Twitter: Retwarded or Here To Stay?

No matter what you're opinion about Twitter -- the social networking tool that allows users to send and read short messages (tweets) by posting them to a profile page and to the pages of those who follow them (followers) -- no one can deny the rise of Twitter is thought-provoking. (Full disclosure: I really really wanted to put "twat-provoking" but then I realized that maybe putting a "w" after all the words that start with "T" in this post might be running the joke into the ground).

Which brings me to why I have been so reluctant to explore Twitter and give it a fair shake. First, the name. Twitter? Tweets!?? KM and I spent a good month riffing on this new social networking language by calling each other out whenever we found the other to be telling us something meaningless, as in: "My foot fell asleep. Twizzler!". "I can't find my stapler. Twaddum!" "Maybe we should clip the cats' nails. Twaff! Twerpy!" This suprisingly provided entertainment for us long after the joke was old. (And truthfully, I'd have been more inclined to use it if it was called something cooler, like "Informant," "WhisperSecret," or "InfoVomit").

Of course, our joke was going on when I was still fairly sure Twitter as a trend would eventually implode and bottom out, like "The Rachel" haircut or backwards clothing inspired by Kris Kross, or The Snuggie. It was just too silly to take seriously as a cultural trend. Not only that, but it is an editor or writer's worst nightmare: 140 character non-sentences that encourage horrendous use of language, and no introduction, description or transition sentences to soften the blunt force of information (akin to plopping bits of a raw, bloody mess of meat on plate - no dressing, no cooking, no marinating in a discerning, thoughtful brain before being served up to the consumer). In short, the very idea of the back-assward masses giving each other "news", or distributing whiney thoughts and feelings that are best left locked in an gothy live-journal entry bothered me.

And indeed, when I started exploring Twitter, that's a lot of what I found; friends giving status updates, stupid jokes taking up space, your basic Facebook status update. BUT, the reason I was even deigning to log on to Twitter was that I was beginning to concede that it actually might have a useful side - or at least a side that wouldn't make me want to commit hari-kari with my calligraphy pen should it last into the future.

One, I can see how it can be a short, useful way of distributing up-to-the-minute news. From tweeting an open parking spot (Twitter is working on incorporating a GPS-like functionality so users may be able to do just that) to the oft-cited college kid who was released from an Egyptian jail because of a savvy tweet, I'm conceding there MAY be some practical use in being a twit..terer.

Second, it appears to be a useful business and marketing tool. You may have already read some of the stories about shoppers this holiday season being able to tweet for customer service help (better than waiting on an endless phone queue because the tweets appear publicly and the business has more incentive to help), or finding great deals on twitter (businesses can directly target followers who are interested). In fact, following a business or service seems to be a form of direct marketing that actually allows consumers to choose what promo crap they WANT to be sent for a period of time, which is good for both consumer and business. Business saves money by targeting people they know are interested in a low-cost way, and consumer can remove the business anytime they choose. Er, at least ideally that would be the way it would happen.

But for these two uses, however, I still don't see the point of tweeting your inner thoughts every second, when you can do it on this, and this, and even this. There are only so many ways we need to send status updates- that is, um, if we even need to at all, since we are all afflicted with at least one Facebook friend that feels the need to update their friends about when they are going to bed, feeling [broad emotion], or other boring-as-hell info. For now, Twitter stands as an evolving mix of these uses, and I hope it becomes more of the business and news tool it should be, rather than emo-party twatters tweeting with nothing to talk about than their own twatting tweets. Give me a news story, sure. Give me what you ate for breakfast, twuck off.

Body Computers, Superphones, and SciFi in a Googleverse

Lately, we keep reading and hearing about the endless (and relentless) push to make digital devices, smartphones, and personal computers a real life version of Tom Cruise's in Mission Impossible, or whatever that movie was where he moved projected images in the air with his hand. For example, according to the guys at Microsoft, the future of computing is surface displays for your home, where you can "interact with your kitchen table" or all of your household objects (No thanks, salad-spinner, for the millionth time I don't want to play "Farmville" on Facebook!).

