcheting up of power levels across the dramatis personae means that the series gets decreasingly interesting by the end. I’m also leery of Scott’s lily white, hetro-only world view.
That’s the list for 2015. A pile of books awaits me in 2016: I’m in the middle of Michael Polanyi’s classic The Tacit Dimension, so expect that in first or second position next year. I’m also midway through Rachel Bach’s “Honor’s Knight,” the sequel to “Fortune’s Pawn” that I read late in 2014.
Thanks for making it this far!
[Cross-posted over on Medium.]
This TV season’s new “Supergirl” TV show confuses me.
Over on the CW, producer Greg Berlanti has nailed both “Arrow” and “Flash,” but where those shows feel fresh and exciting “Supergirl” is forced and whiney.
“Supergirl” oscillates between action and soap opera, rarely integrating the two. There’s too much talking among the characters but not nearly enough wit — the show is the anti-Buffy. Every character is earnest to such an extreme degree that I wonder what jokes get cracked in the writer’s room. Even Calista Flockhart’s media magnate Cat Grant can barely get a snicker out of her celebrity lifestyle.
But in the most-recent episode (#8, “Hostile Takeover”) I saw a glimmer of hope.
Warning: SPOILER ALERT!
Towards the end of this episode — which whiplashes between Supergirl fighting renegade Kryptonian villains led by her evil aunt Astra and trying to stop the ouster of her boss, Cat Grant, from her media company — Ms. Grant finally figures out that her long-suffering assistant Kara Danvers is also Supergirl, and proves it when she demands that Kara take off her glasses.
Thus, in one deft move “Supergirl” does away with 78 years of unbelievable super tradition that anybody with more than that many IQ points would be fooled by a pair of glasses.
Suddenly, Supergirl’s secret has been revealed to a media tycoon who must wrestle between her desire to help Supergirl and her desire to drive viewership to her network. Suddenly, Supergirl’s secret identity is more than merely at risk, it’s a leverage point against her all day, every day.
Now this conflict has potential. I just hope that Berlanti/CBS exploits it.
In fairness, the Super Family is hard to narrate. Even a relatively depowered version of Superman or Supergirl is so, well, super that it’s hard for merely mortal criminals to do anything that poses a challenge. That, I think, is why the show has aped the back story of “Man of Steel” where good Kryptonian goes mano a super-mano against many bad Kryptonians: it’s the only way to have a fair fight.
It’s also boring.
The structure of “Supergirl” combines Kara’s “why can’t I be a real girl?” soap opera against the alien of the week arriving in town from a defunct Kryptonian prison, complete with slightly upscaled Doctor Who makeup.
There’s no real challenge in any of the aliens, and no season long “big bad” (like Tom Cavanagh’s complicated and compelling Harrison Wells in the first season of “The Flash”) to absorb the audience’s attention, and that means that the interest has to come from the soap opera.
For those of you curious about this show, the pilot reruns tonight.
[Cross-posted on Medium.]
On meditation: a tweet drizzle (1) #mindful
OK, I get it. Morning mediation is important. It creates a shock absorber in my head for the day to come, gives me resources. (2) #mindful
The chattering monkeys and skittering spiders of my thoughts need taming, stilling, calming, tranquilizing (3) #mindful
Inner peace is probably beyond me, but a mind less like a New Delhi street with cars zipping any which way would be nice. (4) #mindful
But why does meditation have to be so damned BORING? My breathing just isn’t that interesting, nor are my aches and pains. (5) #mindful
Listening to music while meditating — even Gyoto Tantric chanting — seems like cheating somehow. (6) #mindful
I listen to the fridge whispering in the kitchen, the sound of my clothes rustling, house settling, birds outside waking. (7) #mindful
And then my mind skulks away from meditation into myriad chores, emails to write, what to make the kids for breakfast. (8) #mindful
Is this the project? A fight to dwell in a brief present amid a siege of thoughts? Does it get easier, effortless, soothing… (9) #mindful
Or is meditation always a struggle on the ground of the present moment between past reflection and future anticipation? (10) #mindful
End of tweet drizzle (so called because by definition something on meditation can hardly amount to a storm). (11) #mindful
What you call people matters. It tells them what you really think about them.
Here’s an example: years ago my friend Jules shared how her Mom would call for her Dad in a never-changing escalation of urgency and decline of affection: “Sweetheart!” she’d trill, followed by, “Honey?” and then ending with “Bill!!”
The equation worked this way:
“Sweetheart!” = “Hello, loving husband, it is I, your loving wife, checking in this happy morning.”
“Honey?” = “Where has that man taken himself off to, and is he perhaps forgetting that I’ve asked him to accomplish something this morning?”
“Bill!” = “Move it old man— I’ve got shit to do!!”
In three words Jules’ Mom went from an affectionate to a functional relationship with her husband. Fortunately, relationships are dynamic and tend to move in both directions.
