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The increasingly inaccurately-named blog of journalist and futurist Chris Taylor. Either the most sporadically brilliant amateur blog, the most brilliantly amateur sporadic blog, or the most amateur sporadic brilliance on the Web since 2001.
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Daily Blah FAQ
Who are you?
I'm the newly-appointed Future editor at Business 2.0 and the former San Francisco correspondent for Time Magazine.
Wow, so does this mean everything you write reflects Time Inc's opinion? Or do you perhaps have some sort of standard disclaimer to the effect that it doesn't?
Naturally, the opinions contained in this blog are not those of my employers. In fact, some opinions may be the polar opposite of my employers. Some may be the same, for all I know. Hey, it's not like I ask my employers their opinions about everything in the news, okay? Let's just say that if this were a Venn diagram with one circle marked "my opinions" and the other one marked "my employers' opinions", there would doubtless be some overlap. But neither I nor my employers are able to pinpoint exactly where that overlap is.
What is this Daily Blah thing?
An experiment for a column I wrote about blogging back in December 2001. All these years later, I haven't been able to kick the habit.
Do you write any other blogs, by chance? Could that have something to do with the fact that Daily Blah isn't always Daily?
Yes -- the Future Boy blog for Business 2.0. And yes. If you want true, editorially-mandated daily coverage from me, that's probably the best place to look.
Mister, you talk funny. Are you one of them furrners?
Why yes I am, as it happens. I was born, raised and educated in Great Britain. I've been living in the U.S. since 1996 and identify as British.
I say, old chap, you forgot the "u" in "colour."
No I didn't. I may identify as British, but I am also an American journalist writing for an American audience about mostly American issues. These two different sides of me are a constant source of tension. Nevertheless, Daily Blah will adhere to American English grammar and spelling.
Praise for Daily Blah:
"It is fun to watch the author's navel-gazing joy." - Sunday Times (UK)
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Daily Blah for... Monday, May 13, 2002
Shaking All Over
Sometimes the universe has a twisted sense of humor. Tonight I experienced my first San Francisco earthquake -- 5.2 on the richter scale, enough to make the news -- and it came right in the middle of a dinner for the launch of a September 11th photography exhibit. The exhibit is in the atrium of One Market; a location which, we had earlier been reminded, is very similar to the atrium in the World Trade Center. Now guests and staffers from Time, which sponsored the showing, were having dinner in the adjoining restaurant. There were several September 11 survivors in the room with us -- including Salty, a guide dog who helped lead his owner down 70 flights of stairs to escape from the North Tower. We were onto the creme brulee and Time publisher Ed McCarrick was regailing us with his 9/11 story.
Suddenly the floor turned to jelly. It was like nothing I'd ever experienced. My first instinct was to grab onto the table, as if that would stop the room shaking from side to side (it's in times like these that you find out how much of a control freak you are). We felt a deep rumble. McCarrick, a well-built man, was still walking and talking. "Earthquake," people piped up.
"Is it?" said McCarrick. "I thought that was just me, moving around."
Cool as anything, he waited a few moments for the shaking and the chatter to cease, then kept right on talking. The quake had lasted about 15 seconds. It was exaggerated for us, because One Market is right by the Bay, built on sand and landfill. Poor Salty -- he had a look on his face that said "Is this happening again? Hey, people, shouldn't we be getting out of here right about now?"
For me, the quake had lasted just long enough for a few troubling thoughts to pass across the brain: What happens if this gets worse? Will we be safe here with all this glass around? Will my home be safe? Will my friends be safe? I looked around and saw the same questions flashing across other faces, although the experienced San Franciscans quickly laughed it off -- that, they said, was nothing. But just for a moment there, we had a sense of shared powerlessness, a vast vulnerability. It was, in short, very September 11.
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