Another crazy technology attack comes from Xbox, set to release Project Natal gaming in 2010, where you play and interact with games device-free, (kinda like a Wii without the remote):





Despite the somewhat cheesy promotional video where moppety haircuts on boys and forced diversity family fun manage to make xbox's impressive technological feat seem kind of lame, it's pretty crazy that Ray Bradbury's short stories are actually becoming reality. As in - science fiction come to life. Which brings me to my questions, since said sci-fi stories always turned out to contain a twisted moral message about technological advancement exploding/eating/turning people into heartless computers like themselves.

The there's also the inevitable spectre of the company that will first succeed in smushing together of all current electronic devices we use to form one super electronic device - think an iphone/kindle/computer/dailyplanner/body temperature sensor/ipod/personal attendant sort of thing. Yeah, I know, smartphones ALREADY KIND OF DO THIS, but I think it's coming: a computer bodysuit that will probably be able to pre-diagnose illnesses, provide you with witty quotes or a tip-of-the-tongue fact recall in social situations, analyze your poop to give you diet tips, etc, etc.

While I don't necessarily consider this technology porn threatening, I question whether we really need this stuff. It's weird watching that floppy-haired boy in the xbox video scan his real skateboard, so that he can use one like it for his avatar on screen. I mean, you can see the sun shining through the living room window as he plays his new motion sensor game in his living room, and it crossed my mind that while he was generally looking kind of like an idiot thrusting around on the carpet, he could actually be out skating in his neighborhood...you know, like, totally having experiences or something - instead of hanging out for perpetuity with his lame smiley xbox commercial family playing buzzer games.

Not that I don't support moving forward, I just don't know if it makes sense. Lest I sound like a "back in my age, we bathed in earthenware jugs and heated water with our breath" kind of luddite grandpa, let me explain:

Compact Discs are - as KM keeps sadly whispering while caressing the plastic cases of her extensive CD collection- a "dead medium," and they aren't coming back. Now all of us who particpated in a decade-long version of the Columbia Music Club - a.k.a. compact disc owners - have to figure out how to load all of the music we purchased for 24.99/disc in the nineties into digital storage without crashing our computers. And even then, you have to back it up with an external hard drive lest your overloaded computer crash some day. And when that happens, back up the music again lest your external hard drive accidentally get dropped in the toilet, or more realistically -- stop working. And so on. It sounds like a never-ending digital download of your - well your STUFF. And frankly, maybe I'd just rather have the individual CDs - to accidentally ruin one-by-one rather than all at once.

Music, files, photos, writings - it's all seemingly on its way to becoming digitized, and yellowed corners of photographs, handwritten notes stuffed into a box, and mix tapes lovingly decorated with inked playlists seem like they may be in danger of becoming obsolete.

Or are they? I kind of feel like people have an innate desire for handheld objects that don't require a charger and that the thrill of collecting objects is hard to transfer to the thrill of ...um, creating a folder on your desktop. The point is, I'm kind of pulling for these super experiments to simply become a niche brand of technology - not THE only technology the way ipods and smartphones have (and have started to) dominate the market. I like cool technology as much as the next geek, but I still want to be able to have real-life interactions outside my computer suit, teenagers are still gonna want to get into trouble in real parks rather than fake ones that exist on a game their parents play, and I still want handmade things that don't require a keyboard - or a touch sensor - to create. So I guess I'll just wait and see how these things play out to test my theories. In the meantime, I'll be crafting a luddite grandpa bath action figure out of clay.

Strangers with Candy Revelations

Strangers with Candy is one of my all-time favorite shows. So imagine my delight when I came across a clip of the woman who inspired Amy Sedaris' character on the show. Florrie Fisher apparently participated in this PSA in the 60s? 70s? Here's a clip:









And here's Jerri Blank, although all I could find on Youtube was a clip of the unaired pilot. Kind of funny to see the changes they made from this to the show that was aired on comedy central.





R.I.P. Strangers with Candy.