This matters for marketers and their attendants (agencies, media) because when you talk about those folks who either already buy your stuff or may one day buy your stuff as “consumers” then you have reduced your relationship with these people to a functional one in which their only job is to consume your stuff so that you can make money, then make new stuff, and then sell that stuff to the consumers also.
If you are an old-style marketer who is using one-way pipes like TV and print to firehose impressions at a somewhat resigned population, then you’re probably OK doing this because you’re just talking and not pretending to listen… sort of like Jules’ Dad. (This may sound like I disapprove of such messaging, but I don’t: it’s honest and practical and sometimes the ads are entertaining.)
However, if you’re a marketer using social media to create so-called “friends” or if you’re content-curious and trying your hand as a publisher, then the moment you use the word “consumer” then you’ve proven that you are a liar.
They aren’t your friends. You don’t care what the people on the other end of the communication think or how they feel. They are just consumers, and you’re saying, “shut up and eat.”
Now, for the most part people don’t want to have relationships with brands. They don’t want to be friends with brands. They don’t care about the brand behind the products they buy and use except insofar as those brands save them valuable cognitive effort when shopping (so they can go back to playing with their phones) or save them money at checkout.
But that still doesn’t make them consumers. At zero moments do people welcome marketers efforts to paint them into a corner where they are consumers.
So, if you’re a marketer reading this, then join me in vowing not to call the people who pay your bills “consumers.” It’s just rude.
BUT WHAT DO I CALL THEM? I hear your plaintive cry. Much ink has been spilled on this question.
Marketers don’t want to call people “customers” because they reserve that label for the folks who have already bought something (not that they treat customers any better than consumers.) This is bullshit but at least it’s logically consistent.
My friend Joe Jaffe and I got into a spat many years ago when we disagreed about whether to call the online version of these folks “users” or not (I thought yes; Joe thought it made them sound like addicts… and this was before Facebook made us all into genuine addicts). Another friend, Grant McCracken, once suggested calling these people “amplifiers,” but I think this is too hopeful a term as most folks decline to amplify.
When you’re talking about folks who do or might buy your product in a social media or content marketing context, then I suggest using “audience,” since even though they don’t have much of a voice at least we credit audiences with having brains, opinions and feet with which they can vote.
If a marketer is talking about people who are actively doing something, then I suggest “participants,” because that label recognizes their efforts— whether positive or negative.
And if you’re fire hosing messages, then I suggest you talk about the collection of drenched bodies as people— since that’s what we all are.
Just don’t call them consumers.
[Cross-posted with iMedia Connection.]
In my last post I wrote about how Facebook’s business need to have more people doing more things on its platform more of the time is in tension with how human satisfaction works.
In today’s post, I’m going to dig a little deeper into the satisfaction math (for those of you with a “Math, ewww” reflex, it’s just fractions, man, chill) and then use that to argue that there’s really no such thing as FOMO or “Fear of Missing Out” for most people when it comes to social media.
Here again for your convenience is the whiteboard chart sketching out my sense of how the Facebook satisfaction index works:
I’m less concerned with where the hump is on the horizontal axis (50 connections, 150, 200, 500) than with the shape and trajectory where as you have more and more connections your overall satisfaction with any single interaction moment on Facebook (or any other social networking service) approaches zero.
Most people’s response to this is to jump onto an accelerating hamster wheel where you check in more and more often hoping for that dopamine rush of “she did THAT? cool!” but not getting it because the odds get worse and worse.
This is because most people, myself included, aren’t interesting most of the time.
As a rule of thumb, let’s follow Theodore Sturgeon’s Law which argues that 90% of all human effort is crap, and you spend your whole life looking for that decent 10%.*
By this logic, your Facebook friends will post something interesting about 10% of the time— with some people you love this is a comedic exaggeration because a lot of the time we don’t love people because they are interesting: they are interesting because we love them.
Now let’s say you have 150 Facebook friends, which is both close to the average number of Facebook connections and also happens to be psychologist Robin Dunbar’s Number (how many people with whom you can reasonably have relationships).
Next, let’s say you glance at Facebook once per day and see only one thing that a connection has posted with attendant comments. (BTW, I just opened Facebook full screen on my desktop computer and, to my mild surprise, I only see one complete post.)
If we combo-platter Sturgeon’s law with Dunbar’s number then the odds aren’t great that you’ll find the post interesting: 10% of 1/150, or a 1/1,500 chance.
Wait, let’s be generous because we all find different things worthy of our attention at different moments (we are wide, we contain multitudes), and let’s say that in general you’ll find a post interesting for one several reasons:
The poster says or shares something genuinely interesting
You haven’t connected with the poster in a while
The poster says or shares something funny
You think the poster is hot so you’ll be interested in what she or he says regardless of content due to ulterior motives
You just connected with the poster on Facebook (or Twitter, et cetera) recently, so anything she or he says will be novel and therefore interesting
So that’s now a five-fold increase in the ways that we can find a single post interesting, but the odds still aren’t great: 5/1500 which reduces down to 1/300.
