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Add one part satire to two parts sincerity. Sprinkle on a couple of rants. Stir liberally.
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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.
If it's called Daily Blah, how come you don't always write every day?
I am trying harder. I promise. Please don't hurt me.
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.
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Daily Blah for... Tuesday, July 01, 2003
Mo' Mobs
Some more details on the whole mob thing, and then I'm clocking off for the night.
First of all, it seems there's an appropriate level of confusion over what to name these Dada-ist groups. I've seen "Inexplicable Mobs" and "Flash Mobs." I like the latter. Flash mobs, like flash floods. To the clueless downtown public who witness them, they appear from nowhere, gather for ten or twenty or thirty minutes, do something wacky, then dissolve as quickly as they came, like a force of nature. We seem to be riding the crest of the flash mob wave right now. There's the aforementioned Flash Mob group in New York (photos of the whole Love Rug thing here), which is about to do its third gathering tomorrow in Grand Central, plus one in Minneapolis, and a weird Agent-Smith-from-the-Matrix one in Tokyo.
Secondly, San Francisco's first attempt at a Flash Mob sucked. I showed up at the bar a few minutes early, contrary to instructions, thinking I'd set the "before" scene in journalistic fashion. The quiet before the storm, etc. I sat at the bar and ordered the special, a $2.75 margarita. The guy next to me, doing shots, berated me for getting it frozen rather than on the rocks. The appointed minute came. And went. A geeky-looking couple in pony tails crept in, looking nervous. More followed over the next few minutes. I recognized one person. Eventually we had a grand total of sixteen -- critical mass enough for us to recognize each other, but barely enough to beat the number of regular patrons, let alone pack the place out or start working on our "cocktail chain" shtick. SantaCon this wasn't.
A bold attempt, nevertheless, on the part of Rob Zazueta, the cheery web development guy who set this all up and vowed to keep trying. A few more days, a few more hours, and the network effect may have kicked in. The 4:46pm thing was a little weird, we all agreed -- not the best time to try to get people downtown with bang-up-to-the-minute efficiency. And perhaps next time we could do something a little more imaginative, along the lines of the Love Rug. This, after all, could easily have been a promotion for the Gold Dust Bar and its cheap margaritas. Not that cheap margaritas are a bad thing. The world needs more flash mobs, but it could just as easily do with more cheap margaritas. You think if I keep saying the name of the drink enough times, eventually someone will bring me one? Frozen, please. Not on the rocks.
Everyone Loves A Mindless Mob!
Seems the smart mob that's about to happen -- in forty minutes, mark you! -- is a direct descendent of Manhattan's Mob Project, a dada-ist culture jamming e-mail group which swarmed on Macy's last month, demanding a "love rug."
Meanwhile, I mailed the SF mob info to Howard Rheingold, who immediately posted it (and thanked me) on smartmobs.com. I love this kind of instantaneous online culture. Everyone has a part to play, even if the purpose is highly silly.
San Francisco Smart Mob
This made its way to me today. It's a dry run for the city's first self-aware smart mob. I have to go. Can't resist. Neither should you.
"Synchronize your watches to the Pacific timezone at http://www.time.gov. At exactly 4:46 pm, proceed to the Gold Dust Bar located near Powell and Geary in San Francisco. If you arrive early, walk around until the time arrives. Try not to be more than a couple of minutes late. If the bartender asks you what's going on, tell him you are part of a chain cocktail party that began in a speakeasy in Manhattan in the 1920s and that, if the chain is broken, you will all experience bad luck. Feel free to enhance the story with tales of those who have left the group and died gruesome deaths or lost their fortunes. Mingle with your fellow mobbers or even just random strangers. If there is no room in the bar, try to start cocktail chatter with folks on the street just outside. At exactly 5:16 pm, quickly finish your drinks and disperse."
Please Remain Calm
Feeling stressed? Stop it immediately. A new study says you're releasing quantities of a carcinogenic chemical into your bloodstream every time you fuss and fret. The chemical is called Interleukin-6, which sounds like a planet that bad guys come from in 50's sci-fi novels. But this stuff is serious: it's been linked to heart disease, diabetes and a bunch of nasty cancers. You can get rid of it by (surprise, surprise) exercising, reducing the fat in your diet, getting a proper amount of sleep, and of course, meditating. All together now: Ohmmmmmmm ...
Daily Blah for... Monday, June 30, 2003
Ah. Nuld. Is. Back.
Spent Friday evening in the company of a certain Mr. Schwartzenegger -- first for a special sneak preview of Terminator 3 to benefit his pet project, after school programs, then back to the Pacific Heights house of a big-time Republican donor for dinner, drinks and photo-ops coordinated with military efficiency. I know this is the standard cliche, but he's a lot shorter than you might think. And his handshake grip is positively limp. I guess he's got nothing to prove there. Here's the full transcript of our historic conversation:
Ah-nuld: Hi, nice to meet you.
Me: (swallowing hors d'oeurve) Nice to meet you.
(Some time later, while mugging for one-on-one photo shoot):
Me: Great movie.
Ah-nuld: Thanks.
I lied, actually. The movie wasn't that great. It was better than I was expecting, with a sense of its own inherent campiness -- witness Ah-nuld's confrontation with a flaming male stripper in a female biker bar -- and a twist ending that suits my apocalyptic sensibilities. But it still felt tired at times, re-tread, and horrifically mis-cast. With his sticky-out ears and gormless gawp, Nick Stahl is the goofiest John Connor you can possibly imagine; it is utterly unbelievable that the firebrand Edward Furlong of T2 would grow up into him. Furlong has had some rehab problems in recent years, which is only to be expected when your best friend is Robert Downey Jr. But surely they could have found a better replacement? Stahl's was the worst sci-fi performance I've seen since that guy who plays Anakin Skywalker in Attack of the Clones. What is it with late-teen early-twenties actors these days? Where are the raging young Turks, the angry Marlon Brandos? Do we need to start pumping testosterone into the reservoirs of LA?
What I should have said to Ah-nuld was "great performance." And I would have been referring not to his lackluster third outing as a cybernetic killing machine (strange how that future factory pumping out T-model Terminators has started adding wrinkles) but the way he has every Republican in the state eating out of his hand, begging him to run for governor. The way these high-powered donors and former state officials talked about him in the queue for the buffet, you would have thought he was the next William Jennings Bryant. And to be sure, he can talk passionately and with surprising eloquence about after-school programs. The thing is, that's all we've ever heard him talk passionately about. One successful initiative, plus a very studied silence on the question of whether he would run in a recall election, and suddenly he's created all this buzz. Very smart move. The less you say, the more of an impression you make. He'll be back, indeed.
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