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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.
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Daily Blah for... Sunday, September 03, 2006
Toasting the Waffle
SUNDAY, 2006
All day the city has been taking itself down. "All right, time to put away your toys," someone walking by the camp said today, and that's what it feels like: the end of a comprehensive playdate. The strain of a week in the desert -- of dehydration, too much sun, a lack of sleep -- is starting to show. The Temple burn tonight brought a lot of tensions to the fore. There were no rules for the crowd to follow, but previous Temple burns have been solemn affairs, as people watch the notes they've written, messages of grief and love and (this year's temple theme) hope, go up in smoke. So those who wanted quiet shushed those who wanted to comment, and those who wanted to sit yelled those who wanted to stand. Eventually the crowd resolved itself peacefully, with mostly quiet and all sitting. One woman in front of us snobbishly refused to sit.
"Why don't you all stand?" she said, seriously, to several hundreds of us. We asked her why, and she responded in a most un-Burning Man-like manner:
"Because I've got a prosthetic limb, asshole."
Then why not move to the back, we replied. We'll make way for you. Don't block the Temple burn for 30 of us. "Well," she said, "you're ruining Burning Man for me."
"Oh good," I said. "I usually just ruin Christmas."
"Crowds: Ruining Burning Man since 2006," said Not That Dave.
We shone flashlights at her feet. They both looked pretty damn real, though it was hard to tell under all the playa dust. They can do good things with prosthetic limbs these days. Her boyfriend looked around sheepishly, apologetically. She stood there defiant as Bodecia while the Temple burned, and the crowd did its best to pretend she wasn't there.
A couple hours later, they burned the Waffle. That's the name the entire city uses for the jaw-dropping, 15 storey-high cavern built by 90 Belgians entirely out of two-by-fours. Lit up in a glowing green, it was by far the most vast and alien-looking thing ever seen on the Playa. The Belgians were annoyed that the city had unanimously dubbed it the waffle -- it smacks of cultural imperialism, they told Doctor Odd: "You only call it a waffle because we are Belgian." Well, possibly, but also because they gave it an entirely forgettable name: Uchronia. Black Rock City is Web 2.0: the content is user-generated and user-named, and you don't get to say what the crowd calls your artwork.
The strain was showing on the Belgians, too. "Let me hear you say 'arson,' they said to the crowd as they introduced the burn, with what appeared to be a hint of mockery.
"They mean 'awesome,'" said Odd. "It's what they think Americans say all the time."
Two of the week's best mobile artworks, a giant venus flytrap and a giant daisy, danced provocatively in front of the waffle as it was lit. The crowd had another brief inner conflict about whether it was okay for some of us to shine laser pointers at the waffle. We decided against.
"Toast the waffle," we shouted. "Bring in the giant vat of maple syrup."
They lit the structure just above the arch of the cavern. It burned away boringly for about 20 minutes. Then, just as we were thinking of leaving, the wisdom of lighting it there became clear: it was a weak spot. As soon as the arch collapsed, the waffle fell in on itself. In one fell whoosh, we had a fire that seemed to be a mile high.
Awesome.
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