That’s just one post: if you keep on scrolling and take in 30 posts, which you can do in a minute or so, then you’re at 30/300 or a one-in-ten chance that you’ll find something interesting. (These still ain’t great odds, by the way: a 90% chance of failure.)
At this point, cognitive dissonance comes into play and you change your metrics rather than convict yourself of wasting time, deciding to find something not-terribly-interesting kinda-sorta interesting after all.
Remember, though, that I’m deriving this satisfaction index from a base of 150 friends: as your number of connections increases — and remember that Facebook has to grow your number of connections to grow its business — to 1,500 (close to my number, social media slut that I am) then your odds of finding something interesting in 30 posts goes down to 1/100 or a 99% failure rate.
Multiply this across Twitter, Instagram, Google+, LinkedIn, Vine, Tumblr and every other social networking service and you have an fraction with an ever-expanding denominator and a numerator that can never catch up.
Or, to translate this into less-fractional lingo, even if you spent all day, every day on social media the days aren’t getting longer but your social network is getting larger, so the likelihood of your finding social media interactions to be satisfying inexorably decreases over time.**
This is different than FOMO. Sure, pathological fear of missing out exists: people who check the mailbox seventeen times per day, who can never put their smart phones down for fear of missing an email, who pop up at the water cooler to listen to a conversation.
But with social media it’s not FOMO, it’s DROP: Diminishing Returns On Platform.
Most importantly, there’s a conspiracy-theory-paranoiac interpretation of how people talk about FOMO when it comes to social media: if you attribute checking Facebook too much to FOMO, then it’s a problem with the user, not with Facebook. The user needs to develop more discipline and stop checking Facebook.
As I discussed in my last post, this pernicious argument is similar to how Coca-Cola — which needs to have the 50% of the population that drinks soda drink more soda to have business growth — dodges the question of whether it is partly responsible for the U.S. obesity epidemic by saying that people just need to exercise more.
Facebook could create better filters for its users with ease, making a Dunbar filter of 150 that the home display defaults to and letting users toss people into that filter, and remove them easily later. This is what Path was trying to do, but there’s no business model in it for a startup like Path. With Facebook’s dominance in social media, it could and should value user satisfaction more than it does.
Right now, though, the only ways to increase your satisfaction with Facebook are either to reduce your number of friends or to reduce your time on platform.
* The Third Millennial Berens Corollary to Sturgeon’s Law is that only 1/10 of 1% is truly excellent but that our signal to noise ratio makes it almost impossible to find excellence.
** This line of thinking is similar to the opportunity costs that Barry Schwartz discusses in his excellent 2004 book “The Paradox of Choice.”
I Pac-Man chomp my way through many articles each week, digesting most with a tiny burp and leaving them to the brass-knuckled mercies of memory. Yet two recent pieces have stuck with me: Matt Richtel’s October 10th piece in the New York Times, “In California, Electric Cars Outpace Plugs, and Sparks Fly” and Roberto A. Ferdman’s October 5th piece in the Washington Post, “How Coca-Cola has tricked everyone into drinking so much of it.”
Both articles deserve close reading, but in the interests of your time, dear reader, the quick summaries are 1) in California there are now orders of magnitude more electric cars than there are charging stations, which is provoking people to behave selfishly when they need to power up their cars, and 2) an interview with the ironically-named Marion Nestle (author of a book called “Soda Politics”) charts the “valiant and deplorable” lengths to which Coca-Cola has gone to habituate people to drinking evermore of its unhealthy product over many decades and compares the company’s efforts to those of Big Tobacco.
The collision of these two articles in my mind led me to a mild, week-long experiment, which is that I don’t check Facebook or email until after 10:00am each day. This piece is my attempt to unpack the “how the heck did I get to there from that?” of this experiment.
On the electric car dilemma, this is a crystalline example of how technology and behavior evolve in a complex dance: Darwin’s finches got nothing on Tesla, Leaf and Volt. Since electric cars are getting on the road at a slower pace than people sign up for yet another social media service, we can get a clear look at how behavior changes over a longer period of time: oversupply of electric cars plus undersupply of charging stations equals conflict.
<Digression> Before I go any further, confession time: if there were a support group called Facebook Anonymous for people who can’t stop checking Facebook I probably wouldn’t join because I’d be too busy checking Facebook.
I love Facebook. The problem is that I love Facebook more than Facebook loves me.
I neither want to dignify my lack of social media self-discipline with the word “addiction” nor trivialize the piercing challenges addicts have with alcohol and drugs, so let me simply say that I am on Facebook (oy it’s a lot), Twitter (at least daily, way more at conferences), Google+ (yup, I’m the one) and LinkedIn (do you like me? do you like me?) too much for my own comfort and productivity when I take time out to think about it.
