Year In Review Bonus Joke

I wrote this Year in Review piece for Sunday Star (Ideas section).

It could have easily been 3,000 words, not 1,800 or so, although to be honest I’m not sure it would have necessarily been any better at almost double the length.

Anyway, I had to cut a bunch of stuff from my rough draft, including this:

The profitibility of porn might decline in a recession, but it continued to penetrate mainstream culture. Actress Sasha Grey not only made it onto this year's Rolling Stone hotlist but was cast as the lead in The Girlfriend Experience, a new film by Steven Soderbergh. As well, Grey appeared on the April cover of Vice. This caused controversy (not because of her job title), but rather because of the glow-in-the-dark BMW ad superimposed on her. (Magazine covers are supposed to be ad-free). Of course, given her line of work, this was not the first time something repulsive found its way onto her chest.

Vice, Vice Baby

Due to whelming demand as a result of a posting about my (Master's thesis on Vice Magazine) I'm providing a link to the PDF version of said thesis (here).

It's not a page-turner. You've been warned.

Hipster Dies, Finally

(The Hipster Must Die, Time Out New York, May 30–Jun 5, 2007).

(The End of the Hipster, Now magazine, Dec 11, 2008).

Nirvana Baby Demonstrates Celebrity Insanity

Horribly written article, with a horribly uninteresting human being. Apparently, in the future, everyone will be famous for 1.5 inches. (link).

Chatto Gets Catty

Once you start paying attention to what’s going on, a pattern emerges. Often the meat is quite good […] Then you’ll stumble into a dish that is simply disgusting; the Kansas City Steak Soup at Canyon Creek, for example, which tastes like gravy and old hamburger liquidized in a blender. Or the “hot spinach and artichoke dip with imported Italian cheeses” at Milestone’s. Every chain restaurant has something like it – a witch’s cauldron of calories into which the foolhardy can dip a nacho or two. Milestone’s version is particularly nauseating – tepid, mucal, smelling like sick. And that’s a shame, because so much else at Milestone’s is OK.

-- James Chatto, Toronto Life, January 2009

Best and Worst of Today's Globe

You decide which is zenith and nadir:

"Buying a new laptop is an emotionally harrowing experience."

"Lahey and I are sort of natural enemies, like the turtle and the dog, I guess."

He Said It, Not Me

There is also a cultural argument, which suggests that a vibrant literary culture is dependent upon a vibrant critical culture. Anyone who reads this site at all regularly is aware that your humble correspondent fervently supports this argument. From a cultural perspective, the diminishment of space for serious literary criticism and thoughtful book reviewing is something to be mourned, and to challenge vigorously. (This of course assumes that the Globe has indeed been a forum for serious literary criticism and thoughtful book reviewing, which, at least recently, has also been open to debate.)

-- (Steven W. Beattie on Globe books being folded into the Focus section).

Globe Books Moves Into Focus Section

(Globe books no longer standalone).

Sports Guy Gets Punched in the Teeth

(This is the type of intricately petty investigative reporting that I secretly love. Includes a tag-cloud).

(Content analysis at its best).

Unpublished Masthead Article on Vice Magazine

Point Taken
Ryan Bigge

After a few beers, most grad students will bemoan the fact only a handful of people will ever read their thesis. As a journalist who recently completed a Master’s degree, I’ve slowly accepted the fact that my 158-page examination of Vice magazine will garner fewer readers than a typical issue of Modern Dog. While my thesis looked at how Vice succesfully used transgression and irony to create a profitable niche publication, my inner magazine nerd was careful to take notes on their tricks and tactics. The following pieces of advice are considerably shorter than my thesis, and I promise not to justify my new degree with a bunch of polysyllabic academic gobbledygook. (Besides, given the rather low per word rates in the Canadian magazine industry, my editor can’t afford any twenty-five dollar words.) Here, then, is what I really learned from studying Vice:

* Always Stay in Character. Vice began as free monthly newsprint (Voice of Montreal) in 1994 (renaming itself Vice in the fall of 1996) and went glossy in October of 1998. Soon after, it moved HQ from Montreal to New York, and has since gone on to start a record label, open a half-dozen clothing stores, launch an online video site (vbs.tv), put out a DVD travel guide and publish two anthologies. Despite hopping from platform to platform with the frequency of a cheap ham radio, Vice has managed to transfer its essential “Viceness” to each of these projects, allowing the magazine to reach new viewers without alienating their core audience.

* Slick Design is Overrated. At the risk of understatement, Vice’s content is colourful. Over the years, the magazine has published large photographs of vomit, clothing advertisements starring porn stars and a review of a NAMBLA Bulletin. Almost as shocking as Vice’s content is their low-key design, which an editor once admitted “was ripped off from National Geographic.” Until recently, the magazine eschewed typical front-of-book conventions like tightly packaged info-nuggets, instead preferring plenty of white space. This anti-design approach served the magazine well, helping it to avoid the eye-burning graphic design excess of other cutting-edge magazines like Wired and Raygun. Vice’s look and feel also remained constant between 2001-2006, which, in an era of frequent (and often unnecessary) redesigns is an accomplishment worth observing.

* Experiment with the Medium. This suggestion might appear to contradict the above point, but here I refer to the paper the magazine is printed upon, rather than how material is arranged on said paper. For their fifth anniversary issue, Vice’s cover featured a metallic shiny surface meant to resemble a mirror. This eye-grabbing gambit reminded me of the first holographic image printed on the cover of National Geographic -- except in Vice’s case there was a line of cocaine decorating the mirror. Vice has also featured die-cut and fold-out covers, along with embossed lettering, stickers, multiple covers and an annual photo issue printed on oversized stock. These extras have helped turn what is otherwise a free, disposable monthly magazine into a collectible object.

* Embrace Technology Cautiously. Vice has not only avoided embarrassing graphic design fads, but acclimatized to new technologies at a moderate pace, which belies their cutting-edge, street culture ethos. Vice managed to avoid a number of Internet missteps through a combination of budgetary constraints and patience – although their dot-com investors did force them to pour far too much money into a short-lived e-commerce portal. Vice was certainly not the first magazine to decide to embed a blog into their website, but it’s there for a reason, and it’s executed strongly. Being better is sometimes preferable to being first.

* Acknowledge Your Hit Songs. Although fewer editors would dare admit it, most magazines are remembered, at best, for one or two regular features. This is not to say the rest of your fine publication is birdcage liner, but Harper’s without the index is simply not Harper’s. Vice has realized for a long time that their fashion Do’s and Don’ts are a core element of their character, and have been careful to nurture and sustain the popularity of that feature. Musicians often complain about having to play their hit song every night, but Vice never seems to get tired of making fun of the fashion impaired. Although I lack an official survey to prove this, I am certain that magazine editors get tired of regular features years before readers do. I was very sad to see Toronto Life eliminate its Icon feature a few years back. Ditto National Post Business Magazine’s Deconstruct. I’m confident others miss these too.

* Reward loyal readers. In his book Everything Bad is Good For You, author Steven Johnson observes that Seinfeld made repeated references to Art Vandelay (an alias favoured by George Costanza) over the course of the show’s nine seasons. However, entire seasons would go by between mentions, which presupposed a loyal and attentive audience. Vice also assumes their readers are loyal and devoted enough to read every issue and remember the ongoing preoccupations and in-jokes. When Vice celebrated its 10th anniversary in 2003 by pretending to redesign the magazine into its bizarro world equivalent, the magazine failed to provide much handholding for their readers. Not only did the parody issue require a thorough knowledge of Vice, but many of the jokes hinged on being familiar with magazines that Vice competes with. The issue demonstrated a delicate mix of arrogance and confidence that Canadian magazines should strive for more often.

Frugality Index: Toronto Life Versus New York Magazine

New York, a city of plutocrats, trust-fund kids and $1-million studio apartments. A city where billionaires hire millionaries to be their butlers and servants, and where money, until recently, splashed about like tap water.

Toronto is certainly no stranger to wealthy enclaves, but $1-million will still get you a whole damn house and our plutocrat population can be counted on one hand, with several leftover fingers. Thus, a penny-pinching contest between these two cities would appear to be a no-brainer. The problem, until recently, was proving it.

Good news. The cover of the November 10, 2008 issue of (New York Magazine) ($3.99 at newsstand) promises “Live Well, Spend Less” while the November 2008 cover of (Toronto Life) ($4.95 at newsstand) features a guide entitled “Look Rich (Even If You Feel Poor).” Prepare yourself for some cheap thrills as we compare salient economic benchmarks from these two publications.

Transportation
Toronto Life: For short-term auto jollies, head to ASG Exotic and Luxury car rentals, where rocket-ready six-speed Porsche 911 Carreras ($550) await open roads. For longer-term indulgences, The Private Collection allows for fractional ownership at an annual cost of $31,000, plus $5,000 initiation fee. That nabs 40 to 60 driving days, depending on dates and models; rides include a 007-worthy Aston Martin DB9 and a Lamborghini Gallardo— a car that begs for endless laps of Yorkville, subtly broadcasting “I’m a human penis!” to the world.

