Archive for February, 2009

The Opinion Of The Masses

…Oh, hi there.

Say, Bloggers, I wonder if you could help me out.  I have a friend who’s a collector, and he writes via (sloppy) email:

“I have found a few things that i have NO idea about. Stacks of “captain marvel comics” and other things. I can find no reference to these damn things anywhere i look…only captain marvel adventures and other titles. These are 2nd and 3rd printings dated 1944 and basically 1-10 or something like that. They are printed on non glossy,pulp style paper and seem clearly printed in canada.

There is another one in the same style called three aces…i cant even find a mention of this comic anywhere yet it is a golden age superhero book….sign me…confused.”

Can you help out my friend here?  I thought I’d just put it right out to you guys right away…his Dad was into collecting comics way back when, he’s got a ton of old comics I never heard of before…and probably some he’s never heard of either.

Any assistance appreciated!

…And in other blogging news, I am hard at work on a post that I hope will provide a payoff to just about everything I’ve written since “The Reader As Superposition”.

It’s my review of “The Dark Knight”.

So look for me where the roads cross!  And thanks in advance.

Exit Strategy: Panel Madness Day Nine (Or Is That Ten?)

Well, and so here we all are, folks! The end of Panel Madness. If you’ve got a moment you might like to click backwards one step to MarkAndrew, in order to view all the images presented thus far…

Interesting, aren’t they? Someone, somewhere along the line, called me a curator of this little movable online gallery, and I can’t say I dislike the implication…except it isn’t really 100% deserved, of course. After all I’m not the one who chose these images, or what to read in them, how to respond to them…so I can hardly take the credit for how they now seem (at least in my mind) to exhibit a certain wobbly thematic through-line. The Self and the World are always in context with one another, like it or not, one way or another…but that context can be tricky, and sometimes it turns out that you aren’t who you thought you were, or what others thought you were…or others were not who you thought they were.

Or the World itself is not.

I had intended to wrap up this little project with a special second effort of my own…a panel that positively enthralls me, that some of you may have seen before. Wanna see it again?

It’s a nifty one, I think: a panel that even a casual observer can probably tell is composed entirely of drawn elements — the sound effects and the word balloon, even the letters within are artistic composition. We talk a lot about how the words and the pictures match in comics, but always with the understanding that the words are from “outside”, not inside…

But not so, in this case. Here I better Scott McLeod: those aren’t words at all, not letters…they are DRAWINGS of words and letters. Ceci n’est pas un average everyday block of text, if you like: because since there is nothing in this picture that comes from “outside”, it’s mostly text by convenience. Cap’s orange jacket speaks volumes in the same way the sound effects do — it is the same effect. The words draw our starry-eyed teenager out of the mass of goggling faces behind her in the same way her clasped hands and delighted squinty smile do…not to mention Cap’s impatiently-folded arms. All is integral, because all is invented: like Whistler’s Mother, if you like.

Because in the end, context isn’t everything. At least, not the context that comes exclusively in from external sources to frame the work; the work creates context too, and pushes it outward into the wider world. Organisms are part of their environment too, as I am always reminding the very cleverest of my friends; and sometimes context begins at the ass-end of action, with the implications of things not yet glimpsed in whole.

Sort of the point of the whole thing, there.

And thus, with the “drawn-ness” of the panel above, I wanted to make a link to the fine art of calligraphy in Japan, an art simultaneously representational and non-representational…”or look at Pogo!” I intended to say. “Or even Cerebus!” If you want to see how lettering is not always just “lettering”…if you want to see how, indeed, all the arrangements of time, space, colour and line in our beloved panels are of a piece, and the piece’s seeming is all artful construction, and not “real”…though not not-real either. How do we see, how are we made to see…the context of our context, the context so often overlooked, because it is sourced in unfamiliar ground. And essentially that was to be my point, that this panel — this hilarious panel! — though it looks like it’s not much, is a great example of the joie de vivre of the cartoonist’s art, that plays with the arrangements meeting our eye in order to do something unanticipated to the reading process, something that at once challenges what it supports, and dares us to see it, all in the name of play.

Well, that was to be my point…

But now I find that, as much as I love that panel…there’s a better way to make that point. Looking back over the panels flung up by David, the Keeper, Derik, Sean, Tucker, Dan, Harvey, and MarkAndrew…

My Captain Marvel panel doesn’t quite fit so well anymore.