The corollary behavior pattern is my over-involvement with email, which feels less like addiction and more like a punishment from God, but that’s probably just because email has been around longer and has therefore normalized itself in my sense of how the world works (see the Douglas Adams bit towards the end of this piece for more on how that works). </Digression>
Both articles are examples of The Problem with More.
We want more electric cars on the road, but we didn’t think it through and now we have people arguing about who gets what access to which charging station. It hasn’t gotten to the fight-fights-and-riots point yet, but I inferred a new form of pre-road rage is coming to California, from whence so many other technological innovations of dubious merit hail.
Coca-Cola’s profitability depends on getting more people to drink more of its products every year, and now, Marion Nestle says, a conservative estimate is that 50% of the US population drinks more than one can of soda per day, with many of those folks drinking much more— four cans plus. Coca-Cola denies any link between its product and an obesity epidemic.
More isn’t the opposite of less: it’s the opposite of enough.
We humans, Americans particularly, have trouble with enough. We want to earn more, go to the gym or spin class more, read more, spend more time on our hobbies, see our friends and families more, parent our children more, finish that project in the garage, be better about keeping up with the news of the world, bake bread from scratch, make our own clothes and brew our own beer. We also want to do better at the office, get that promotion, give that conference paper, go to that networking event and turn every meeting and interaction into a miracle of productivity that leaves our colleagues breathless with gratitude because now they can go back to playing with their iPhones.
This is where the myth of multitasking comes from.
Corporations have an even harder time — way harder — with enough. Public companies need more, lots more, to satisfy investors. Companies that are OK with enough get trivialized as “lifestyle businesses.”
We humans want more, so we squeeze more stuff in — both new stuff and more of the old stuff; corporations need us to squeeze more stuff in — preferably their stuff — in order to make the Street happy.
When corporations like Coca-Cola run up against limits in their customer base — that is, 50% of Americans do not drink soda — they need to get their existing customers, the other 50%, to drink more soda even though it’s unhealthy. Faced with this question, soft drink companies dodge either by focusing on how people don’t exercise enough or on how they have other products (diet soda, water) that aren’t as bad for people— this is a “guns don’t kill people, bullets do” argument.
It’s when we come to the issue of satisfaction that things get murky. If you know a little Latin, then you’ll already know that the word “satisfaction” literally means “to be made enough” from the combination of satis and facere.
Our workaday understanding of satisfaction is the “Ahhhh” of the first gulp of an icy Coke on a blistering summer day when you’ve just finished doing something sweaty. This is a transfixing moment: time stops. You enter what Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi calls a flow state where your attention is 100% focused. For that one moment you need nothing else: you have been made enough.
Coca-Cola has built its formidable brand upon the rock of moments like this one. Just think about its current slogan: “Open Happiness.”
The problem is that there aren’t enough transfixing moments for Coca-Cola to be profitable, so the company sells satisfaction but then delivers routine, it promises magic but provides habit bordering on addiction. What psychologists call a Hedonic Set Point tells us that the second or third or fourth or fifth can of Coke can’t possibly create a moment like the first, but once you’re in the habit of associating thirst with Coke (rather than, say, water), you’re unlikely to stop.
Which brings me back to Facebook. When we dive or dip into Facebook the potential for magic always exists: the old friend’s new baby, the new friend’s witty comparison, the frisson when you realize that two people whom you know also know each other. But more often than not it’s click-bait, bad jokes or that day’s lunch pic by the perennial over-poster.
I have 1,528 connections on Facebook. I’m an overachiever since the average number, last I heard, was 140 (close to Dunbar’s number), but even though I have 10X the usual number of connections Facebook needs me to add even more in order to increase the number of interactions happening within its user base, so it can sell more advertisements.
As with Coke, more Facebook “friends” does not mean that I’m going to find my experience with Facebook more satisfying— it just means that there will be more of it. There are enough magical Facebook moments to keep people coming back, but paradoxically the more you come back the less often you’ll find that magical moment because Facebook has become routine.
<Digression> There’s another Facebook Problem with More, which is that Facebook presumes that any interaction I have with any person is an indelible mark of my interest in that person’s actions. If my friend Tim posts a cute picture of his dog, and if I make the mistake of interacting with that picture (a like, a comment), then the all-seeing Facebook algorithm concludes that I want to see more stuff from Tim.
But what if I’ve scratched my Tim itch? What if I have satisfied my craving for information about Tim for the next few months and no longer feel the need to see his dog posts? This never occurs to Facebook, which means that I then have to dive into the settings on one of Tim’s posts to turn down the gain or stop following him altogether, which is a homework assignment for I class I never decided to take. </Digression>
I’m confident that the satisfaction shape of having a lot of Facebook friends looks like this:
So the more friends you have the less satisfaction you’ll feel, and you’ll work harder to get those moments of satisfaction… which benefits Facebook on the surface because it generates more advertising inventory for them but at a plummeting quality.
