For some reason, hearing that the unthinkable is now reality is comforting. What I mean is, in this blog, called "Newspapers and Thinking the Unthinkable," the author explains that journalism as we know it is over. It's ok, though, because whatever will come next to replace our current news world will work for us. We'll be OK.
He compares us to 1500 when the printing press was first coming into use. Not 1400 pre-press or 1600 after. We're in the middle of a crazy revolution and we don't know what the other end will look like. The nut of the story, buried all the way down at the bottom, says:
When we shift our attention from ’save newspapers’ to ’save society’, the imperative changes from ‘preserve the current institutions’ to ‘do whatever works.’ And what works today isn’t the same as what used to work.
It's long for a blog, but really, really worth the read. It basically tells all us writer folks to get our tails from between our legs and keep thinking. Any one of us could be imagining the next, necessary thing.
Speaking of necessary things, I got this link from Julian, on facebook. Ahh the future.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
King Me.
[Ed. note: this show was canceled after like 2 episodes because it was totally boring and stupid. I take back everything I said here.]
In the pilot episode (aired Sunday, March 8th) NBC's Kings managed to check off nearly every item on my list of deal-breaking clichés.
1. What's that? Someone's GAY?!
2. Here's my delicious, blue-eyed daughter. Please discuss business with her. WHAT, YOU'RE FALLING IN LOVE?
3. Hi, we're kings and queens in a fictional land. Based on the bible.
4. Bombs! Blood! Camo pants!
So here's the weird thing, I really liked the show. Nearly all two hours of it. The only thing I didn't get was the royal priest who talked like he was from Baz Luhrmann's Romeo + Juliet. I guess royalty and medieval locution are a sensible mash-up, but the rest of the cast seems to be be in modern times. The king holds court in a boardroom overlooking a quasi central park, with a wall of windows and a boomerang-shaped (not round) table, full of congressman-like cohorts, and no men in tights.
His queen loses a cell phone, his princess is involved in health care reform and the prince? The king-to-be? Not so fast on that one. He's gaaayyyy. The family uses their royal sway to force the media to publish stories about the "play boy prince" to up his straightness cred so he has a shot at the kingdom. That is, until King David comes along. (Obv that's not who he is yet, or else the show would already be over.) I think the king's personal reporter is my favorite detail of the story. He tags along with the king and rewrites history per his request. It's funny and not overblown.
I'd summarize the show like this: a down-home boy does the right thing and saves our prince in war, only to later find out who he is. He gets a shitload of press and, subsequently, a role as royal defense secretary, more or less. Then, after watching his brother die in battle (via webcam) he turns anti-war and tries to end the whole thing which will severely screw over the king's ties to an arms dealer, and the whole country's economy (sound familiar?). THEN he's caught canoodling princess prettyface (not her actual name, but it should be) which clearly pisses off the big man.
I guess what I'm getting at is, clichés are such for a reason. They are tried and true formulas that work and, when handled correctly, can work really effing well. This show is a mishmash of tons of things I hate to see on TV, but I'm already looking forward to the next epi. My advice? Start watching now so we don't have a Lost calibur dash to the DVD set before season two comes out.
Added Brooklyn Bonus:
Some castle scenes are filmed at the Brooklyn Museum. Yay!
Friday, March 6, 2009
Adventures in Eavesdropping
Last night over a lovely dinner I was surrounded by two tables. Table #1? Spoiled college co-eds talking about the apartments their dads had bought for them, their amenities, the first time buyer tax break "daddy" was getting for listing daughter as the owner. I almost puked in my pork-heavy kimchi.
Table 2? An excessively emotional set of paramours practically breaking up. "What if I said I wanted the last dumpling?" she inquired. "Would you say, 'I want you to have it, too,' or would you stand up for yourself and say 'Well I'd like to eat it.'" That's a real excerpt. Puking pork turned into wincing and cringing, mixing with loud sighing to combat the collegiate cocktail hour at decibel 10. "So I had sex with Adam's friend and he was like 'did you do that just because you can,' and I said YEAH, DUH." Another real excerpt.