New York Magazine: Okay, a taxi is (sometimes) faster, (sometimes) cleaner, and (sometimes) safer than the subway, but a cab is never more economical. If you commute to work from the Upper West Side to midtown, say, you’ll spend around $12 each way (including tip) or $24 per day. Multiply that by 250 or so work days a year, and your annual transportation outlay—without a single weekend ride—comes to $6,000. At $2 per ride twice a day, the subway will set you back just $4 per day, or $1,000 per year. That’s a $5,000 savings. The next time you’re tempted to hop a cab, try whispering this to yourself: Prosperity now.

Toronto Life: If the old boys from UCC don’t like the cut of your jib, stick it to them by commanding the waters in a skippered yacht. Cruise the harbour, islands and shores of Lake Ontario in the Teddy Graham, a 38-foot Hunter sailing yacht from Sailing for You (packages from $450), complete with skipper, drinks, meals, beds, and an interior so rich in teak, it would make a Danish furniture designer jealous.

New York Magazine: Take the free water taxi to the Red Hook Ikea.
And then skip Ikea. Hang out on the esplanade for an hour or two, then water-taxi back.

Food
Toronto Life: A full-time cook may not be in the cards in the near (or far) future, but inner gourmets can be at least temporarily satisfied with a private meal by a famous chef. Even busy Marc Thuet has been known to make house calls, with cooking utensils and organic ingredients in tow ($60–$200 per person). Thuet loves to create exotic tasting menus using rare and seasonal ingredients—think white Alba truffles and wild game tastings of Scottish grouse and mallard duck—but he’ll just as happily prepare a meal for Thanksgiving celebrations, or some freshly caught Nova Scotia lobster for a homesick East Coast transplant.

New York Magazine: Steak for Two 
For many red-meat aficionados, an $85 Peter Luger porterhouse for two can’t be beat. Call it apples to oranges, but we’ll take the General Greene ’s (229 Dekalb Ave., nr. Clermont Ave., Ft. Greene; 718-225-1510) remarkably beefy Niman Ranch flap steak (a seldom seen but up-and-coming cut) any day. In fact, at $12 apiece, we’ll take two.

Toronto Life: Canoe—140 seats, regional Canadian cuisine, dazzling 54th-floor views and similarly lofty menu prices—can be had for a mere $14,000 minimum tab on Saturday (Sunday is half-price, $7,000; a private sommelier is extra). While the elegant, modern space isn’t exactly shabby, guests often customize it: for a wedding, antique bird cages were filled with cupcakes; another affair featured million-dollar diamond displays and accompanying armed guards. Go-for-broke guests even bring in their own entertainment, including Celtic dancers and Chinese dragon dancers.

New York Magazine: Regular Slice. 
New York’s favorite slice now goes for the eyebrow-raising price of $4. But that slice, found at the Midwood pizza mecca Di Fara, is meticulously hand-formed, and distinguished by a contrapuntal cheese medley. A plain old slice at 99¢ Fresh Pizza (151 E. 43rd St., nr. Third Ave.; 212-922-0257) makes a quick and satisfying lunch, if not exactly a life-altering gastronomic experience. With tax, it’s $1.07.

Grooming
Toronto Life: Mobile Spa Toronto specializes in primping parties, from stagettes to teen birthdays. À la carte house call services include waxing ($15–$60), makeup application ($60), mani-pedi ($60), therapeutic massage ($100) and facials ($75). There’s a minimum in-home charge of $120 for an aesthetician and $100 for a registered massage therapist with at least two spa professionals booked per visit. Hygiene freaks, take note: all implements—scissors, tweezers, files—are individually wrapped and opened in front of you.

New York Magazine: Paint Your Own Damn Nails. A mani-pedi may seem like a quick, cheap form of pampering, but a biweekly treatment at Rescue Beauty Lounge, say, will set you back $2,080 annually. Owner and author Ji Baek graciously offers tips for stay-at-home beautifiers.

Shelter
Toronto Life: Marco Enterprises co-founders Deborah Zwicker and Marlee Novak have been in the luxury property management biz for 10 years and manage more than 80 ogle-worthy mansions across the city, stocked with such Entourage essentials as indoor pools, tennis courts and private movie theatres. Clients tend toward the famous and fabulous (Bono, Hilary Swank and John Travolta have stayed in furnished homes on such stylish streets as the Bridle Path, Roxborough and Hazelton), but a Hollywood pedigree is not required—just an ability to afford the $10,000 to $50,000 monthly payments. One month minimum rental. 416-410-4123,

New York Magazine: Whittle Down Your Mortgage. Nicole and Anthony (who asked us not to use their full names) live on the Upper West Side in a two-bedroom they bought for under $800,000 in 2003. They want to lower their monthly nut, and Melissa Cohn, of the Manhattan Mortgage Company, offered her advice.

Toronto Life: It’s tough to hold a fabulous dinner party when the guests outnumber the chairs. For a Versailles-in-the-Don-Valley feel, Kennedy Galleries offers a suitably opulent selection of traditional furnishings ($200 a week and up). For parties more P. Diddy than King Louis, Contemporary Furniture Rentals has a dizzying array of modern chairs, including Philippe Starck’s translucent Ghost chair (call for prices).

New York Magazine: Restoring a Dresser.
All Furniture Services.
They’ll send a workman to your home to restore your beat-up chest of drawers for $145 to $275—and they’ll try to do it with nontoxic chemicals so you don’t have to air it out afterward.

When Bear Markets Attack

* America's Panic Attack
* The Joke's on US
* Invisible Hand-Wringing
* Capitalism on the Ledge
* The Economy on the Couch
* Future Shock & Awe
* Hitting the Wall And Falling on the Street.
* America Sucks Right Now
* US: Out of Order

(Suggested names for ongoing cable news coverage of economic disaster).

The Conversation of Strangers On a Train

I was going through a notebook today and found this snippet of dialogue I had written down while on the train between Montreal and Toronto this summer. The following is courtesy of a retired couple sitting a few seats ahead of me. They were watching No Country For Old Men on a portable DVD player.

Her: I think it’s over.
Him: How could it end like that?
[pause]
Him: But it was a great show.
[clicks something]
Him: 122 minutes. Huh.
[pause]
Him: That guy was strange though, eh?

The Pyper at the Gates of Don Valley

I don’t have many scintillating comments about Andrew Pyper’s recent book The Killing Circle (which is mostly set in Toronto), but damn if I’m going to let a pun that great go to waste.

Art and Commerce Redux

Forgot to post this awhile ago, finally did, but now it's buried in the October section of my blog. It's about a Toronto Life article being integrated into an Audi ad: (Really?).

Two Quotes For The Next Time You Walk Ossington, South of Dundas

There must be a rate at which one forgets, and as long as a city changes at that rate or a slower one, change registers but it doesn’t disorient, for there are sufficient points of orientation and triggers of recollection. […] Every city changes, and walking through a slowly changing city is like walking through an organic landscape during various seasons; leaves and even trees fall, birds migrate, but the forest stands: familiarity anchors the changes. But if the pace of change accelerates, a disjuncture between memory and actuality arises and one moves through a city of phantoms, of the disappeared, a city that is lonely and disorienting.

-- Rebecca Solnit, Hollow City

No matter how long you have been here, you are a New Yorker the first time you say, That used to be Munsey’s, or That used to be the Tic Toc Lounge. That before the internet café plugged itself in, you got your shoes resoled in the mom-and-pop operation that used to be there. You are a New Yorker when what was there before is more real and solid than what is here now.

-- Colson Whitehead, The Colossus of New York

I Predict Gil

Last year I predicted Lullabies would win, but I failed to put it on my blog. This year, not going to make that mistake. I predict:

"Actor Nicholas Campbell defending The Outlander by Gil Adamson."

(Canada Reads 2009).

Meh Hits the Big Time

(Meh hits the big time, 2008).

(Meh is tapped as the next big thing, 2007).

(In a press release from yesterday, Meh was quoted as saying, "Meh.")

She Used a Real Life Lawyer, However

Last year, Ms. Taylor suspected her husband's avatar was cheating and hired a Second Life private detective to catch him in the act.

-- from the Globe and Mail, November 14, 2008 (link).

How is "Second Life private detective" not the best phrase ever? Can you imagine a noir/pulp detective novel based around such a person? That would be amazing.

As of Last Wednesday, That Is Incorrect

The Lakeview Lunch, an institution at Dundas and Ossington best known for its milkshakes (although not for much else, in recent years), was put up for lease in August. It recently re-opened under new ownership.

-- Eye Weekly article on diners, November 13, 2008 (link).

The Lakeview is not open yet. It certainly wasn't on Friday (four days ago).

Eye regrets the error.

Izzy the Zombie

There had to have been a more subtle method of disparaging the competition than turning Izzy into the undead.

Brains! Brains!