-KE

Pitching a Fit Over Pitchfork

With the amount of access people have to inexpensive home recording equipment and the ease of posting something on myspace the amount of DIY underground music in all genre's has reached levels that would make Ian McKaye's head spin. There certainly is A LOT of material to sift through and for a music lover it becomes overwhelming to keep up with all the bedroom/dreamhaze/lo-fi/video-game-dance/drank-hop/post-rock possibilities. For years I have been relying on the site Pitchfork.com for a little help with this sifting. In the beginning of their online presence, Pitchfork was known as sort of the indie kids Rolling Stone, a step up from the local punk zine, a step to the side of Magnet and a step into "the future" of online music news. As the years marched on there has been a growing swell of backlash against the site which I generally attributed to whiney, hipster hating, downer types who could find a flaw in a warm summer day. Everything has some imperfections but give me a break Pitchfork does fill a void and you can take it or leave it. I felt a sort of loyalty to Pitchfork, the same type of loyalty I feel when a friends band starts getting some publicity and the naysayers begin their naysaying.

But now Pitchfork, the war is ON.

A review of the album Feels Good Together by newcomers Drummer received a 7.5 on the Pitchfork review scale of 1-10. I am not really sure what the criteria are for these numbers but generally speaking a review in the high 7's is quite good. Anything over an 8 and the record makes it to the "Best New Music" list, which this year (just to add fuel to my personal vendetta) is compromised of thirty nine albums thus far only six of which feature female fronted bands and I AM including the gender mystic Antony in that count. I digress, the point being the record by Drummer is horrible. I am not talking "I just don't get it" bad, I am talking "I get it, this is shit" bad.



I was interested in this album for a few reasons, foremost being it is comprised of all drummers from other bands, the most well known drummer being Patrick Carney of Black Keys. When I first caught wind of this group I thought it was an interesting concept and assumed that it would be some kind of experiment in rhythm and percussion. I was wrong. The album starts out promising with Lottery Dust, a solid, churning rock and roll song. From there the songs digress into an unfortunate clamor of trite full-mouthed lyrics and musical wanderings that meander into the land of Creedance-ish southern rock (Connect to Lounge) and lots of loud-soft-loud-solo structures. The record feels indulgent in almost every aspect from the "concept" to the indie-rock-star (sort of) line up, to the guitar soloing, to the more then a mouthful lyrics. Okay, fine I just don't like it. We are all entitled to differing opinions and this is not the first time Pitchfork and I have agreed to disagree.

Still, while listening to this album an overwhelming flood of all the little irritants and nagging issues I have had with Pitchfork in the past began to amplify with each forced "I smoke a lot and drink late" breath that singer Jon Finley wheezed. Why a 7.5?! Why is the reviewer heralding this clearly redundant BS and not reviewing some other band that I have never heard of, some surprise band?! Why did Micachu and the Shapes, by far one of the most interesting and fun records of the year not make it to the "Best New Music" list (they got a 7.9, the injustice!)? Why do I need to hear every single thing laid to tape by Bradford Cox? Why does Pitchfork coin terms such as "chillwave" and "glo-fi" without an after thought? Why are they primarily interested in bands who play music that makes me feel sleepy and/or suggests the full experience would be had by gulping down a mental patients medicine cabinet? Why did Sleater-Kinney have to break up? Where is Kathleen Hanna?



Kathleen Hanna: Last seen with former band Le Tigre.

Okay, fine, those last two questions have nothing to do with Pitchfork. Although they could tell me where Kathleen Hanna is if they REALLY CARED.

Even the government agrees that monopolies are not good business. How is there no competing indie/underground music reviewing site yet? Can someone else please start a super cool, interesting music blog? Someone who is not famous already? Someone besides Carrie Brownstein? Then I will be able to officially break up with Pitchfork yet remain on friendly terms. The sooner the better cause my contempt is building.


Micachu and the Shapes. At least an 8.5 in my opinion.

-KM

Giant Shoe Mystery

A few weekends ago, we were executing an apartment re-org, during which KM was clearing off the uppermost shelf of the coat closet. Like a grandfather pulling a quarter from behind a kid's ear, she pulled a giant-size athletic shoe from the depths of the top shelf and proudly announced she had found "something special." Since we haven't seen a giant race of humans roaming around our building, we were mystified as to who the owner of this footwear could be.

