Walden, Meet Max

Maybe it’s global warming. Maybe it’s just the universe playing a supremely evil trick on those who tend toward a bristly undercoat. Any way you slice it, it’s the absolute pits outside – the ones in La Brea, made of tar to be precise. However, my Earth-month guilt has gotten the better of me, and only a few days shy of April’s end. While I have spent 48 hours of this brief heat wave basking in the artificial breeze of sweet, cold refrigerant, I have to put my foot down. Enough is enough. When will we learn that the comforts of the moment will cause generations-worth of irreparable damage? Maybe it’s the media-imposed, Treehugger.com-propelled guilt talking (see my previous post), but I must begin to change my ways before I start to reap the radioactive seeds I’ve sown.

Treehugger: 1
My deeply rooted fatalism and existentialist double-threat: 0

I’ve been bitten by the 3-R’d bug – and it had lyme disease and swine flu.

And so I begin my journey – on the hottest day of 2009 to date. I am forgoing the excesses of air conditioning in lieu of fans and relaxing. I’m dutifully pre-packing lunches in recyclable containers. I will be taking public transit or biking (admittedly, I’ve been taking cabs and riding my Vespa more often than necessary), and using back packs and reusable aluminum water bottles, no matter how much it makes me look like a tourist or a hiker lost in the city. I will forgo television, no matter how badly I want to watch PBS. In these changes I will join the ranks of boho ceramics instructors everywhere, only without the Crocs.

I will live a plain and simple existence as that of my ancestors. They never had air conditioning. I defy my ancestors’ poor tolerance for heat and short muzzle. Risk of heat stroke be damned; my Thoreauvian experience begins now.

Existentialism, meet transcendentalism.

Updates to come soon from a shared computer lab in a coffee shop.
Wish me luck, friends. I’m a man without country who is out to find it.

Earth Day – a happy one, for once.

Earth Day used to be our singular day of Styrofoam-plate-Dixie-Cup regrets – a device with which our environmental superiors could brow beat us all into a spiral of guilt and self-hatred. And they have the time slot of exactly one week remind us that we can do virtually nothing to make up for the atrocities committed against Mother Earth since the dawn of the Industrial Age. Because of our ignorance, pandas are being slapped across their adorable faces, Bengal tigers are thrown into the ocean for fun, and Sumatran Orangutans are being hunted and killed only for their pinkie toes. Every time you use a paper cup, another puppy mill is established.

It’s entirely your fault, and there is nothing you can do about it.
And they are right, which is why we hate them.
We say, “I know, I know,” and despise our wasteful ways. We buy a reusable coffee mug and mistakenly leave it in a public restroom. We plant a tree and accidentally run over the sapling with the riding mower. Then we go about our lives just as we had, feeling better that we had bought a reusable coffee mug and planted a tree.

I do believe, in my heart of hearts, that I do my part whenever physically possible to contribute to the betterment of the planet. I recycle, I compost, I buy local and organic. The list goes on. Still, while Earth Day should be a joyous celebration of our valiant efforts to preserve our planet, it can be an excuse for a veritable eco-friendly pissing contest.

Let’s not even discuss the commercial with the Sarah McLaughlan song, “Angel.” That one gets me every time, and I change the channel.

I was preparing myself for Blame Storm 2009 by defensively calculating my carbon emissions – when I noticed a change in the Judgment Jet Stream.

Like anyone else, I don’t enjoy the feeling of hot, stale sanctimony breathing down my neck. Yes, horrible things happen. It seems like every time I turn around, I’m hearing about another Tiger Ranch – where the PSPCA found over 400 cats living in squalor. And enough with the puppy mills, my God! It’s the stuff nightmares are made of. It’s enough to make me take pause before complaining next time my latte is made with skim instead of 2% like I so very politely request.

But I digress. I realized that a little positive reinforcement is all we need. Then we wouldn’t be so defensive and, heaven forbid, create any sort of anti-Earth backlash.

Viewing this article on Treehugger.com was inspiring. Amid a sea of gut-wrenching news that makes me think our planet is crawling with sociopaths, we have a glimmer of hope: Animal Victories.

And I know we are headed in the right direction. There IS hope for us after all.
Maybe it’s the new administration. Or maybe we’re just tired of back pedaling.
Perhaps we will inspire one another to make progress instead of excuses.

Addendum: My enthusiasm for the above article was quickly tempered by a link directly below to another article: Cutest Endangered Animals (Slideshow).

Like they say in AA, one day at a time.

For the Love of Vinyl

I was delighted to discover today that vinyl is alive and well – or at least it’s in the process of being resuscitated.

Voila: Vinyl appreciation in Philadelphia.