Since I’m polite, I don’t want to unfriend a bunch of people on Facebook. And since Facebook’s filters suck ass — I can’t intuitively say, “more from THOSE 150 people, please” — the only thing I can do is limit the time I spend on Facebook in the hope that by making it less a chronic part of my day I’ll be able to notice more when the magic moments occur, and incidentally I’ll have more time to focus on my new bread-making hobby.
Hence this week’s experiment.
A closing irony: In addition to publishing this on my blog and on Medium, I’ll also post a link on Facebook and Twitter.
Over the weekend I zoomed through the new David Lagercrantz novel, The Girl in the Spider’s Web, which is the not-written-by-Stieg-Larsson sequel to the Millenium Trilogy that started with The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.
I’ll start with some thoughts about the book itself — so you have your spoiler alert — but I’ll wind up this post with some thoughts about the the aesthetics of ephemera and vice versa.
About the novel: It’s a good gulp-it-down novel, quickly plotted and dark in similar ways to the Larsson books (although not nearly as dark as Larsson’s third, which sucked the light of out the room where I was reading it).
But the book feels unnecessary. After the riveting revelations about Salander’s childhood in Larsson’s third book, The Girl who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest, there’s not much left to say about Lisbeth Salander’s past, and any changes to the character in service of a future would risk betraying the readers who want more of the same. This is a terrible trap for a novelist.
Lagercrantz couldn’t escape the trap, so he has reduced Salander to a series of narrative functions rather like what happened to Sherlock Holmes in the Holmes stories written by others after Conan Doyle’s death (and there are thousands). In most of these stories, Holmes is a pastiche of narrative-advancing tricks (he deduces that Watson been to the horse races from a bit of straw on Watson’s shoe, causing gullible Watson always to be astounded yet again) rather than a character that interests the reader himself. With the exception of Nicholas Meyer’s The Seven Percent Solution, talking about Holmes as a character is like talking about Batman’s utility belt as a character— it’s not all that useful.
In the post-Larsson world of the Lagercrantz, Salander is an angry superhero, superhacker, protector of innocents who bursts onto the scene regularly, makes things happen, and then disappears.
The Girl in the Spider’s Web is a misleading title for this book, since Salander is never caught, never motionless, never the prey despite being hunted— she is the predator.
I don’t regret reading the book — despite my sense that it serves the publisher’s greed rather than the readers’ need — but I probably won’t read the next one, and I’m sure there will be a next one.
The aesthetics of ephemera: Perhaps more importantly, I don’t regret reading the book last weekend— my satisfaction index will never be higher than just a few days after its August 27th release date. The longer I wait, the more information from the world will trickle in to spoil my fun.
This isn’t just true of The Girl in the Spider’s Web, of course. The reason that a movie’s lifetime economic success usually is a function of its opening weekend is that the water cooler conversation about a movie is at its frothiest after opening weekend.
I love to see movies (particularly popcorn movies) opening weekend — although I rarely get to do so — because that’s the moment of maximum potential for having that explosive moment of connection in my own head to other movies and works, and it’s also the moment of maximum potential for having fun discussions with other people about the movie and its broader context.
But the longer I wait to see a movie, the more likely I’ll hear something about it that will diminish that connection-making pleasure for me. I’m not talking about classic “the girl’s really a guy!” plot spoilers, although those suck. Instead, I’m talking about those trying-to-be-helpful hints that come from people who’ve already seen the movie. “I’m not going to tell you anything, but you have to stay all the way to the end of the credits: it’s really cool!”
This is a horrible thing to say to somebody going to a movie you’ve already seen since it means that the viewer will detach from the climax of the movie early, in order to focus on the extra coming after the end.
The ephemera of aesthetics: We don’t have good language to talk about this phenomenon, the very short half-life of the water cooler effect on how we experience culture.
We’re good at talking about the work itself, the creation of the work, the background and previous efforts of the creators of the work.
But we’re bad at talking about how we are a moving point in time relative to the work, and how satisfaction decays with some works but deepens with others.
For example, I’ve been a fan of Lois McMaster Bujold’s Vorkosigan series for about 20 years now, and they merit re-reading. I see new things in the characters, the plot, and her writing when I revisit the books. Although Bujold’s books are masterfully plotted, I can’t reduce my satisfaction with her books to the plot, and this is good.
Lagercrantz’s book is entirely about the plot: at the end of the story all the energy has been released from the plot, a bunch of the characters are either dead or narratively exhausted, and Salander will need to be released into a new situation to exercise her narrative function.
Some sorts of aesthetic experience, then, are fragile in Nasism Nicholas Taleb’s notion of fragility and antifragility.