Instead, this one does: Continue reading ‘Exit Strategy: Panel Madness Day Nine (Or Is That Ten?)’

Panel Madness Day Seven-Point-Five

(spits out drink)

What, me? But Dan, I thought you were going to hand off to…

(notices audience; freezes; regains composure)

No matter; I am of course prepared for any and all eventualities. You’re ferpectly right! So without disrupting the schedule ordinaire, let’s nonetheless seize on this serendipitous submission I just received from out of the aether, courtesy of our old pal Harvey JerkwaterContinue reading ‘Panel Madness Day Seven-Point-Five’

Pop Magic Meditation

No, seriously: I’ve been trying it out.

It’s a variation on the old “pretend you’re seeing the world from behind, not from in front” thing…you’re seeing the back of the trees, the back of the Moon, the back of the Sun…the back of everything but other people. Essentially, you’re backstage at the World.

That one’s good.

This one’s good too, though: imagine every object has a message for you: is trying to tell you something. What is it?

Some very interesting things arise from this.

One is that it works really, really well in urban environments. It works well in natural environments too, but there you don’t need it so much: because there it’s already quite apparent that everything is trying to tell you something. But what it does in urban environments is a bit different, it reminds you that there’s no such thing as an environment which is not the natural environment…

Which is quite a big deal.

But then: two. It’s very hard to maintain, in an urban environment. At least, that’s what I find. The urban environment, after all, is extraordinarily demanding of attention — any of us, were we not to keep our wits about us, could die in an intersection, die crossing the street, at any time, and my God what a load of freight those words carry! To die in an intersection. Yeah. That would be some heavy shit. And yet where else is it, that people die?

So, you can try it, but it’s hard to try it whole-mindedly. Which calls back to what Matthew said about this blog, which is that it has a definite interest in talking about “natural” time, the time spent out in Nature. Where by comparison with a city, almost nothing is likely to kill you, even if you don’t know the rules. Mind you, what you don’t know will occasionally kill you stone dead, there. Don’t know what’s safe to eat, don’t know how to swim, don’t know how to make a fire or tie a knot. BANG! You’re dead as a doornail. But in the cities and the towns, things are far more extreme, though less focussed…and that’s part of the malaise that comes along with cities and towns, as great as they are. In the great outdoors, it’s you who kills you. In the cities, it’s always someone else who does it.

But then again…that’s part of what makes the meditation so damn invigorating. If you do it for more than thirty seconds at a time, it’s your life you’re risking. So you can catch just these fleeting glimpses through Jack Frost’s eyes. You have to stop, then start again. Because it’s hard to wander the streets aimlessly…an urban environment always calls upon you for some deliberate action or other. It is, as Buber would perhaps say, the very arena in which the “I-It” relation is most regularly played out, the very space in which “space” is most regularly taken away from us by the nature of interactivity. But this is Buber as well: it’s a great space for reclaiming the “I-Thou” relationship, too, and for that very reason.

So, in my estimation…no, Morrison’s not crazy. At least, not about this.

My friend’s still sick. “Gravely ill”, is I believe the technical term for it. I am getting more okay with it though, as strange as that sounds. Well, it is not that strange: she is also “getting more okay with it.” And she’s a very wise woman, you know: she’s decided that at this extreme raw-bitten end of life, for as long as she can do it, what’s most important is not trying to amplify her comfort, but trying to preserve her agency. And as long as she does that, she lives still.

Well, and she still lives; and as I think I said before, that’s a great blessing. She’s still making stories about herself. I don’t have to start reallocating the room in my brain I use to think about her yet. It’s the old “eternity in a grain of sand” thing, I suppose.

Of course, around here grains of sand are somewhat scarce.

And that’s why I’m happy to be able to see it in buses and power lines and Chinese groceries instead. From time to time. When I’m not busy crossing the street.

So, y’know…thanks, Grant. That’s been helpful. It’s a good trick. In fact I recommend it to anyone, and everyone. One learns to capture the same feeling of bumping up against the sublime that one gets from watching a sunset, only in streetsigns and buckets of oranges and brick buildings and piles of soggy cigarette butts left over from the snowfall. Banana peels.  Swallows and poplars.  Big rectangles against the evening sky, with Venus peeping out around their corners.  In essence, this is yoga for the limbic system. And as my friend Jack said, the one ineradicable benefit of yoga is that you learn several positions in which it is comfortable for you to sit for a long period of time. And of course, that ain’t hay.

