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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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"Better than Xanax." - Lessley Andersen, journalist
"Dude, lay off the crack pipe." - Souris Hong-Porretta, gamesmith
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Daily Blah for... Monday, January 23, 2006
The Thing about the Wing
So farewell then, uncompromisingly smart dialogue. Sayonara, long walks down twisty corridors with jokes so dark and dense you have to rewind to catch them. Goodbye to Martin Sheen's paternal glower, the late John Spencer's furrowed brow and smokey timbre, Bradley Whitford's soft-spoken, bedheaded charm -- half egomaniac, half absent-minded professor (and all role model). No more of C.J.'s attempts to date someone who doesn't get shot or lie to her; no more Donna zingers delivered with that deceptively bimbo-esque downturned smile; no more visions of the acting world's best-looking bit player, Carol. And perhaps most of all, goodbye to a world where every state dinner, every Senate vote, every international nuclear crisis is referred to casually as "the thing."
I've been gorging steadily on old West Wings for about six weeks now. I had a TiVo-based backlog of them, since I'd abandoned the show early in season five (the really bad one after Aaron Sorkin stops writing them). But once I got over that hump, I discovered what the critics knew already: as soon as Jimmy Smits and Alan Alda go toe-to-toe in the race to replace President Bartlett, the quality goes through the roof. I was hooked, as I am on just about any believeable political fiction. But this was really believable stuff, with a tremendous amount of attention paid to the political landscape. Who can resist a "what-if" world where a Republican from California goes up against a Democrat from Texas, transforming the entire electoral map?
My pile of TiVo'd shows ran out at the end of season six, however, since that's when I moved house and stopped nursing at the satellite tete. So I found myself frantically Bit-torrenting the eleven episodes of season seven so far and setting them up on the laptop in every spare moment I could find -- getting dry after the shower, getting dressed, preparing dinner. Then last night, I finally caught up. At last, I could watch the regularly scheduled Sunday showing. And what happens? That very day, yesterday, NBC announces it'll pull the plug at the end of this season. Gaaah.
Yes, I know, the viewing figures are down. The argument could be made, from a fictional perspective, that this is simply the story of the Bartlett administration. And die-hard Wing fans are grumbling that it's not what it once was, with Toby indicted, Leo (probably) about to die, the old gang split between White House and campaign trail. But I disagree. Smits and Alda have successfully infused the show with new life. The back-and-forth strategies of the two campaigns, the standoffs and detentes and guessing games, manage to be both hilarious and nail-biting. But it's campaigning, it's not governing. When this is all over, I will not simply be satisfied with knowing which one of them wins. I want a good long look at the winner's White House.
Yes, even if the winner is Alan Alda's Republican senator, Arnold Vinick. Especially if it's Vinick. The nation needs a fantasy, best-case Republican president in the shape of Alda as surely as we needed a fantasy, best-case Democrat in the shape of Sheen. We need it to point out the gap between what we've currently got and what we could have. Vinick is pro-choice and anti-pork; imagine his conflict with a GOP Congress, his contentious Supreme Court picks -- you've got a whole season eight right there. Pretty please, NBC?
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