Even though I’m an enthusiast of the latest and greatest technological advances, I am also a purist – a purist who participated in the backlash against what I considered to be an unmerciful bastardization of the vinyl record album. (Not to mention the concept album – and how MP3s seemed to just pants them in front of their friends.)

The analog, manual, vinyl record: in case anyone has forgotten, the album was a purposefully arranged selection of songs by an artist. Fans were meant to experience albums from start to finish – a full 45-minute commitment from Side A to Side B. This arrangement of tracks often gave the songs a context, which only added to their enjoyment. I realize this is a foreign concept, but it’s one worth studying for those born after 1987.

Try playing a record. A whole record. Trust me – it’s brilliant.

For me, nothing compares to hunkering down with my Brian Eno records on a rainy day or spinning a few early Talking Heads albums when we have our monthly, free-form academic symposia. (I wouldn’t consider myself an avid collector, but I wouldn’t stop someone from giving me that moniker.)

For nearly 40 years, vinyl record albums were the most popular way – and for some time the only way – to enjoy recorded music at home. And we still embrace vinyl wholly, with all its faux pas (popping, hissing, skipping) as part of its charm. Cassette tapes don’t inspire this idealized of nostalgia, and CDs just seemed, well, too shiny and impersonal for legit music fans upon their inception.

The 90’s saw a bit of a push back on CDs, insisting on keeping the spirit of vinyl in independent record shops across the country. DJ culture has certainly kept vinyl in business, perpetuating its association with credibility. One has to wonder if records would not be totally defunct and out of print if not for the heroic efforts of DJs in dodgy bars and swanky clubs everywhere.

And now we have one whole day to appreciate the Record. Part of me wants to bring up the fact that my life throughout high school, college and the few years beyond college was one long, record appreciation decade. To prove it, I have 4 shelves full of vinyl (and still growing every year) that I have successfully moved myself to 7 different apartments.

What we’re seeing now – not just in music, but in pop culture as a whole – is an embracing of all things vintage and current. In many respects, we are no longer exclusionary. No longer must we pick a decade and stick with it; no more do we have to choose between the authentic yet bulky LP or the convenient yet artless iTunes album. We are embracing every branch and subsidiary of the main stream throughout the 20th Century and into the 21st. It’s equally acceptable to like heavy metal as it is to have a sizeable collection of late 80’s Freestyle. Bell-bottom, wide-leg, boot-cut and tapered jeans can all co-exist peacefully now; years previous saw the dominance of one style and the utter mockery of others. Our image is a more universal one, and a global acceptance and appreciation of multiple trends in art, music and fashion. Part your hair any which way, wear whatever brand of sweater you wish, and go ahead – make a mix tape from your ELO albums and your French Kicks MP3s. And then make me a copy; that sounds spot-on.

An older version of myself would have balked at the idea of converting my record collection to MP3s and storing everything on my iPod for long road trips, jogging or particularly boring meeting with my book club. (It’s shameful, yes, but with the ear buds, they can never see it.) But while I’m a dyed-in-the-wool vinyl devotee, I still enjoy the unique benefits of my iPod Nano.

But most importantly, I can proudly display my CDs, cassette tapes and 8-Tracks next to my extensive vinyl collection – with Roxy Music next to Minus the Bear; The Buzzcocks next to Yo La Tengo.

This begs another question: if it weren’t for the MP3 leading to the total ubiquity of music from all decades and genres, would the universal embrace of pop culture be possible? It will give you something to think about while you go download a few Roxy Music tracks from iTunes. (Your welcome in advance for reminding you about them.)

Technology’s 99¢ Store

Yes, there’s an App for that. Just when the mainstream was furiously typing App into Wikipedia, there was an App for Wikipedia.

Apps: Hilarious, entertaining, functional and, at times, lifesaving. They make you wonder how you ever found the sense to crawl out of your cave with your App-less iPhone. We humble masses are now privy to this milestone of technology – sometimes for 99¢ a pop.

But amid the amazing, inventive functions, however, is a veritable grab bag of sparkly nonsense ready to get all over your new shirt and make you never want to set another virtual foot in the App store again.
Apps can be developed anywhere by anyone. I am by no means a programmer, but from what I understand, there is a very small (dare I say almost no) barrier to entry in creating Apps. And for a one-time, low, low price of $99, any web developer can sell his or her new App in the official App store without leaving home or bathing. Overheated, Cheeto-stained laptops everywhere are responsible for the newest iPhone gadgets.
And once again, the libertarian spirit that brought you the Wild, Wild Web has torn off the gloves and started another round of open-season free-for-all.

All this madness will be beneficial – eventually.  Soon, one or two absurdly futuristic Apps will surface. It will be the new Google Maps, or maybe even the new Google. Either way, without them, life will seem unnavigable and / or not worth living. This will not be for another 6 months to a year – possibly even longer.