Stereo is scared by the magic shoe

Perhaps a previous tenet got the shoe as a gag gift? Maybe his friends called him "bigfoot" because he had abnormally big feet, or he was so small and tiny the joke was that he would fit into a giant shoe.

Have you had a "shoe moment" lately?

Days went by, the shoe revealed no answers, and we left it sitting on the floor for the cats to sleep on and went about our lives. As the shoe continued to do nothing, I began thinking about our "surprise shoe" and looking for the "perfect fit." Is it a coincidence we found such a comical version of footwear hidden beneath the dust bunnies and plywood shelves of our closet while our government officials search for a health care reform bill that will fit the beat-up, gangrenous "feet" that is the state of our nation's health? Could its garish colors and outdated Reebok logo suggest that KM and I review our past fashion choices with a more discerning eye? Probably not, but I DID begin to wonder whether the shoe is something meant for US, a sign that we should forget our squabbling over finances and travel plans and whose hair clogs up the shower drain or who dances with footloose-style enthusiasm to avoid helping the other person cook dinner, and think more about the "foot" that we're all idealizing, the "size" that will be "perfect" for our collective closet shoe. Maybe the giant orange shoe we found in our closet will never be matched with a foot as large and warm as that of its original owner. And maybe that's okay. Like our unexpected suprise, we can all learn to enjoy the "shoes" life puts in our "closets" this holiday season.

-KE

Guilt and Reality TV

I once wrote a two page review of the movie Stealth, starring Jessica Biel and Jamie Foxx, for a humor website. The "review" basically consisted of me pointing out how ridiculous and unbelievable the plot, editing, and concept of the movie were, to the point that it was one of the most enjoyable movie-watching experiences I've ever had. I truly couldn't believe the movie had been made. From the opening sequence where Jessica Biel is introduced as one of the top three "ace" pilots in the U.S. to the HAL-like fighter jet that turns out to contain a mean streak malfunction, the movie was BAD in the most painful, excruciating sense.

For me, this type of BAD means movies and TV shows that cause me to lightly punch whoever is watching/listening with me, and embark on long monologues about quality, plot holes, cheese, idiocy, and brain damage within the human race. At some point I become depressed and ashamed, and I turn away from the entertainment in question, like a toddler that has accidentally shit on the floor and is both fascinated and repulsed by his-or-her own mess.

Everyone knows just how awful reality TV can be, yet everyone (who is not a complete pompous ass) will also admit that there is a seductive allure to these shows, be they bachelor-esque dating dramas, self-improvement (makeover, weight loss, home renovation shows), or pure competitions a la survivor and its ilk. It's actually kind of funny to think back on the original granddaddy of reality TV - MTV's Real World - and realize that there was no catch or prize or bonus round of selection.

But back to my original intention - addressing the guilt and slight self-hatred that often accompanies watching the worst of these shows, most of which glut the schedule of VH1 these days.

I will say that I enjoy some reality-classified shows practically guilt-free. Project Runway, Top Chef, What Not to Wear, and even The Biggest Loser are the fruit and yogurt of reality TV shows (as compared to the fried oreo on a stick of something like Rock of Love). In the "healthy" shows, no one is (usually) made to look stupid on purpose, contestants' public image generally is improved, and some people I think genuinely do change their habits or lives for the better.

I will also say that there are some dogs that eat their own shit without hesitation - a comparison that may ring a bit too true for some of us.

I guess my point is, I think watching trashy reality TV should be treated like junk food - okay once in awhile, as long as your brain is being stimulated by a variety of other forms of intelligent entertainment, and keep it away from children as long as you can lest they grow up thinking all women look like strippers, all men are complete dicks, and everyone has a vocabulary of three words: "bitch," "slut" and "daaaag".

-KE

Delusional Downtown Divas

As far as I can tell, the Delusional Downtown Divas are girls that live in and around lower Manhattan, were involved with the culture of the art world in some way, and saw its potential for mockery. It sure beats KM and I's improvised skits about pharmaceutical and tampon commercials.

Check them out on Index Magazine's website, or just watch this:

-KE