I wish I hadn't overheard them. But I couldn't stop listening. What brand of elyptical DOES her TriBeCa loft have? And, my god, how DID he feel when she discussed their relationship in the past tense? But I wanted to stop. I wanted nothing more than to enjoy a delicious date with my honey, with whom I happily rent a modest appartment. In the present tense. Anyone know how to turn off the eavesdropping ears?
This morning, it got worse. Equipped with an iPhone now, I felt I'd be able to mind my Ps and Qs through the commute. No such luck. A young woman with a new baby sat next to me. Her husband hovered above, talking about all the great opportunities for Navy divers. "See, if there's a plane crash, I'd be the first team deployed. We save people. We look for down pilots immediately, when there's a chance to save them." Minutes later the conversation turned into how he felt about the job interview he just had. At a restaurant. Unsure of where she'd be living with her baby, or what kind of income her husband would be able to produce, the woman looked terrified. And I felt for her. Not the feeling you get when overhearing gossip. But the feeling of knowing someone, and knowing their struggles. Again, I wished I hadn't heard.
After exiting the train and abandoning the headphones (for walking safety, of course) I passed by a couple of down-and-out looking fellows having the following exchange:
guy 1: Well you're not behind on payments or anything are you?
guy 2, as if to say of course, how could you ask that?: Yeah man. I owe for February and now March, too!
When times get hard, people talk. Maybe they need to use a friend as a sounding board, or they know misery loves company. The problem is listening in to strangers' convos now isn't an appealing glimpse into a different life, but a collection of gut-wrenching, sad-sack tales. Too real, too widespread and too close to home to ignore. I'm starting to think this eavesdropping issue is no longer nosiness, but coming face to face with where we all stand. Which, apparently, is a very precarious place.
Table 2? An excessively emotional set of paramours practically breaking up. "What if I said I wanted the last dumpling?" she inquired. "Would you say, 'I want you to have it, too,' or would you stand up for yourself and say 'Well I'd like to eat it.'" That's a real excerpt. Puking pork turned into wincing and cringing, mixing with loud sighing to combat the collegiate cocktail hour at decibel 10. "So I had sex with Adam's friend and he was like 'did you do that just because you can,' and I said YEAH, DUH." Another real excerpt.
I wish I hadn't overheard them. But I couldn't stop listening. What brand of elyptical DOES her TriBeCa loft have? And, my god, how DID he feel when she discussed their relationship in the past tense? But I wanted to stop. I wanted nothing more than to enjoy a delicious date with my honey, with whom I happily rent a modest appartment. In the present tense. Anyone know how to turn off the eavesdropping ears?
This morning, it got worse. Equipped with an iPhone now, I felt I'd be able to mind my Ps and Qs through the commute. No such luck. A young woman with a new baby sat next to me. Her husband hovered above, talking about all the great opportunities for Navy divers. "See, if there's a plane crash, I'd be the first team deployed. We save people. We look for down pilots immediately, when there's a chance to save them." Minutes later the conversation turned into how he felt about the job interview he just had. At a restaurant. Unsure of where she'd be living with her baby, or what kind of income her husband would be able to produce, the woman looked terrified. And I felt for her. Not the feeling you get when overhearing gossip. But the feeling of knowing someone, and knowing their struggles. Again, I wished I hadn't heard.
After exiting the train and abandoning the headphones (for walking safety, of course) I passed by a couple of down-and-out looking fellows having the following exchange:
guy 1: Well you're not behind on payments or anything are you?
guy 2, as if to say of course, how could you ask that?: Yeah man. I owe for February and now March, too!
When times get hard, people talk. Maybe they need to use a friend as a sounding board, or they know misery loves company. The problem is listening in to strangers' convos now isn't an appealing glimpse into a different life, but a collection of gut-wrenching, sad-sack tales. Too real, too widespread and too close to home to ignore. I'm starting to think this eavesdropping issue is no longer nosiness, but coming face to face with where we all stand. Which, apparently, is a very precarious place.
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