In fact that’s mighty far from being hay.

Also, it’s free.

I may have more to say about it later on.  In the meantime:  well, there are a lot worse diversions you could be engaged in.

Sometimes It’s The Fans Who Jump The Shark

Poor Joss Whedon!

From the way they talk about him, you’d think he was Brian Wilson: already gone through a lengthy period in bed. Past it; lost it. Never be the same again.

But I don’t think that’s true.

Let’s talk about Dollhouse, his latest television effort…that seems to have produced uniform head-shaking all across this world of blogs. Now let it be known: I don’t think anyone’s accurately identified any of the problems that this show has, and I’m not even sure they’re problems, exactly exactly…because they’re what’s keeping me watching.

To go through it: there are things about this show that are glaringly and disturbingly not-quite-right. But none of them are to do with the question “why wouldn’t you just hire a real person instead of a fake one?” This, at least, seems straightforward: a fake person comes with a guarantee. You’re paying for the mind-control, not the brand-name. You’re paying for the expert-system, the anonymity, the security, the rapid response. You’re paying for an untraceable gun, at the end of a two-minute phone call.

In fact the only thing that doesn’t make sense about this is that you could pay for it. Consider: billionaires buy lots of things we mere mortals would think of as, well, not even proper products. The FBI guy (more on him in a minute) is quite right, if — unfortunately — not actually convincing: people like this operate in areas of commerce centred not on need but on novelty. They buy shit that doesn’t make sense, all the time. Apologies to Charlie Stross, but this is the real Economics 2.0; if you’re not in it, you’re not going to understand it.

Mind-control. To you and me, it’d be just about worthless. We don’t need it; we wouldn’t want it.

But to some in this world, it would be of very great utility.

Only one problem.

There ought to be no way on earth for them to get it.

Here’s the first and most glaring problem with the SF set-up of this show: this is an organization to which large dollar-figures mean next-to-nothing. This is an organization that has back-up satellites. Back-up satellites that are just a small part of their humongously super-high-tech operation that issues kill-orders on billionaires as Option “C”, instead of Option “Are You Fucking Joking Me”, this is an organization that runs a mind-control farm…and not just any (!) mind-control farm, but one that supplies, not just programmable soldiers, but one-time-only weekend hooker excursions for the ultra-rich

And that, if you think about it for a minute, is just not possible.

Even the way this show is set up: not possible.

NOT. POSSIBLE.

Unless there’s something really really really important, that we don’t know yet.

There would have to be: the people who “volunteer” to be Actives may choose it, but the Actives themselves cannot choose it, and thus they are actually, in actual fact, incontrovertibly, SLAVES

And do you see our friend Paul signing up for that?

Look, let’s be real: this is a Joss Whedon show. This guy has a backstory. Every one of these people has a backstory. For fuck’s sake look at how obviously damaged they all are, all the handlers and technicians. But it cannot just be the damage that makes them work for this joint, unless Joss really is Brian Wilson. There must be something else in play.

Weekend mind-controlled hookers at a billion a pop?

Let’s just be fair to Joss: he does in fact know how to write a science-fiction drama in the old-school style. And in the old-school style what we would have is a client of the Dollhouse that leverages them into providing him with submissive weekend sex toys, even though that’s not what the science is for, and he would be the villain, he would be doing shit to them while he has them, he would be fucking dangerous, and he would be their problem. But, that isn’t what’s happening here.

These people have satellites they can spare.

And, what would you use mind-control for?

And, how could mind-control like this even be developed? How could the Dollhouse even start operating, in the first place?

Who would ever program a person to be a compliant adorer one day, and a brutally precise killer the next? It’s asking for trouble, right. And remember, these skill-sets don’t fall on the Dollhouse out of a clear blue sky, they have to be made…and it probably costs a hundred million dollars to make each one. And how they can even make them is a whole other story.

With respect: you folks are not really seeing the flaws, here. Whedon gave it to you, in this second episode: there’s a hell of a lot of physical plant involved in this bullshit. These people are beyond the billionaires. Does Richard Branson have spare satellites? This league is out of this league. There are inconsistencies here, and they’re the kind you can fall into. They’re crevasses.