Plot is fragile. Character is not inherently, but for a character to be antifragile that character must exceed the needs of the plot in which the character embedded.
Ironically, inside the world of The Girl in the Spider’s Web Lisbeth Salander is indestructible: nothing stops her. Meanwhile, for this reader the experience of reading about Salander’s latest adventure is soap bubble ephemeral.
[Cross posted with Medium.]
Hey, this looks like a piece about old movies, and it starts out that way, but it’s also about how to think about technology. I even throw in a little Douglas Adams at the end.
Ideas can rhyme like words do. When words rhyme, the rhyme helps us position ourselves inside a poem: we know we’re at the end of a line when the rhyme happens. Rhyme’s spatial nature makes us pay attention to a similarity that doesn’t mean anything most of the time. “Bed” always sounds like “dead,” but we only notice — we only think it means something — when and where both words come at the end of nearby lines in a poem or song in a rhyme.
When ideas rhyme, the rhyme helps us position ourselves inside a story, fictional or non-fictional. Ideas that rhyme* are building blocks for analogies.
Here’s what I mean: one night some years back on a driving trip with my then-eight-year-old daughter we took in a show at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. The classical plays were all too dark (Macbeth) or esoteric (King Henry VIII) to choose as a little girl’s first introduction to Shakespeare, so instead I took her to The Music Man thinking that this 1950s musical set in the early years of the twentieth century would be more approachable for my twenty-first century kid.
Boy, was I wrong. The gap separating her everyday experience from The Music Man was no narrower than if I’d shown her the Thane of Cawdor’s ancient Scotland. River City, Iowa, after all, is so sleepy that when the Wells Fargo wagon arrives the whole town breaks into celebratory song. Try that today and the UPS guy will floor the big brown truck.
Little about The Music Man resonated with H since the plot depends on information paucity: con artist Harold Hill is able to fleece town after town because the towns don’t have ready communications with each other; Marian the Librarian has to send a letter to Gary, Indiana to determine when the music conservatory there was founded… and then she waits for most of the play to get the answer. There may be trouble in River City, but there’s not a lot of information.
In contrast, at eight H had grown up in an information superabundant world with Google, email, hundreds of TV channels, infinite options online, books aplenty, music streaming from every direction, and frequent Amazon deliveries to our doorstep although not yet by drone. Today, with mobile and social media there’s even more.
When you’re working with ideas that rhyme you can understand stories that don’t bear a lot of resemblance to your own life because there are structures buried inside the narrative ecosystems that look a lot like the structures buried inside your own life.
When we saw The Music Man, H had just finished second grade and was about to enter third. The main reason H could appreciate The Music Man at all, which she did, was that going to elementary, middle and high school today is a lot like River City. The shapes of the experiences rhyme with each other: the same people milling about the same claustrophobia-inducing place doing the same stuff day after day… just with the addition of a barbershop quartet.
What interests me is when ideas stop rhyming. As a researcher and futurist, I’m always on the lookout for cultural narratives that stop making easy sense as everyday life changes. I use those transitions to dig into how our lives are changing as technology and culture do an evolutionary dance with each other.
This isn’t just a matter of having lived your entire life with Batman as a dark movie character (Christian Bale) rather than the sunny TV one (Adam West) your parents remember with happy smiles— the sort of thing that the Beloit Mindset list captures each fall. My kids have no trouble watching the 1960s Batman TV show with me and understanding it, even though they think I’m ridiculous for loving it.
Instead, I’m talking about stories that dwindle into inaccessibility because the audience no longer shares enough context with the story to understand it without footnotes— like trying to rhyme “bed” and “guava.” Indeed, the very presence of footnotes is a clear sign that a story belongs to the past more than the present.**
Pillow Talk is a perfect example of a movie that no longer makes easy sense and that stopped making sense over the last decade. The idea that stopped rhyming is the party line, where multiple houses or apartments share a single phone line because there were more people who wanted phone lines than the phone company had yet built.
Even back in 1959, when Pillow Talk (the first Rock Hudson and Doris Day movie) hit the theaters, party lines were already on their way out.
But growing up in the 1980s the absence of party lines in my parents’ house didn’t stop me from understanding the movie. Pillow Talk made sense because I had to deal with the similarly-shaped frustration of never being able to have a private conversation. It was impossible to chat with a girlfriend and not have other people in both houses picking up the handsets every few minutes. So Pillow Talk was just like my house, only Jan Morrow (the Doris Day character) had to deal with complete strangers interrupting instead of clueless parents and malicious little brothers. The shapes of the experiences rhymed.
But those ideas no longer rhyme today.