My Advice Is Not To Screw Up Like This Again

November 2, 2008 NYTmagazine:

Minutes before my first lunch date with a man I met online, he called to cancel because he was hit by a bicycle and was in the emergency room at Roosevelt Hospital. I later called the E.R. to check on him, and a nurse said he was never there. Weeks after that, I heard about another woman with whom he used the same excuse: hit by a bike; in the E.R. Is it dater beware, or is there an obligation to be honest even online? — BETH ROSE FEUERSTEIN, LONG BEACH, N.Y.

While there is scant expectation of integrity in online dating (six feet tall? 35 years old? full head of hair?), the obligation of honesty persists even at JDate or Match.com. As does the duty not to be a goofball: can this guy not simply cancel? Must he concoct so baroque a lie — one so easily exploded? Has he no professional pride?

From my narrow, crackpot’s point of view (my favorite), the real harm here is not to you but to the many tens of thousands of New York City cyclists. This fellow promulgates the canard of the pedestrian-threatening bicycle. Average number of pedestrian deaths attributable to cyclists each year here? About one. (There were 11 between 1996 and 2005.) Yet in 2006 alone, cars killed 156 pedestrians (and 17 bicyclists) in New York City and injured more than 10,000 pedestrians (and more than 2,800 bicyclists) badly enough to be hospitalized.

The still greater tragedy? Some of the dead and wounded might have been men you could date, gents who would not invent ludicrous excuses but would stand you up honestly.

September 28, 2008, New York Times Sunday Styles (SOCIAL Q’S)

Five minutes before my first meeting with a man I had met on a dating Web site, he called to say that he couldn’t keep our date — he had just been hit by a bicycle and had landed in the emergency room. Something sounded off, so I called the hospital and was told that no such person was there. When I called him back, he insisted he was.

Several weeks later, I spoke with a woman who also had a date with this man, and he canceled — claiming he had just been hit by a bicycle. When I confronted him, he insisted that bike accidents aren’t so unusual. How would you handle this?

B.R.F., Long Beach, N.Y.

Poetic justice probably requires that you and your friend track down a bicycle-built-for-two and show your online Casanova what the inside of an emergency room really looks like.

But I have an even better idea: Stop communicating with him. This guy is a creep and a liar, probably married, and even worse, using seriously outdated pictures of himself in his online profile. Nothing good will come from continued engagement with him.

Unfortunately, there’s no such thing as a perfect delivery system of eligible men and women. And what the online world offers in terms of increased volume and speed, it tends to subtract with its profusion of cads and game-players. Next time you find one, simply report him to the site’s complaint desk, and move along to the next guy.

I know it’s frustrating when you think you’ve met someone promising, but rehabilitating online frauds is not your job, and hoping that you will, through protracted interaction, will only lead to apoplectic seizures.

For my money, the Ethicist is a much better writer. And here, of course, the difference in quality is clear, given the same question.

Update: I caught this error on my very own, using something called my memory box, located in my brain. However, I just checked and Gawker did indeed beat me to this story: (link). That's what happens when you read the Sunday NYT across multiple days.

Stupid But Real Tagline For Book

Try as I might, I cannot imagine such a thing.

Klute Kuote

Fonda: Well, tell me Klute, did we get you a little, huh? Just a little bit, us city folk? The sin, the glitter, the wickedness? Huh?

Klute: Ahhh – that’s so pathetic.

One Post, Two Links

Wishing Toronto had a Gawker: (link).

Here's why not: (link).

Not Boring, Ordinary

But it isn’t the stereotype of Don Draper that is so attractive; it’s his desperate need to break out of the stereotype. Much like the characters in Richard Yates’ Revolutionary Road and Tom Perrotta’s Little Children—both recently made into films—he suffers from a classic case of upper middle-class suburban angst, adults petrified by how ordinary they’ve become. With his taste for strong women living outside the very rules he feels boxed in by, Don Draper seems as though he just might understand all angles of the domestic equation. “His sense of yearning, his sense of being confined by the home yet also craving that confinement and comfort, I identify with it,” said a Brooklyn mom of two and Draper-phile in her mid-thirties whose husband, a “screenwriter,” works from home while she commutes to a publishing job in Manhattan.

From the New York Observer (link).

Thank You Bougatsos, Your Candor is Most Refreshing

Ms. Bougatsos is ready for the attention. “There’s no such thing as selling out in my mind,” she said, adding that she would love to have her music featured on a TV show soundtrack: “A Jeep commercial, a tampon commercial, anything,” she said. “We’re a band, we make music, and that’s what we want to be known for.”

From an October 20, 2008 NYT interview with the band Gang Gang Dance. (link).

Really?

Check this out, from the November 2008 issue of Toronto Life:



Can you see the two flaps on the Audi ad?



That's right, the comic memoir by Lorenz Peter that began on the opposite page of the November, 2008 issue of Toronto Life continues underneath the Audi ad.



Yep. There's the rest of the comic memoir of working at the AGO, buried beneath the second Audi ad flap. Words fail me.

Awesome Stumble Across

Just discovered The Believer has the full text of the Tim and Eric interview online.

(link).

Dirty Things

Throw out the other strips, the grim probabilities—the crime, the decaying infrastructure, the hardship all around, the heroin and the syphilis. What do we have left? The bright side: maybe Manhattan will become affordable again, and cool, and dangerous. Dangerous in theory, but not to you or your family and friends. Dirty, but in a good way.

-- Nick Paumgarten, New Yorker, September 29, 2008 (link).

Puppets Who Slay Me

This is pretty well the best thing ever.

Let me repeat. (Ever).

The Lakeview From Here

I bike past the Lakeview Lunch a few times per week. I remember going there when I first moved to Toronto, and really liking it. Then, inevitably, it went downhill. (I saw inevitably, because this seems to be a trend in Toronto. Utopia being one of the rare exceptions to the rule.)

Anyway, when the Lakeview closed a few years ago, just when Ossington was starting to heat up, I figured a savvy entrepreneur would snap it up, remodel it a la Shanghai Cowgirl, and make a killing. Instead, whoever decided to restart the place didn't even bother to scrub the goddamn walls before flipping the closed sign back to open.

Predictably, the place shut down again. But in the last few weeks, someone nabbed it and is renovating like heck.

I write today because I saw an upholstery van unloading new padded booth seats in a tasteful brown colour. This suggests to me that the walls have also been cleaned. That would be great. I miss the Lakeview, and provided they upgrade the menu and decide to serve decent food, that place will become a license to print money.

And I will be glad to contribute to said fortune in the making.

This Is Ugly

Really, really ugly.

On the plus side, the Imaginings in the above issue is actually funny, although I might be biased as I know the author.

Frank magazine suggests the Walrus is running low on cash, thus making it an endangered species.

Unabridged Transcript of the film Funny Ha Ha

I don’t know …
Ummm …
I guess …
Yeah …
[Awkward laughter]

Maybe like …
I don’t …
I mean …
[Awkward pause]

Just like uhh …
I was like …
I’m sorry …
I just ummm …
[Awkward awkward.]

Marx My Words

Tell us a secret.
Communism will win.

-- Zizek

(link).

No More Shock of the New

“The age of shattering people’s ossified expectations is long gone.”
-- Henry Baumgartner

(link).

Rules Rule

"Rules are not just restrictions, but also the armature of beauty."
-- Shelley Jackson

(link).

I Used to Blog About The Tenements, Before They Sold Out

A high-rise apartment building is going up next door to Mr. Sitek’s studio — actually two studios, since Stay Gold, where TV on the Radio made “Dear Science,” is in the rooms next to Headgear. “They build one skyscraper, and skyscrapers get lonely,” Mr. Sitek said in his three-pack-a-day rasp, lighting up in the alley alongside his favorite Williamsburg club, Zebulon. “So then they call their friends and more skyscrapers come, and they throw a party. And the next thing you know there’s a skyscraper blogging about the skyscraper scene in Williamsburg.”

-- From the Sunday NYT, September 7, 2008

(link).

This Week in Promotional Culture

Getting publicity for a lowly ol’ hunk of treeware is getting increasingly difficult, what with cuts to various book sections across North America and the general decline in reading. So I have sympathy for those able to place advertorials for their novels into major newspapers. At the same time, I do wonder if that space could be used more effectively. Three recent examples:

1) The Globe has obviously inked some kind of sweetheart deal with Ondaatje, because on Saturday, August 23, the Globe Review reprinted the entire afterword from the new edition of The Collected Works of Billy the Kid. This afterword was deemed newsworthy enough to make it onto page R1. His bio reads: I am the King of Canlit and you are not. Buy my reissue now.* (Too lazy to track down article link).

2) On August 9, the Saturday Star gave Andrew Pyper an entire page to promote The Killing Circle. It should be noted that Pyper is a talented non-fiction writer, and by all accounts a superb human being, so I urge you to hate the game, not the playa. His article bio reads: Andrew Pyper's latest novel, The Killing Circle, has just been published. (link).