The billion-dollar brothel. But you only get one shot. Oh and by the way sometimes we program them with extreme assassin skills. Come on, everybody. What you’d order up would be a tax lawyer, not a perfect girlfriend or a perfect assassin, and you would want the tax lawyer to be on long-term contract, and for that matter if you ordered up the perfect girlfriend you’d want that to be long-term too! None of these things are new SF tropes. This has all been done before.

None of it makes sense.

That’s problem number one: these problems aren’t problems. They’re deliberate challenges.

Let’s look at the FBI guy. Who the hell is this guy? How is he even permitted to work on the Dollhouse? They have satellites…how do you think they launched them? You can’t hide a space-shot. This show is three or four things under its skin: it’s the X-Files, it’s Nikita, it’s The Questor Tapes — don’t think Joss hasn’t seen The Questor Tapes, because you know he has — and it’s Logan’s Run. Look at the Actives’ creche, look at the show’s main titles! It’s Logan’s Run.

And maybe, it’s a little bit of “In The Barn”, too.

Look that one up, if you’re not familiar with it.

Back?

Okay.

Nobody’s lying, by the way; nobody’s stupid. This is, indeed, a deeply problematic show. Forget the pop-culture references and the snappy banter, this is classic Whedonian dialogue and character work here. This is his Babylon 5, if you like. This is all groundwork. This is pretty much him pushing right out of his comfort zone. In my opinion. Hell, it must be so, or else he has lost it, lost it, lost it, LOST IT. This isn’t even about if you like Joss Whedon. This is about does he have a brain. Oh, and I forgot to mention: it’s also a bit of (dare to mention it) Jack L. Chalker, too.

Jack L. Chalker!

Now there was a conflicted dude! The William Moulton Marston of our time! Though I’m sure he would’ve rather been the Robert A. Heinlein. But he stole the Creepy Crown from Heinlein! Because Heinlein was Marston too. And now here comes Joss Whedon a-riffing. And who better.

At least: I hope so.

Seriously, don’t you want to know, aren’t you curious, just how fucked this is all going to get? Because surely — surely, surely — that’s exactly what it’s going to get.

Or Joss Whedon’s really drugged-up Brian Wilson, just like you all seem to think he is.

I don’t know: for its fucking extreme creepiness as well as its (at the moment) unlimited potential to surprise me, this is my favourite Whedon thing ever. The FBI guy is Alpha, I think, he just doesn’t know it. And there’s a reason the Dollhouse does the crazy things it does. The technology comes from somewhere. I dread finding out what Topher’s backstory is. Paul’s backstory I am sure involves shitloads of blood and guilt. I’m not sure the main security guy isn’t an Active himself, whose programming is subtly malfunctioning. We do not know what is happening in this show.

Or, it’s just crap, and there’s nothing to know.

But if it isn’t crap, then there’s a reason for the B+W kickboxing. There’s a reason for the Lasagna Girl. There’s a reason for Echo’s importance. There’s a reason for all of it.

If it isn’t just crap…then this is the comics story Whedon should have been writing, all this time.

Homework: Quarantine, by Greg Egan, which is another thing I think I can guarantee Joss has read.

And if I’m wrong about it all…well then I’ll post a picture of…what did Val D’Orazio say? A sad orangutan, or something?

I don’t think there are any sad orangutans. Just living ones, and dead ones.

It’s us who get sad.

Oh, Uh, I Mean…PANEL MADNESS WEEK BEGINS!!

Sorry about that.  It just occurred to me I shoulda made a bigger fuss.

Ahem, so…

HEAR YE, HEAR YE!  For your delectation, a week’s worth of brave blogging souls have lined up to do a post each day on some particular panel of comics art that grabs them, sways them, swings them around!  Plants a big sloppy one right on their kisser at the barn dance, when Pa ain’t lookin’.

Because we don’t talk about the art enough, damn it.

So follow along, link to link and page to page, and see what crazy lunatic panel-related thoughts my merry band has come up with!  My own humble beginning is located directly below this one…and I am Sunday, because I’m the man who made them all policemen.

David Allison is Monday.

But if you want to know who else is what Day, you’ll have to read along to find out!

Okay!

Christ, it’s almost Monday already!

See you all there.