It would never occur to now-teenaged H to use the house line to call her friends, and even if she did the likelihood of somebody else picking up the seldom-used house line is small. H has an iPhone, and since she doesn’t know any of her friends’ numbers by heart she would have to look at the address book in her iPhone in order to punch the number into the house line, which is absurd. Moreover, H wouldn’t want to use her mouth to make noises to communicate with her friends in the first place: that’s what texting, Instagram and Snapchat are for. If H does want to chat in real time, she’s more likely to use FaceTime or Skype.
The telephone is for talking with grandparents.
The plot of Pillow Talk revolves around technology barriers, but the technology in question no longer plays a role in the lives of children today. Universal Pictures couldn’t remake Pillow Talk unless the studio decided to set it in the same period when it was written, which would be pointless.
Which brings me to my disheartening realization last night after I stumbled across High Fidelity on Netflix and sank with a happy smile into that delightfully written, perfectly-directed, amazingly-cast film. (And is there a better soundtrack in movies?)
The realization? My kids won’t understand High Fidelity. Oh, I’ll try to show it to them, and perhaps the charming performances will suck them in, but it’s unlikely because the ideas don’t rhyme.
Want to know why? Just look at this timeline…
1995: the novel High Fidelity by Nick Hornby hits bookstore shelves, which means it had been completed sometime in 1993 or 1994. It’s a love story set in a world of used vinyl record shops run by monkish musical obsessives. It is a world that is about to die because…
1997: the first MP3 player is released.
1999: Napster makes music sharing (and piracy) effortless, and shifts the musical unit of measurement from the physical album or CD to the individual song in MP3 form.
2000: High Fidelity the movie, starring John Cusack, comes out; Pandora Radio launches, bringing streaming radio and music discovery to the world.
2001: Apple iTunes and Apple’s first generation iPod come out, taking MP3s mainstream; H is born.
Some of the key moments in the movie (ahem, spoiler alert… although if you haven’t seen the movie already then how did you make it this far in this post?) don’t make easy sense if you’ve grown up with today’s technology.
Sure, there are still record stores out there that cater to music snobs, but not many, not one in every neighborhood and every shopping mall— and rumbling around the record store with your friends on a Saturday afternoon isn’t an activity for today’s teens the way is was for previous generations.
In High Fidelity, as they hang around Championship Records waiting for customers to stumble in, many of the interactions among Rob, Dick and Barry concern musical trivia: which group first performed which song, who did what on which record. Today, Google would answer all such questions.
Rob using a stack of quarters to call his ex Laura over and over again from a rain-drenched phone booth outside her new beau Ray’s apartment is dramatic and emotionally charged. Today, good luck finding a pay phone. Rob would simply hit redial on his smart phone while sitting at Starbucks.
Rob making mix tapes for Caroline the music reporter and for Laura were time-draining labors of love in the 1990s, but today the process is instantaneous and not impactful. “Here, I spent hours selecting, organizing and recording this tape for you” becomes, “here, I spent minutes selecting and seconds creating this Spotify playlist for you: it’ll take you longer to listen to it than it took me to make it. Have fun!”
In the vinyl days, when you heard about a new band or a new song you had to find a disc-shaped object somewhere, either in a store or at a friend’s house. When cassettes came along you could copy things, but you could only do it in real time, which was a drag.
Teens today love music just as much as they ever have, but their musical challenges are about filtering rather than access. There’s instant streaming for just about everything, but the challenge is figuring out what to listen to, whether it’s free and where to find the best deal if it isn’t.
High Fidelity — a movie that, sigh, I still think of as relatively new — is more distant from my kids’ automatically understandable experience than The Music Man. How weird.
Watching stories move into the rear-view mirror — when ideas stop rhyming — is the flip side of watching technologies move into the unremarkable mainstream of our everyday lives where of course I can reach my wife with a stupid question about where the charger for the laptop might be hiding because she has an iPhone and I haven’t thought to look under the bed.
Douglas Adams, in a 1999 blog post called “How to Stop Worrying and Learn to Love the Internet” articulated this brilliantly:
I suppose earlier generations had to sit through all this huffing and puffing with the invention of television, the phone, cinema, radio, the car, the bicycle, printing, the wheel and so on, but you would think we would learn the way these things work, which is this:
1) everything that’s already in the world when you’re born is just normal;
2) anything that gets invented between then and before you turn thirty is incredibly exciting and creative and with any luck you can make a career out of it;
3) anything that gets invented after you’re thirty is against the natural order of things and the beginning of the end of civilization as we know it until it’s been around for about ten years when it gradually turns out to be alright really.
Apply this list to movies, rock music, word processors and mobile phones to work out how old you are.
With rhyming ideas, we can tweak this into a slightly different three-fold story:
1) everything that’s already in the world when you’re born is just normal;
2) anything that stops being relevant to everyday life between then and before you turn thirty (fax machines, type writers, cameras, VCRs) takes up space in your garage and makes you smile with nostalgia when you run across it;
3) anything that stops being relevant after you’re thirty is a painful sign that you’re going to die sooner than you want to and that your kids don’t appreciate how good they have it until you gradually realize that this is just like when you rolled your eyes at your own parents when they nattered on about black and white TV and wringing out laundry and mixing food dye into margarine and that sort of thing so just relax because it happens to everybody.