3) Also on August 9, intellectual super collider Stephen Marche managed to convince the Globe and Mail’s travel section to publish a piece about the fictional country he created for his most recent book. The sheer audacity of this maneuver earns my grudging admiration. Just in case you missed the central thesis of the article, his bio reads: Stephen Marche is the author of Shining at the Bottom of the Sea. The paperback version hits stores today. (link).

(Full Disclosure: I’m guilty of a similar crime, having written a “From the Author” column for Canadian Bookseller in July/August of 2001.)


* No it doesn't.

I Cry Uncle

In an otherwise thoughtful and charming article about Yonge Street, TIFF celebrity Sheila Heti suddenly decides it's time for an 86-word run-on sentence …

People say people change. People also say people never change. When people say people change, it is because a woman who feels bad for always being reticent about giving herself fully in a relationship, but gets into relationships all the same, after a conversation with her uncle realizes that she doesn't have to want what she doesn't want, and begins behaving in a way that is new - same as when she talked to him at the age of 14 and he said if she didn't want to have sex with her boyfriend she should not. When we say people don't change, it's because at 40 as at 14, she still goes to her uncle for advice. And he still gives his advice over a meal he pays for on Yonge Street.

You lost me somewhere around uncle, but I'll try harder next time, I promise.

(link).

Puke in Mouth Disease

After the first sip I barfed a little in my mouth.
-- Walrus, Imaginings, September 2008

(Now I understand the expression “I just threw up in my mouth.”)
-- Walrus, Imaginings, December 2007

On Hating Hogtown

Toronto became a particularly intense target for my ennui. I’d lived in the city my entire life, but suddenly its culture began to feel oppressive, and its preoccupations with media and money and real estate struck me as shallow and empty. The chattering classes chattered, and my eyes glazed over. I had no interest in competitive conversations or self-conscious affectations, and little patience for the conspicuous consumption and narcissistic obsessions of our age that accosted me at every turn. I couldn’t pick up the Style section of the Globe and Mail without profound feelings of revulsion.

No doubt my disenchantment was merely a projection on my part, having less to do with Toronto’s perceived failings than with my own sense of stuckness, but I continued to feel dislocated and blank. Close friends provided solace; otherwise, I was at sea.

-- Wendy Dennis, writing in the Summer 2008 issue of The Walrus

(link).

Paging Mr. Remnick, Mr. Peres and Mr. Nelson

The Esquire column is a fantasy made real thanks to the open-mindedness of the magazine's editor. As recently as May, he received a phone call and, as he tells it, the voice on the other end of the line said, "Hi, I'm David Granger from Esquire. I really like what you've been writing lately. Do you want to write a pop culture column for us?"
-- from a short profile on cultural poobah Stephen Marche in the August 9, 2008 Globe and Mail, by Amy Verner

I feel as though Marche getting the Esquire column involved a bit more than simply waiting for the phone to ring. My inner skeptic alarm is ringing in such a way as to suggest that something has been omitted in this version of events.

But, rather than be jealous or negative, I'm going to try the same technique. As of this moment, I'm open to phone calls from Jim Nelson (GQ), Dan Peres (Details) and David Remnick (New Yorker). If you're in desperate need of an intelligent white guy to help decode our cultural milieu, I'm but ten digits away. Unlike Marche, I only have a Master's, not a Ph.D, which means you can pay me 15 percent less.

You can even call collect, big-name glossy magazine editors. I won't mind a bit.

(link).

Keeping Up With the Davidson

His Canadian publisher, Random House Canada, hasn't announced what it has paid or what it's printing; nor has the British publisher, Canongate, which recently anointed The Gargoyle its lead fiction title for the fall. But the betting among informed observers is that Davidson's total earnings from advances – this before a single copy has even been purchased here or south of the border – is in the $2-to-$2.5-million range. 

-- from an article in the Saturday Globe (August 8, 2008) about The Gargoyle novelist Andrew Davidson’s big payday.

At the risk of bragging, I recently received $30 from a literary journal for a short story. I appreciate that the journal (which shall remain nameless) is struggling. I'm not complaining about the amount, but rather its form. Rather than a cheque I was sent two copies of the journal plus a plain white envelope with:

- a twenty dollar bill
- a five dollar bill
- two toonies
- and a loonie

Coins in the mail felt strange to me. I'd rather have done without them since $25 is only five zeros away from $2.5 million. In your face, Davidson.

(I updated this post on August 13 to reflect the correct combination of bills and coins to make $30. I originally had a ten-spot in there for no reason. How embarrassing.)

Maria Can Sing, But Times Zones Still a Problem

When CBC announced who won the Maria Karaoke Problem on their website, they kinda forgot they're three hours ahead of much of the country. Which meant that Western Canadians with the internet had the drama and suspense ruined for them.

Having lived in Toronto for longer than I care to admit, I must admit that it can be easy, at least occasionally, to fall into the centre of the universe trap.

(link).

CanLit Writing Tip #383

Of course, economics determines in large part what gets published. But though this may not be entirely desirable, there's a compelling argument for the marketplace determining quality. Shakespeare, for instance, went with whatever he could find that would appeal to audiences. This, I'd say, is the best advice any young Canadian writer can take, rather than listening to some gadfly spouting imagination-limiting prescriptivism.

-- Nigel Beale, from his review of Henighan's Afterlife of Culture. In the July 26, 2008 Globe and Mail. (link).

Gas Pains

I was thinking about this strip recently, and through the miracle of the search engine, I managed to find it. Enjoy.

Someone Is Wrong on the Internet

And that person is me: (link).

Apparently, my blog, with its readership of dozens, is helping to destroy the blogosphere as we know it. Let me take this opportunity to apologize for ruining everything.

I wonder what it must be like to always be right? I hope Joe Clark derives untold satisfaction from his unique superpower.

Staffers Rejoice as Tank of Piranhas Named New Walrus Editor-In-Chief

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Staffers Rejoice as Tank of Piranhas Named New Walrus Editor-In-Chief

After enduring five turbulent years of Ken Alexander’s reign, Walrus magazine staffers celebrated today’s announcement that a tank of piranhas has been chosen as Alexander’s successor.

I could add a second paragraph of cruel hilarity, but the joke is in the headline. Goodbye Ken. Few of us will miss you.

Thanks For the Many Hours of Free Entertainment, But From Now On, I’ll Be Without Lost

There’s a famous scene in The Simpsons, the Poochie episode, where the comic book guy explains how he expressed his displeasure regarding a substandard episode of Itchy and Scratchy. “Rest assured,” he says to Bart, “that I was on the Internet within minutes, registering my disgust throughout the world.” They continue arguing (dialogue courtesy of snpp.com):

Bart: Hey, I know it wasn’t great, but what right do you have to complain?
CBG: As a loyal viewer, I feel they owe me.
Bart: What? They're giving you thousands of hours of entertainment for free. What could they possibly owe you? If anything, you owe them.

I agree with Bart, and in that spirit I’d like to thank Lost for the first 13 episodes of Season One. I am not planning on watching any more Lost, but the first 13 were, for the most part, compelling and enjoyable. The reveal regarding John Locke’s “condition” was one of the few times I was genuinely surprised by a TV show. It wasn’t a cheap reveal either – the evidence was there, but masterfully hidden, so that you didn’t feel ripped off, or, worse, able to solve the riddle instantly (which I find often happens with even the best shows on television).

In the meantime, hang in there, people of Lost. Your fate will be determined in 2010.

Oh … The Line of Beauty

My summary of The Line of Beauty, by Allan Hollinghurst:

“Oh … ” Nick said.
“Oh … !” Nick said.
“Oh …” Nick said, this time with a moue of irony.

As I neared the end of the novel, and as I watched Nick say “Oh … ” for the one-thousandth time, I finally grew weary. The meticulously annotated conversations, the microscopic level of descriptive detail, the suffocating presence of irony, ironies and ironic facial expressions and situations finally wore thin. That said, the first two-thirds of the novel are fantastic. If the gay sex in The Emperor’s Children wasn’t explicit enough for you, then The Line of Beauty is the book for you.

Gas Crime

It's obviously an error, but I couldn't resist screen grabbing from the Star recently, where the new Air Canada fuel surcharge was filed under the category of "GTA/CRIME." Sounds about right to me.

Demographic Turbulence

What a nasty, nasty euphemism, "demographic turbulence." (link). For me, it's a credibility-destroying phrase. I acknowledge the issue being debated is touchy and complex, but "demographic turbulence?"

Really? That's the best you could come up with? That is intellectual soft serve.

I'm a Mite Confused -- Is This My Last Issue?

This notice covered my copy of the Walrus that arrived in my mail slot recently. This prompted my girlfriend to joke, "I'm confused -- is that your last issue?"

You can smell the raw panic and desperation, can't you?

Anyway, I checked the mail this morning and, believe it or not, there was a new issue of the Walrus. Like a girl with low self-esteem, whose ultimatum regarding the relationship has gone unheeded by her insensitive boyfriend, she is still putting out.