The Edenic Fracture: Panel Madness Day One

Ah, the lowly panel. What with all our fantastic page layouts and meticulously-assembled stories in page-to-page transitions, we often seem to forget all about it, don’t we? And yet I will argue that all the fascination of comics storytelling begins in the pregnancy of the single panel, the single image: the time and space control that comics storytelling employs begins there, in (as this fellow notes, with a clarity that should shame those of us who talk about such things for…well, not a living, exactly…) the rising crescendo of deferred action, the world all foregrounded and all climactic, suspended and vibrating: the glimpse of the sublime that organizes our reading, and keeps us coming back for more. The moments of static motion and of sudden improbable silence, that give our reading many centres…many seedings.

And so welcome to the Panel Madness Week blogaround, of which this essay is the first installment. You can thank this exegesis of a single panel from V For Vendetta for the inspiration (hmm, and I do believe there were one or two more like it, as well…you might want to browse around)…

And go ahead, read that first one, if you haven’t already…

And so: the lowly panel.

But, what’s in a name? My fellow contributors have all selected panels, but single images of this “panel” storytelling type need not be looked for only inside the comic book: sometimes a cover is a story, too…

Hell, sometimes even a movie poster is a comics story!

Although at other times, quite plainly, it is not.

Pardon the links; this is not ordinarily a picture-oriented blog. I’m too lazy to get my shit together that way on a regular basis, I’m afraid; plus, I don’t have a scanner. But I’m about to make an exception to that usual method of posting, here, because I really do want you to see this one Steranko image (pilfered with gratitude from CSBG — thanks, Greg!), that’s been haunting me for a while, now. Probably because it’s a picture of where I grew up: Continue reading ‘The Edenic Fracture: Panel Madness Day One’

Too Many Notes

Okay, now this is getting ridiculous.  How long has it been this way?  Is it my imagination, or is it really, really, really getting worse?  I speak, of course, of Saturday Night Live’s creeping musical-break-ism…now I’m a mild-mannered fellow, honestly, and I understand that actors need time to change their wigs…but fucking seriously, this one was insane.

Like, just fill the extra time up with more commercials or something, PLEASE.  I’m begging you;  at least have the courtesy to give me NOT-SHOW, when you don’t have any show for me to watch.  This whole SNL interstitial music problem has been going on for decades now, but never before have I found myself wondering if…is it possible?

Am I primarily tuning in to watch that asshole with the saxophone?

I’m sure he’s a very nice guy.  Probably quite happy in his work.  But the G.E. Smith years were not as bad as this (!), simply put there is now FAR TOO MUCH BAND on this show.

Maybe for some reason tonight was exceptional?  Maybe they were just plain short on skit?  I don’t know, I could be wrong, but that was harsh.  Just harsh.  Those were all like thirty-second outros, that is a crazy amount of time to have to deal with someone “jamming” on my TV set.  Most unpleasant.

In other news, because of my pissed-off-ness with the horrific mental torture that listening to this crap is like for me, THE START OF PANEL MADNESS WEEK IS DELAYED UNTIL TOMORROW AFTERNOON, when hopefully I will not want to wrap that goddamn sax around Lorne Michael’s throat.  OUCH.

Too much.

There’s no way I can continue to work now, I need to lie down in a dark room with a damp cloth on my forehead.  I mean they could play some Debussy or something, that would be okay…

Hell, I could play some right now.

Ordinarily when I watch Saturday Night Live I’ve had a couple of beers.  Turns out you really need ‘em.

Ahhhh, “Claire De Lune”…I feel more relaxed already…

According To ComicsBlips…

Out of a group of 150, I’m at 61, and Chris Sims is at 146.

I am not quite understanding that, am you?

I mean they seem to be saying that the closer to #1 you are, the more…

…I don’t know, BORING you are?

You tell me. I don’t understand these linkables at all. It’s for money, I guess?

Christ, to imagine there’s sixty whole people on the Internet who’re more boring than me…!

Clearly, I’ve got to up my game.

This Book Is E To Read

In which I present a brief digression from the weighty, weighty matters of E*N*G*A*G*E*M*E*N*T W*I*T*H T*E*X*T…next up, The Dark Knight!…and talk a bit about something more straightforward.

Although you would never know that’s what it is, by reading techie blogs!

It’s that unsettling spectre of high-tech failure, that unwelcome intimation of ideological FAIL: the e-book.