Just where do I get off? I’ll show you.

Let’s go back to the mid 90’s, before any of the decade’s great Browser Wars, when the Internet was a vast yet ankle-deep cesspool of things like AOL, Netscape and an incomprehensible number of chat rooms – the origins of which are unknown. We were forced to wade through Geocities sites and animated gifs a-go-go. Cartoonish flames lapped up the sides of your primitive browser, and you didn’t know what Google was. Can you imagine? I mean, honestly. Chat rooms?

I digress. That high-tech experience will repeat itself as the Apps develop and become more useful. The idea’s Big Bang explodes out in every direction, and the aftermath resembles a novelty store full of vaguely offensive mugs and key chains. Once we realize that we need to build up – not out – we have something malleable, mature and advanced.

Until then, we should keep our heads down, wait for the glittery dust to settle, assess the wreckage, and breed the survivors.

But this will only be possible after every freelance web developer with a Mac and a dream is through wringing the last few dollars out of the idea.

And of course: For those of you who prefer everything a day late and a dollar short, Windows and other Non-Mac companies are trudging out of the swamp and banging out a clunky, CVS brand of the App. Remember the Zune player? I didn’t think so. (Sorry – I’m a bit biased.)

In sum, from the article:
“A few developers have made a small fortune, but McKillop has a sober word for anyone looking to cash in: ‘We certainly haven’t made a fortune from our application. Although we have got a lot of other work through it. I believe the guy who created the iFart [whoopee cushion] is a millionaire though … draw your own conclusions from that.’ ”

View the whole article: http://www.guardian.co.uk/technology/2009/apr/12/iphone-applications-music-industry

The Evolution of Man and Twitter in 140 Characters or Less.

Max Stanley’s Latest Installment of his segment,
“Don’t Get Me Started”

It’s official: For a mere 4,000 pounds, you can earn a Social Media degree at Birmingham City University in a one-year course. You will learn technologies like WordPress, Twitter and Podcasting.

At long last – somewhere we can pay to learn all these newfangled technologies rather than going through the trouble of watching a free, 10-minute tutorial on YouTube.

Read the article here:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/education/2009/mar/30/social-media-course-twitter

Don’t get me wrong. I’m most certainly a proponent of new methods of guerilla media and technology, and I’m the first to admit I’m something of a Twitter-aficionado. How else would the public know what I’m thinking at all times – like long car trips through California’s vineyards between wine-tastings or during another anti-climactic round of grand jury selection? (Follow me! MaxIntellectual on Twitter)

Here is a basic truth: if you can’t be bothered to take a few minutes to learn Twitter – or flag down the nearest teenager in a Twilight t-shirt to show you how – then you have no business with it. You are guaranteed to do nothing but ruin it for the rest of us.

I’d like to cite a quote directly from the article. A 20-year old student said that the new Social Media degree and its courses are a “complete waste of university resources” because these technologies can be entirely self-taught. One of the professors who helped develop the program then dismisses her statement, saying her view is “uninformed.”

What happens when the target market is already more adept with the open source technology than the doddering old fools trying to exploit it for profit?

And what happens when you earn your Social Media degree in a year’s time, only to learn that Twittering, Podcasts and blogging have already gone the way of the Laser Disc?

Because it has yet to be polluted by corny marketing representatives who just passed How to Tweet 101, Twittering is still fun. For now. Once it becomes nothing more than a cesspool of adverts (which it inevitably will), the people behind Twitter will create something new. The only ones still using it will be the big corporations shanking each other for ad space.

From Martha Stewart to Republican Senators to Rachel Ray and whomever else would like to smother Twitter into obsolescence far before its allotted lifespan, I defy you to catch it if you can.

I say, to the fastest typists and most cutting-edge technology buffs go the spoils. Everyone else will just be sopping up Twitter’s gristle with day-old baguette.

As mysteriously as it became the pop culture phenom of early 2009 – even though it’s been around since 2006 – Twitter will go quietly into the night. And the spirit of Twittering will be reincarnated into another form faster than you can say, “Want to learn Oprah’s secret to weight loss?”

That New Blog Smell

Ah, that new blog smell. Breathe it in, but save some for later.

While attempting to reconnect with nature on one of my many walks (still keeping up my New Year’s Resolution), I had a painful incident involving broken bottles, St. Patrick’s Day, and a stylish (yet ultimately non-protective) shoe. This rendered me unable to update my blog for nearly a month. With this forced distance from blogspot, I have re-evaluated my work and decided to start fresh. Some may call it Spring Fever, Spirng Cleaning, or any number of trite Spring expressions. I’d like to call it my Seasonal Change of Perspective. The phrase certainly doesn’t scream “embroider me on a pillow,” but I digress.

Please enjoy.

Your Faithful Servant,
Max