For the record, I do not plan to resubscribe.

How About Deep Background?

This was a super-hilarious moment in a fantastic piece of journalism:

Tim — as in Russert, the inquisitive jackhammer host of “Meet the Press” — is a particular obsession of Matthews’s. Matthews craves Russert’s approval like that of an older brother. He is often solicitous. On the morning of the Cleveland debate, Matthews was standing in the lobby of the Ritz when Russert walked through, straight from a workout, wearing a sweat-drenched Buffalo Bills sweatshirt, long shorts and black rubber-soled shoes with tube socks. “Here he is; here he is, the man,” Matthews said to Russert, who smiled and chatted for a few minutes before returning to his room. (An MSNBC spokesman, Jeremy Gaines, tried, after the fact, to declare Russert’s outfit “off the record.”)

(link).

Thanks Joe!

Feedback from a Bigge Idea reader:

From: joe clark
Subject: Links on your blog
Date: April 3, 2008 3:05:00 PM EDT (CA)
To: ryan bigge

I know you aren't really a Web person, but you should learn that hyperlinks on Web pages are not and should never be given as (link).
--

Joe Clark | joeclark@joeclark.org
Accessibility http://joeclark.org/access/
Expect criticism if you top-post

Joe is quite right. BoingBoing, for example, one of the world's most popular blogs, doesn't use brackets around the word (link). I'll be sure to change that ASAP.

Richard Florida Is Two Cents Shy of 170K Per Year

The good Doctor Florida earns $169,999.98. About what I estimated before the figures were released. You can read all about it right here: (link).

Keep in mind that he earns additional monies on top of that from his books, his speaking fees, his column in the Globe and Mail, and other revenue streams I can only imagine. I'd estimate about $250K per year, if not much more. And it's not like he's grinding his fingers to the bone doing much actual teaching for that $170K.

I hope he's worth it, U of T. I certainly don't think so.

For a list of gurus, including Florida, see this (link).

Oh Ibi

I've never met Ibi Kaslik, but based on her alt-weekly cover model career (see below), she strikes me as someone who poses first and thinks later. The Hour cover has her bra poking through (honestly, will that make anyone buy her book?), and her eye weekly cover is, at least to my eyes, less than thought through.

I realize that an author receiving this kind of publicity is a rare and beautiful thing, but I'm not entirely sure that either cover reinforces her stature as an author. I'm not trying to a be a fusty, musty old grump here. I just feel like Ibi could exploit herself in a slightly more interesting fashion. Unbuttoning your shirt and pretending to be a rock and roll rebel are tired cliches at the best of times. That these images have little to nothing to do with Ibi's abilities as an author is even worse.

I can't wait for 9th Wave Feminism to arrive and solve these and other problems.

Sidebar to Woman's World

Space, always at a premium. My article in today's Star about Graham Rawle's book Woman's World was to include the following sidebar, but was cut for space:

TO MAKE A DADAIST POEM
Take a newspaper.
Take some scissors.
Choose from this paper an article of the length you want to make your poem.
Cut out the article.
Next carefully cut out each of the words that makes up this article and put them all in a bag.
Shake Gently.
Next take out each cutting one after the other.
Copy conscientiously in the order in which they left the bag.
The poem will resemble you.
And there you are—an infinitely original author of charming sensibility, even though unappreciated by the vulgar herd.

by TRISTAN TZARA, from 'Dada Manifesto on Free Love and Bitter Love', (c1920)

My article can be found here (link).

Everything Hits At Once

Semi-random thoughts:

* Episode nine of jPod was really quite bad. Episode ten was really quite good. As you may have heard, the show is cancelled, so my opinion is essentially meaningless, but there you are. Inconsistency was but one of many problems with the show.

* I was ill last week, with that cough-cold-fever thing all the kids are talking about. I watched a lot of TV, including season one of Mad Men. I started watching Mad Men when it first aired, but stopped after two episodes. I was encouraged by many people whose opinion I respect to give the show another chance. So I watched all 13 episodes this week. I’m still not convinced it’s a great show. It moves too s-l-o-w-l-y for me. I love the set, I love the scene at PJ Clarke’s, I love the re-creation of 1960, but sometimes that’s all there is. John Hamm (Don Draper) is a great actor, but I need more than that. Pete Campbell is a bit too repellant for my taste. There is a great essay to be written about the higher risk tolerance in 1960 (smoking, drinking and driving, child-rearing, etc) but I won’t keep watching the show. Especially after the (spoiler alert) audience-abusing final episode, where it’s revealed that Peggy is (unbeknownst to her) pregnant and about to give birth. Sorry, but no. Perhaps if the show was set in 1860, I might believe that particular twist. But no dice otherwise. (By the way, for a show that prides itself on historical accuracy, I caught a real doozy in episode six, where the redhead secretary says “You know what they say, the medium is the message.” McLuhan’s book Understanding Media, in which he coins that phrase, didn’t hit shelves until 1964.)

* Season Three of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia contained some of the finest moments of the show to date. The final few episodes lose a bit of the magic, but I can’t say enough about the character of Charlie in that show. He provides many moments of pure laughter and enjoyment, including his Night Man / Day Man song cycle. There’s less Danny Devito in season three, which makes for a better show.

* There are some big-time, scary-weirdo losers in the King of Kong documentary. We’re talking Crumb documentary here.

* Part of me, the nasty and venal and petty part of me, wants to be jealous and dismissive about a certain poet of the unconscious. (link). But I realize such thoughts are wrong. And I admit it’s a neat idea, worthy of a bit of attention. Obviously I’m biased, but I still can’t believe it made it into the Talk of the Town in the New Yorker. Still, should be a nice boost for Heti’s new book, entitled “How Should a Person Be?" I’m eager to learn more about her new book, but when I went to Anne McDermid’s website recently, I noticed something curious – Heti is no longer listed there. I no longer pretend to be even remotely in the loop anymore, but I do read Quill and Quire each month, and this seems like a semi-big deal. Curious.

* The Globe and Mail actual printed something critical about Richard Florida in their book review section today. I groaned when I saw that his book had received the front cover of the books section, but smiled somewhat to see that the reviewer didn’t like everything about it. I’m not quite sure why the Globe is fellating Florida to such an unprecedented degree. All I know is that it’s embarrassing.

* Finally, Hal N. is working on a new book about peep culture. (link). There is also going to be a corresponding documentary as part of the project. I’m of the impression that a small-to-medium amount of Hal goes a long way. I’m sure I’ll also be proved wrong on this too.

Maybe The Streets of Brooklyn Aren't Paved With Paragraphs After All

Funny essay about the literary myths of Brooklyn by Colson Whitehead. (link)

If The Devil is Six, Then Coupland is (Episode) Seven

During the final few minutes of episode seven of jPod, there he was, the man himself, dead in an elevator. The dead Coupland appeared in Cowboy's cough-syrup induced hallucination / dream sequence, a Twin Peaks moment for Cowboy and a Hitchcock moment for Coupland fans. He was not in the frame for very long, but I imagine that he might reappear in episode nine or ten, if the show decides to stay true to the novel. Wait and see, same autoexec.bat time, same autoexec.bat channel.

The episode itself was solid, albeit with a few minor bugs and glitches. But there was a hilarious, hilarious scene with Carol on a swing, pretending to sing the praises of an open relationship. There was also a well-above-average moment, earlier in the episode, with a cop investigating boss Steven's disappearance.

As for my jPod spec script, I'm starting on my treatment, which is basically the script without dialogue. (Although apparently a treatment could have some dialogue). I should have a rough draft of the actual script finished for end of March.

Stay tuned.

Six Six Six Six Six Six

This was a really great article. (link). I love such predetermined writing constraints. Especially when it's done this well.

At Least I'm Clear on the Fact That I Haven't Saved the World

Within the past week, I purchased a pair of hand-sewn, organic, fairly-traded jeans. I'm not sure if this makes me a slightly better person, or a total douchebag.

Disco Six Six Six

I watched episode six of jPod a day or two ago. For the first time ever, I laughed out loud. Someone asks Steve’s son Conner what his favourite videogame is, to which he replies

Playing my mom against my dad.

Very sharp. Cowboy also had a fairly good triplet of crustacean, libation, penetration, although the line felt a little rushed and a touch forced.

I was excited when a reference was made to hot coffee, the x-rated mod for Grand Theft Auto. I was disappointed that this reference was then explained twice over the course of the episode. The problem here is that a pack of videogame coders wouldn’t have to explain what hot coffee was to each other. There must be another way to bring the audience up to speed – it’d be funny if they paused the action and told the home viewers to go Google “hot coffee” and “grand theft auto” while the rest of the jPoders stared at the screen and waited. Or they could not explain the reference much at all. (To the show’s credit, the GILF reference went unexplained.)