And I wasn’t going to post on it, but I read somebody trying to “set the record straight” the other day, and it was just all so, so wrong. If I find the link again, I’ll stick it in; but really, can’t you just imagine what the guy was saying anyway? Do you really need to read the actual words?

Get the picture firmly in your mind, if you would.

Now here’s my rebuttal:

A good friend of mine who is both significantly younger and significantly brighter than I am, reads crap off her cell phone. She likes it! Pull out the phone, zip to the reading material, turn pages with a thumb. She points at it and says “this is cool”, and it is cool. So she’s absolutely right. And she makes a nice change from all the other conversations I’ve had with people who love e-books over the years, because all of them — ALL of them — worked in the software industry, so all the conversations were just ridiculous.

“I love e-books, I read ‘em all the time! I really think it’s going to replace paper.”

“Do you, by any chance, work in the software industry?”

“What’s that got to do with anything? And hey…how did you know that?”

How, indeed. It’s eerily reminiscent of conversations with real-estate people who imagine a Vancouver Megacity sprawling halfway up the coast within just a few years…all this because they never leave the city, and thus they have no sense of real scale around here. “Land on the coast is disappearing; soon it’ll be all gone.”

I always say “what, when the population of B.C. cracks thirty million? Is that when it’ll all be gone?

They pretend not to hear me. But seriously, folks, take a look at a map of Canada sometime — that huge chunk on the western edge of it? That’s B.C. Population three million, or thereabouts. And the whole country?

You guessed it: thirty million.

If you see it from the ground, with your own eyes, the immensity of the empty land-spaces out here is laughably unavoidable. In the city it’s just lines drawn on a map: malleable, convertible, eager to please. In terms of rocks and trees and mountainsides, though, it’s not quite so user-friendly to the land developer. Not quite so easy to browbeat into going along with the big World-Class dream of Unstoppable Progress.

Which is, of course, just a dream.

Somebody’s dream.

But boy, is that person going to be disappointed.

It’s the same with e-books: for all the talk of buggy-whips, those who desire an e-book revolution, a paperless world, and a climax to the mythic history of Ye Progresse are just not going to win this one, regardless of how inarguably cool Tyche’s cell phone e-reading feature is. Things will undoubtedly change; but they’re not going to change that much, and I’ll tell you why.

Let’s get the big one out of the way first: people like their books. They really do: it isn’t that they’re Luddites, or that they’re shortsighted, or that they don’t know how much they’d prefer e-books if they just gave them a chance. No, the fact is — and yes, it’s a fact — is that books provide a cheap and tangible benefit to people that new and more “efficient” technologies simply are unable to mimic or outdo…except possibly in science-fiction, and even there it’s often a matter for dispute. There are many dimensions to this benefit, probably too many even to attempt listing comprehensively. The matter hasn’t been plumbed, yet. It’s barely been scratched. It would likely fill a whole Borgesian library of its own.

It isn’t that reading a book is a pleasurable sensory experience of its own.

It is, though!

It isn’t that some books are absolutely free of cost to the user.

Though many of them are!

It isn’t that there are so very many books out there that it would take an effort to dwarf the building of the pyramids just to get rid of them all, let alone to digitize them all first…

Although, you know…you couldn’t do it!

But it’s that these observations could be multiplied a thousand times with the profoundest ease. It all comes down, as it so often does for me, to Einstein: matter is subtle, quoth he, and books are matter, so good luck quantifying their appeal in a couple of lines stolen from a community college’s marketing instructor. The benefits of changing one’s reading habits to exclude the printed word are few, if the truth, the real truth, and nothing but the truth were to be told. Not that no advantages exist to reading crap off your cell phone; but they are not replacement advantages. They are not improvements.

They’re just not.

We might consider that not everything gets improved and replaced: for every job there’s an appropriate method and an appropriate setting and an appropriate material and an appropriate tool and an appropriate skill-set. An architect will tell you that there’s no such thing as a house that’s built in the abstract. A fisherman will be delighted to inform you that there are all kinds of boats, all kinds of ropes, and all kinds of engines. There’s no such thing as a logger who’s been set free from the obsolete technology called “the axe”.

But let’s talk materials for a second. How about wood? We’ve been using it for a long, long, long time. Steel is stronger; concrete is cheaper; fiberglass is easier and aluminum is lighter. But we still use wood.

Why?