Still, though…High Fidelity is a terrific movie. Too bad my kids won’t get it.
* My notion of “ideas that rhyme” is similar to but not identical with my old teacher Stephen Booth’s description of “ideational rhyme,” which he works out in detail in his edition of Shakespeare’s sonnets.
** Simply putting the words “bed” and “guava” into proximity with each other might provoke readers with too much time on their hands to think about how these two things actually do go together. If this is the case, then for heaven’s sake please share with me how you think they go together because that sounds fascinating, and then please go read Donald Davidson’s 1978 essay “What Metaphors Mean” because it describes how our minds creates meanings out of these sorts of comparisons rather than discovering meanings that are already there.
Take heed, sirrah, the whip.
—King Lear to his Fool
Jon Stewart’s farewell episode of The Daily Show last night proved joyful rather than sad as dozens of people whose careers took root and bloomed under Stewart’s watch turned up to celebrate and — despite his resistance — to thank him.
For the under-30 crowd, last night was their May 22, 1992: Johnny Carson’s last episode of The Tonight Show. Unlike Carson, Stewart has no plans to disappear from public life; yet more dissimilar Stewart is universally reported to be a great guy rather than a jerk.
No reasonable person can fault Stewart for wanting to do something new after brilliant 17 years, but it’s a stabbing loss to nightly political commentary and to comedy.
Funny people abound in U.S. comedy — and I’ve now reached my tautology quotient for the day — but in different ways we’ve lost three icons in the last year, Stewart the most recent.
Bill Cosby was the second: like Stewart, Cosby is alive, but since Hannibal Buress put the spotlight on Cosby’s history of sexual assault last fall all the joy Cosby had brought to us over the decades tastes sour. Don’t get me wrong: Buress was right to do it, and it’s a shame on us all that until a man said it nobody took alleged attacks on women seriously.
And I mourn the loss of the joy. For most of my life, Cosby’s voice hasn’t been far from my inner ear. Just this morning I found myself thinking about an early routine called “Roland and the Roller Coaster,” but then frowned as all the stories of his assaults on women rolled into my mind.
I’ve heard stories of Cosby’s infidelity since I was in high school. One of the dubious privileges of growing up in L.A. is knowing a lot of celebrities and their kids. I was in a play with the kid of a famous woman who knew Cosby well. I don’t know how it came up — I must have been merrily quoting a Cosby routine — but the kid said, “you know he cheats on his wife all the time, right?” I don’t remember having an intelligent response beyond, “oh.” Even then, infidelity was something that struck me as being an issue among the people directly involved rather than the public’s business.
I remained a Cosby fan, and his observations intertwined with those of George Carlin as a running commentary in my head.
Now when I hear Cosby’s voice in my head I change the mental channel with a flinch.
It’s the second time that I’ve found myself dancing across the minefield of my own responses to Cosby: the first was after the mysterious 1997 murder of his son Ennis just a couple of miles from where I grew up. After that, I couldn’t listen to any of Cosby’s routines about his kids, and particularly his son, without sadness.
But I still listened.
Next week bring the one-year anniversary of the third and most grievous loss, the suicide of Robin Williams.
A friend stumbled across LIFE magazine’s tribute issue to Williams at a garage sale and bought it for me, as she knew I was a huge fan. I’ll read it on Tuesday, on the anniversary of his death, but I haven’t been able to open it yet.
I had the privilege of seeing the incandescent Robin Williams perform live onstage three times and saw or listened to him numberless other times. The speed and depth and genius of his wit will never leave me. His 2001 appearance on Inside the Actor’s Studio with James Lipton was the most astonishing display of mental gymnastics that I’ve ever seen.
Darkness always lives in comedy, and when the light is that bright the simple math of it says that shadows must go deep. I wish I could have done something for him, even though we never met. I understand this but I still can’t accept it: the funniest man in the world killed himself.
Dustin Hoffman captured the unfathomable, unacceptable, incomprehensible nature of Willams’ suicide in an unguarded moment during an onstage interview with Alec Baldwin that later became a June episode of Baldwin’s wonderful Here’s the Thing podcast. Hoffman was talking about Lenny Bruce, and how Bruce didn’t prepare set material. The only other person Hoffman could think of who was like Bruce was Robin Williams. As he said the name, Hoffman broke down in a sob that hit him like a lightning bolt from a clear blue sky, and it took him several seconds to collect himself. I cried too.
Good luck, Jon Stewart, and thanks.
Bill Cosby, I wish you were as good a man as you are a funny man, although that’s a tall order.
Robin Williams, rest in peace. You deserve it.
[Cross-posted on Medium.]