Klownsly, or whoever, made another appearance. I wasn’t super excited to see the clown character again, but there was a great scene near the end of the episode where Kaitlyn and the clown (they’re on-again-off-again boyfriend/girlfriend) talk about their shared dysfunctional bonds. It was a good moment, and it “sold” me on their relationship, something that has been missing, in general, in the show. Often times the audience is simply told the situation (Kaitlyn dropped out of school) without providing any convincing proof of a character trait or plot development.

Carol continues to be the best thing on the show by an order of magnitude. Her delivery is so crisp, so Swiss-like in its precision, you could use her to teach a class on comedy.

I think there should be a moratorium on homages to the Say Anything ghettoblaster scene. I laughed hard when George Bluth Sr. did it in Arrested Development, but I did not chuckle so much this time, even though Steve’s off-key singing was a good idea. (They also didn’t use the Peter Gabriel song In Your Eyes, for better or for worse.)

I find that the computer animation sequences are rarely as funny as the build-up to them would lead one to expect. I also find that the computer animation invariably involves a number of people having to watch it and react, which is like a laugh track, and almost as forced.

I was super-pumped to hear Sons of Freedom during some of the biker scenes. I bought the two best songs from their album Gump through iTunes yesterday (which will earn the band about 30 cents per track, I believe). I also downloaded their first album for free through their website (link). I’m not a music journalist or anything, but god-damn is The Criminal a good song. Ditto the songs Mona Lisa, You’re No Good, and Call Me. I saw Sons of Freedom live, at the Town Pump (if I’m not mistaken), many years ago, and it was tremendously f’n good. Hearing SOF me feel fond about Vancouver again.

That’s saying something.

jPod Episode Five Reviewed

At the risk of spoiling episode five of jPod: it was yuck. After achieving above-averageness in episode four, the show reverted back to what it does least well. Ridiculous plot twists that were unsatisfying and distracting, plus the usual tonal problems. The All-Tube click farm segments were pretty good, granted (All-Tube being a YouTube parody).

There was a moment when Carol (Ethan's mom) became frustrated at her dysfunctional family, and says, "Families are families and they're always messy." As I was watching this I nearly cried at the lost opportunity for her to say, "All families are psychotic." Which is, of course, the name of one of Coupland's books. Given that the first line in jPod the novel is: “Oh God. I feel like a refugee from a Douglas Coupland novel" this is the kind of meta-wink that might actually, you know, work.

On a side note, Ethan wears a Gama-Go t-shirt in this episode that I actually own. I bought it last March, for the record. Still, I felt somehow cheapened seeing it on TV.

The Problem With Music

Oh this album?
Haven't you heard this? Yeah, I've had it for a while now. I thought it was cool at first, but now I can see how derivative it is. But if you haven't even heard it, there's really no point in even discussing it, is there?

(link)

jPod Episode Four Much Better

What a difference! Not perfect, still tonnes of exposition through dialogue, but episode four of jPod was better than 1, 2 and 3 combined. I'm guessing the direction made a difference -- better angles, better shots, more close-ups. Acting was much better too. Script was better too. The animated sequences worked as well.

Even the clothing they were wearing looked better.

And Cowboy kept his chest hair hidden. That alone improved the show 15%.

Why wasn't episode one like that? Why???????????

Free Editing Advice, Part 9

Since I've been pooh-poohing the Walrus lately, I feel I should start by pointing out that the December 2007 issue, which I finally got around to reading last night, was actually not too bad. Megan Griffith-Greene's "Let's Get Lost" piece looked amazing, Randy Boyagoda's piece about a dough duplicate of himself was great, the piece on addiction was good (although I'm biased, as I took a course at SFU with Bruce Alexander), Noah Richler's feature appeared solid (I skimmed it, and I don't really like him, but it was well-written and well-researched), the memoir about a husband's heart attack by Marsha Barber was affecting and Timothy Taylor's piece on the weirdo book collection was compelling. Granted, Ken Alexander apparently dropped acid before writing his editor's note about Wal-Mart and Port Elgin, but that's his new journalism perogative.

All that said, I felt the Imaginings in the December 2007 issue could have been one page instead of two. In fact, as I neared the bottom of the first page, I was confused, as I thought it was building toward a conclusion, not another full page.

The first thing you’ll see is my edited version. After that, the original article, with the appropriate strikethroughs. (And before you ask, I have no real explanation for my compulsion for editing the Walrus, save for the fact that these edits take no real time on my part and appear, at least to me, necessary and obvious. Give an editor a pair of digital scissors, and he or she will see every problem as a set of loose threads in need of trimming. The danger of this blinkered and reductive view of the world can be summarized in the old German proverb “I cut it three times, and it’s still too short.”)

The Death of the PlayDate

Dear Unborn Child,

The other day, my yoga teacher was talking about reincarnation, and suddenly it occurred to me that you might be wondering why you haven’t been born yet — or, to be perfectly honest, why I’m not having you. I know it’s a little late to be telling you this, but if you’re half as brilliant as I always knew you’d be, you gave up on me many menstrual cycles ago. Still, I feel I owe you an explanation, especially since I’ve read that kids tend to blame themselves for their parents’ shortcomings. (See? It’s no picnic being a kid anyway.)

I want you to know that my decision not to have you is nothing personal (“It’s not you, it’s me”), but has to do with the fact that being a kid these days looks only slightly less depressing than being a parent. I blame it all on the word playdate. Like a screaming baby on an airplane, the word acts as an aural contraceptive for me. I remember the first time I heard it as clearly as I remember hearing about the cancellation of Arrested Development. Playdate has the ring of death to me — the death of hope, fun, freedom, and pretty much anything worth looking forward to. The greatest oxymoron since peace force, playdate exemplifies the BlackBerrying of childhood, and everything about modern parenting that has caused vasectomies and tubal ligation to feature prominently in my sexual fantasies.

It’s not as if there’s a grammatical rationale for playdate. It’s not easier to say “Tyler has a playdate at Zack’s house at five o’clock” than “Tyler’s going to play at Zack’s house at five o’clock.” The only reason for it, other than to infect children with parental misery, is to convey the concept of a playdate, which is every bit as un-fun, antiseptic, and counterintuitive as the word itself: a playdate is what happens when two “caregivers” (retch) make an appointment for their kids to play together (dry heave).

Why can’t kids make their own plans? Because kids can’t stand on their own front porches without a helmet anymore, let alone run (what if they fall? ) over to a friend’s house (which friend? is the house childproofed?) to play (with matches? guns? vibrators?) on a whim (a gateway instinct leading to full-blown independence). Letting a child go next door to hang out for a while? You might as well suggest they build a crystal meth lab in a pedophile’s attic and then sell what they don’t smoke to the Hells Angels. And if you, my unborn darling, aren’t already counting your lucky stars in whatever dimension you’re living in, get this: playdates aren’t just for children; for toddlers and “first playdates,” parents are expected to come along, too.

Nobody believes me, but I walked to and from my downtown Toronto nursery school on my own when I was two and a half years old. I know it’s true, because when I asked my mom about it recently, she became very defensive. “We lived on a dead-end street!” she cried. “The school was just around the corner!” I also have a vivid memory of running home alone crying after peeing in my leotards. At three, I already had my own group of friends and — except for school and mealtimes — we ran around delightfully free and unsupervised. We not only learned the laws of the jungle; we made up a few ourselves.

Okay, so once my parents found me and a boy from up the street under the porch with our pants down. Who knows — maybe it was my idea? The occasional hard lesson is a small price to pay for freedom, and a very effective way to learn; I haven’t been found unclothed under a porch in years.

But thanks to the current atmosfear surrounding children and childhood kids must be constantly supervised by adults, and (preferably) driven everywhere (preferably in a sturdy Land Rover). And in the unlikely event that you (let alone I) survive your childhood, you may then look forward to climate change, overpopulation, terrorism, pandemics, iPod people, religious fundamentalism, nuclear/religious Armageddon, human cloning, a more barbaric and increasingly patriarchal culture and, even worse, the music being played on mainstream radio. This is not to mention mommy blogs, thousand-dollar strollers, and pre-conception daycare registration.

Given all this, a more obnoxious person than your potential mother — surely there must be one? — might ask: do you have to be a stupid idiot to have children? The question, I think, is clearly rhetorical.

Love,
(How shall I sign this?)
Almost-Mom

-------------------------------

Dear Unborn Child,

The other day, my yoga teacher was talking about reincarnation, and suddenly it occurred to me that you might be wondering why you haven’t been born yet — or, to be perfectly honest, why I’m not having you. I know it’s a little late to be telling you this, but if you’re half as brilliant as I always knew you’d be, you gave up on me many menstrual cycles ago. Still, I feel I owe you an explanation, especially since I’ve read that kids tend to blame themselves for their parents’ shortcomings. (See? It’s no picnic being a kid anyway.)