Basically, because wood is wood. It’s warm, it’s springy, it’s easily shaped, it has a pleasant odour, it grows outta the ground; it’s got a lot of strength for its weight, its biological origin gives it many extremely complex characteristics, it’s ornamental as hell just as it comes, and all the reasons anyone’s ever come up with for why we should naturally choose to one day give it up because it doesn’t fit our needs as well as more modern materials do have all, one and all, proved to be bullshit. We don’t use it for everything, like we used to do. But then no one ever thought we ever would, except those that proclaimed there would one day be a materials revolution in which it would be necessary to become absolutely modern, and give wood up!

And it just didn’t happen that way. And, those people were out to lunch. They wrote pulp science fiction where people had drivable houses carved out of solid blocks of lead, ate ham-and-eggs pills for breakfast, and cleaned their teeth with atomic toothbrushes.

But it didn’t happen, because in actual fact it was not Ye Progresse. Not at all. It was just fashion-based thinking. It was a trend in interior decorating, that never really took off because it was silly…runway stuff only, like a dress made out of bubble wrap. Theory.

And now here’s something very important about e-books, that I want to say. In words of one syllable:

By all means, have ‘em.

Have ‘em! Most of everything that’s ever been written is in the public domain — so what’re you waiting for, e-book proponents? Go out and get ‘em!

Oh, uh…what’s that?

You are? You have? You’re doing it right now?

Well…

So why are we talking about this, again?

Oh yes: I remember now.

It’s because you are not, after all, a champion of Ye Progresse.

It’s because, instead, you are a would-be carpetbagger.

Somewhere in here is the desire to pry all of that lovely, lovely rich fat content out of the grasping hands of the book publishing trade, and turn it to the purpose of making money for e-books. But, you see…it just isn’t that simple. “Content”, there’s a word for ya…computer people love to talk about “content”. But what is it? Well…what it is, is the product of time, effort, and risk, all of which are completely thankless until and unless that one magical day arrives when the roulette wheel pays off on double zero.  Homer, Shakespeare, Dickens and Conan Doyle are all in the public domain, and you can chop and channel them as you please, you need no one’s permission to package them and sell them…because all the people who brought ‘em along have already been long since paid.  But if you want to distribute Dan Brown instead, if you want to distribute J.K. Rowling…

Well, what are you offering, for the rights to that already-proven yet still-enormously-lucrative privately-owned material?  You didn’t risk a thing on it;  it was the author and the publisher who did that.  So what kind of a piece are you looking for, from it?

And, does someone else have to give up some of their piece, for you to get it?

There’s a publishing outfit in my home town.  They chose Harry Potter, when it wasn’t yet a phenomenon.  Now Harry Potter phenomenon-money allows them to publish books that may well end up losing money for them, books that otherwise might never have found a publisher at all.

So…how do you feel about publishing those?

Or is it just Harry Potter that you want.

You see the problem I trust, e-books.  You’re offering to cherry-pick existing bestsellers to distribute to cell phone and iPod users, in exchange for overturning the whole way the publishing industry works, and makes money for itself on the back of its risks and its time, and its effort.  But it’s hard and it’s chancy, to make a Harry Potter:  can you make one?

Can you make the next one, is really what that question means.

Where on earth do you think these golden eggs come from, for heaven’s sake?

John Kennedy once said:  “You have offered to trade us an apple for an orchard.  That is not how we do things in this country.”  And you know what, it still isn’t.  So if you want to get rich, you son of a bitch, I’ll tell you what to do:  never sit down with a smile or a frown, and e-paddle your own canoe.

You could have a very big business putting books into people’s hands, that they could not have gotten any other way.  A paperless society:  you don’t live in one, and you’ll never live in one.  But you could have a little corner of it that was paperless.  And you could use it to split the costs of the literary lottery tickets with the paperish people who are going down to the store to buy them.  And who knows, maybe you could help a new ship to come in, that otherwise would’ve sunk at sea!

Or you could sit here and wonder why no one will get with the program you haven’t written yet.

Christ, I can think of half a hundred ways for you to make millions of dollars a year with this e-book technology, right off the top of my head.  But for some reason it appears you only want what you cannot get.

Screw it:  I’m gonna go out and get it.

“Call me Steve Jobs.”

…Oh, never mind, I’ll call him myself.  You probably didn’t get that reference, anyway.

And that’s why you’ll never catch that white elephant of yours.


February 2009
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