I want you to know that my decision not to have you is nothing personal (“It’s not you, it’s me”), but has to do with the fact that being a kid these days looks only slightly less depressing than being a parent. I blame it all on the word playdate. Like a screaming baby on an airplane, the word acts as an aural contraceptive for me. I remember the first time I heard it as clearly as I remember hearing about the cancellation of Arrested Development (now, that was a show worth reincarnating — and reincarnating for). Playdate has the ring of death to me — the death of hope, fun, freedom, and pretty much anything worth looking forward to. The greatest oxymoron since peace force, playdate exemplifies the BlackBerrying of childhood, and everything about modern parenting that has caused vasectomies and tubal ligation to feature prominently in my sexual fantasies.

It’s not as if there’s a grammatical rationale for playdate. It’s not easier to say “Tyler has a playdate at Zack’s house at five o’clock” than “Tyler’s going to play at Zack’s house at five o’clock.” The only reason for it, other than to infect children with parental misery, is to convey the concept of a playdate, which is every bit as un-fun, antiseptic, and counterintuitive as the word itself: a playdate is what happens when two “caregivers” (retch) make an appointment for their kids to play together (dry heave).

Why can’t kids make their own plans? Because kids can’t stand on their own front porches without a helmet anymore, let alone run (what if they fall? ) over to a friend’s house (which friend? is the house childproofed?) to play (with matches? guns? vibrators?) on a whim (a gateway instinct leading to full-blown independence). Letting a child go next door to hang out for a while? You might as well suggest they build a crystal meth lab in a pedophile’s attic and then sell what they don’t smoke to the Hells Angels. And if you, my unborn darling, aren’t already counting your lucky stars in whatever dimension you’re living in, get this: playdates aren’t just for children; for toddlers and “first playdates,” parents are expected to come along, too. (Now I understand the expression “I just threw up in my mouth.”)

Nobody believes me, but I walked to and from my downtown Toronto nursery school on my own when I was two and a half years old. I know it’s true, because when I asked my mom about it recently, she became very defensive. “We lived on a dead-end street!” she cried. “The school was just around the corner!” I also have a vivid memory of running home alone crying after peeing in my leotards. At three, I already had my own group of friends and — except for school and mealtimes — we ran around delightfully free and unsupervised. We not only learned the laws of the jungle; we made up a few ourselves.

Okay, so once my parents found me and a boy from up the street under the porch with our pants down. Who knows — maybe it was my idea? The occasional hard lesson is a small price to pay for freedom, and a very effective way to learn; I haven’t been found unclothed under a porch in years. And it sure beats the pants off a timed, fully supervised playdate, where bored parents with nothing in common beyond the belief in the natural supremacy of their own child scream, “Watch out!” “Use your inside voice!” and “Say thank you!” as they judge each other. (“Oh, thanks, but Amanda doesn’t eat ice cream. We’re trying to avoid diabetes.”)

Thanks to the current atmosfear surrounding children and childhood (a projection of the collective-unconscious guilt created by the financial infeasibility of stay-at-home parenting, which is the result of the prosperity gap — maybe we can talk about this another time? ), kids must be constantly supervised by adults, and (preferably) driven everywhere (preferably in a sturdy Land Rover). Babies are worse, of course. Giving birth is a yawn compared with the house of life-threatening horrors that is modern infancy. Every day, the media serves up another story to feed our paranoia — from the health risks of petting zoos (“Cute and cuddly — and loaded with E. coli!” ) to the selfish recklessness of sleeping with your baby (“Does Co-Sleeping Kill?”).

And [I]n the unlikely event that you (let alone I) survive your childhood, you may then look forward to climate change, overpopulation, terrorism, pandemics, iPod people, religious fundamentalism, nuclear/religious Armageddon, human cloning, a more barbaric and increasingly patriarchal culture (extremely religious people are reproducing faster than anyone else), and, even worse, the music being played on mainstream radio. This is not to mention mommy blogs, thousand-dollar strollers, and pre-conception daycare registration.

Given all this, a more obnoxious person than your potential mother — surely there must be one? — might ask: do you have to be a stupid idiot to have children?

But if you do get this message, please write back. I’d love to hear where you are, what you’ve been up to — the whole shebang.

Love,
(How shall I sign this?)
Almost-Mom


POSTED ON MYSOUL.COM: 01/09/07

Dear Almost-Mom,

Thanks for your letter. No hard feelings about your decision not to have me (not sure I get the whole playdate thing, but I’m glad you got it off your chest). Don’t forget, I chose you. I take full responsibility for my decision and am ready to move on.

Best wishes,
Almost-Child

POSTED ON MYSOUL.COM: 05/09/07

Dear Almost-Child,

That’s it? Four sentences? Still, you can’t imagine how thrilled your almost-mother was to receive your message! Hearing from you instantly changed my mind: I’ve decided to have you after all. I’ve moved to Montreal, where, thanks to subsidized daycare and ever-increasing federal transfer payments, I can make a better living as an unemployed mother than I could working full time in Toronto. (Vive le séparatisme!) I’m currently searching for an appropriate father/sperm donor and have already frozen enough eggs to hatch a whole Brady Bunch — and Alice! So please don’t move on — stay tuned for further instructions as to when to get your ethereal ass down here.

XXXOOOXXXOOO,
Future-Mom/Mère-de-l’avenir

PS: I’ve set up a webcam here. Is that possible in your realm? I’m dying to lay eyes on you. By the way, my hair isn’t usually this dark. I’m seeing my colourist next week.

POSTED ON MYSOUL.COM: 15/09/07

Dear Almost-Mom,

Sorry, but it’s too late. I just accepted another offer — one I couldn’t refuse. To make a long story short, I managed to negotiate a guaranteed adoption by a major celebrity within ten days of birth (I’m hoping for Angelina, as Madonna and Mia are old enough to be my grandmothers). It’s nothing personal — who could say no to that lifestyle? I just hope I’m photogenic.

Good luck finding another candidate.

Womb wishes,
Almost-Child

PS: A bit of advice: enough with the TV references. Nobody under twenty watches TV anymore.

Instead of Simply Complaining, I’m Going to Try And Fix the Problem

I’ve always thought/hoped that Douglas Coupland’s work would translate well to television or film. Zany characters, unbelievable plots – what could be more perfect for the screen, big or small?

And so I watched episode one of jPod with some measure of excitement.

It’s difficult to convey how bad it was. Ditto episode two, and three, although to be fair, a few bright spots here and there.

As Dead Things on Sticks pointed out, the show should be half-hour, not an hour. I remember getting to the mid-way point of episode one and thinking “there’s *more* of this left to endure?”

Here, in brief, are a few things that are wrong:

* The basement cubicle set is hideous. It’s visually repellant, actually. Coupland is a furniture designer and artist. I realize he isn’t a set designer, and I acknowledge Canadian television shows have tiny budgets. But still. It’s gross down there.

* The show hasn’t figured out a style or tone, either visually or comedically. It’s sorta like Ugly Betty, except nowhere near as sharp or snappy. (And I don’t even like Ugly Betty.) jPod often features very broad comedy (i.e. episode two, Bree and the UK vice-president) combined with an attempt at being edgy, profane or downright nasty (Cowboy’s sister and the remote control vibrator). It’s like your mom telling that joke from the Aristocrats – it doesn’t work. The show will never have a mass audience, so it should be shooting for 30 Rock territory (clever, fast, a bit insidery), although how you sustain the pace of 30 Rock over 44 minutes is not clear to me.

* Re: above. The pacing of the show is very wrong, although part of the problem is the hour-format. There’s 30 minutes stretched across 44 minutes.

* Cowboy (Ben Ayres) is trying to be Job from Arrested Development. It’s not working.

* Bree (Steph Song) has no clue what she’s supposed to be doing.

* Kaitlin (Emilie Ullerup) doesn’t yet have a clearly defined character either, and also seems to drift around the show. And I hesitate to guess how long the romance between Ethan and Kaitlin will be dragged out (a la The Office???) before it’s consummated. Unlike the Office, their chemistry is wonky.

* Steve (Colin Cunningham) can clearly do physical comedy, but the show’s directors need to realize they’ll get more laughs the less grotesque he is. His spasmodic freakout in episode one was painful to watch.

* Alan Thicke is not the show’s selling point. Once you get past the realization that Alan Thicke is not being a nice guy, you are forced to admit that he isn’t helping the show much. (See, for example, the unwatchable Nazi dance sequence in episode 2).

* Kam Fong is a strong character in the novel, but not so much on the show. I realize that translating a novel into a television show will never please everybody, but his weak-ish characterization goes toward the style and tone issue.

Here are the bright spots:

* Sherry Miller, playing Ethan’s mom, is brilliant. You can give her garbage lines, and she’ll make them sound as funny as possible. And she can act the pants off everyone else on that show. I had to use imdb before I remembered she was on The Newsroom.

* Ethan (David Kopp) has a tonne of potential. (Actually, ton, as he hates the metric system.) But the scripts aren’t giving him any help. You can see him trying, but occasionally even he gives up.

* I have a sense that John Doe (Torrance Coombs) has deep reserves of hidden talent. His creepy eyes suggest that a shipping container full of darkness lurks behind his shaggy haircut. Again, he just needs something to work with.

So, why have I told you all this? What is the point of my carping and mild praise?

I’m glad you asked. Last week I began an eight-week course in writing episodic television. As part of the course, I will have to produce a spec script. So I’m going to write a spec script for jPod. This will do two things:

* demonstrate to me that writing for television is no doubt incredibly difficult

* make me part of the solution, not part of the problem

I read on Dead Things on Sticks (link) that episode 7 and 8 are really funny. Of course, by then it’s too late – the audience for the show, which is already starting to flatline, is never going to return. And why should they?

Still, I think it will be fun to try and write a spec script for a show I don’t like, and in doing so address the shortcomings of the show, rather than writing a script for something super popular. It’s probably the exact wrong way to approach the TV writing business, but I certainly don't care.

What You Missed in 2007

I just realized I did drafts of four blog postings last year that I never published. They are as follows:

* (Editing suggestions for the Walrus)

* (Trend spotting problems)

* (Sara Angel ‘leaves’ Chatelaine)

* (More Walrus editing suggestions)

What I Think About Some Things

Over the next few months, until the middle of April, I plan to blog about books I'm reading. I'm trying to finish my first novel, and as part of my fiction regime, I'm reading a lot of fiction. My entries will be short, and will be designed mainly to warn you away from, or steer you toward certain books.

* Middlesex. Way too long. Bursting with meticulous research on every goddamn page. I had to skim. Incredible writing, but the family saga wore me down.

* Absurdistan. Really good, but not mind-blowingly so. I'm going to read his first book (Russian Debutante's) and compare the two. Seems as though Shteyngart realized, two-thirds of the way through the novel, that he needed something to happen. I wasn't entirely taken with the last third or quarter of the novel -- the energy and momentum started to seep away. Still, an amazing writer, very funny, and worth checking out. [See also this assessment by the brainmachines at N + 1 magazine: (link)]

* Atonement. (spoiler alert). I really like that the first part of the book is longer and more uber-polished than the other parts, because near the end of the novel, Briony explains that she's spent 40 years (or so) writing the first part of the book. The rest of the book exists to allow for the Life of Pi like ending, which I have to say I was a little disappointed with. Not a must-read, but really good nonetheless.

* Lucky Jim. A little slow at times, and too much description of facial expressions. You know when you're watching a film from the 1950s and think to yourself: this story could be told so much faster because today's audiences are more visually literate and able to process narrative leaps and omissions more effectively? I felt the same way about Lucky Jim. I realize this is heresy, but it needs to be said. Plenty of funny stuff in the book, and worth reading to compare against those who are influenced by Amis, such as Russell Smith.

* The Crying of Lot 49. I couldn't get through it. Not even close. I realize this makes me a philistine.

That's it for now. More soon.

An Idea So Good It’s Worth Repeating

There are a limited number of great ideas out there, so I have sympathy for anyone in a profession that constantly has to crank it out. However, I would like to point out that the Globe’s new marketing campaign feels a little borrowed. Not stolen, exactly, but, well … here is a clipping from the Globe’s press release:

Globe and Mail Breaks New Marketing Campaign
Toronto – January 21, 2008 – The Globe and Mail today launched a new marketing campaign featuring striking graphic image advertising and unique installations in prominent public sites in Toronto and Vancouver.

The advertising runs with the tag line “Imagine Where The Globe Can Take You” and features singular images of items such as a green apple, a chicken, and a glass of water. Surrounding the items are potential headlines from various parts of The Globe and Mail. *For example, the headlines around the apple include Report on Business: “One millionth iPhone sold”, Globe Focus: “Adam and Eve Versus Darwin”, and “Globe Life Style: The ultimate apple cobbler recipe.”*

(emphasis added)

Basically, the same item generates three very different perspectives. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that resembles York University’s long-running and award-winning marketing campaign:

Weist Magazine

I received the March 2008 issue of the Walrus in the mail the other day. The cover is not very pleasing to the eye. The main image (cork into a bottle) is fine, but they decided to run a narrow strip along the right-hand side listing the main articles in the magazine. This, along with two large cutlines on the top and bottom of the image make for a incredibly busy and rather ugly cover. The Walrus usually features very good covers, or at least covers that are light on text and give the image prominence. I notice, for example, that the Walrus is now offering to sell reproductions of their cover art, which makes me wonder why the current cover looks so awful. As a subscriber, don’t punish me with cutlines – the magazine is already in my house, which means I’m going to read it.

Inside, however, is where the real typographical crimes are committed. Their Field Notes section, which used to be a two column affair, is now three columns (this change may have occurred a few issues back, I don’t pay that close attention). This means, unfortunately, that one of the best things about field notes (the little tidbits and illustrations that occupied the left edge of each page) have no room to breathe. The tidbits column is now so narrow that it can barely fit three words across. Incapacitated, for example, gets hyphenated to

in-
capacitated

There tended to be a smart, light tone to those tidbits, which I fear will be impossible to maintain now that they’re crammed into the column equivalent of a 150-square foot apartment. The magazine seems to have an unerring ability to remove anything remotely good and replace it with something much worse.

My other comment about the current issue is a more of an overall observation. The Walrus is turning into Geist magazine. This is not an insult (I just started subscribing to Geist again, as part of the buy two, get one subscription free through Magazines Canada) as much as a comment about their target demographic. If I were, for example, to point out that Teen Vogue doesn’t much appeal to me, that would elicit a “duh.” And in the same way, The Walrus is designed, edited and written for a 40 or 50-something CBC listener who owns, or has owned, a Volvo. This may one day describe me perfectly, so if the Walrus survives for another 10 years, I’ll be happy to resubscribe at that time. But for now, I’m none of those things. Consequently, I find it difficult to get much out of the magazine. The New York Times Magazine, as I’ve probably said before, manages to invite a wider range of readers, as does the New Yorker.

My main proof for the Geist-Walrus morph (hence the Weist headline) are the series of illustrations and captions by Charles Checketts in the March 2008 issue. Spread across the magazine, Checketts has drawn a variety of Canadian Celebrities (Eugene Levy, Strombo, Sandra Oh) with captions that 50-year old people will find hilarious. (Sample: “Alex Trebek collects his tears in a Tabasco bottle. He then sells said tears as a magical elixir, which, for all intents and purposes, it is.”) This is not so much unfunny (OK, it’s unfunny as hell, but I’m trying to be nice) as only-funny-for-people-of-a-certain-age. I’m not asking for Wonder Showzen here. But Geist already does this sort of thing – why duplicate it? Checketts’s drawerings don’t irritate me, so much as let me know, in huge, flashing, blinking lights that I should put the Walrus in the recycling bin, because its overall sensibility is not remotely close to my own.

P.S. The full page ad for Sunday Night at the Opera, from 96.3 FM, featuring Alexa Petrenko with a horrible Viking hat and a strained smile that will give children nightmares for weeks, only serves to confirm my suspicions that the Walrus, like the CBC, is built for people much older than myself.

One More Underperformer

I couldn’t remember the name of the Alphasmart computers (Neo and Dana), which I would have liked to mention in last week’s Star article about the OLPC, aka the $188 laptop, aka the XO. (alphasmart link) (Star link)

As well, due to space, two paragraphs of criticism (as voiced by others) were cut. I’ve included the omitted material below, along with the paragraph above and below the cuts, making a tidy little sandwich, for anyone who desperately wants the unedited version…

Since being announced in January 2005, the OLPC project has endured a series of setbacks, including, most significantly, an inability to meet its target price of $100. Although a $188 laptop is still pretty incredible (a price achieved through economies of scale, a Linux operating system, and a non-Intel processor), the long delay between announcement and actualization has meant that the OLPC has endured a cycle of initial rumour, buzz, praise, excitement, creeping doubt, severe skepticism and backlash – all before anyone had actually seen, touched or road-tested one of the damn things.

Cyrus Farivar, writing in a September 24, 2007 Slate article, asked, “What good is a laptop in the middle of rural Thailand when electricity, much less Internet access, are spotty at best? Rather than getting laptops into the hands of every schoolchild across the world, why not start with an intermediate step? Probably because One Blackboard per Child or One Teacher per Classroom just doesn't sound as sexy.”

Meanwhile, designer and BusinessWeek blogger Bruce Nussbaum declared the XO a failure in September of last year because it “was, almost in every way, a traditional top down product development, that involved the rural children in India, Africa and China only in the late stage.” Elaborating further in the comments section of his blog, he wrote, “Unless there is a universal design thing going on, the idea that rich, urban American kids and poor, rural Indian kids will want to access the net and learn from the same computer is wrong-headed and naive.”

An 88-per-cent cost overrun is not something to be ignored or easily forgiven, especially since it means that governments in developing countries have to pay more to receive fewer laptops. Still, I'll begin my defense of the XO by pointing out that it's so cute. With a pair of green Wi-Fi antennae, an elegant built-in handle and a nifty circle-and-x child icon, who could resist giving this little green computer bug a hug?