Sunday, December 31, 2006
In the course of my Lowcountry holidays, amidst a quicky pullover to an ancestral grave site, that of Thomas Heyward, Signer from South Carolina, I pondered history devoid of progress. (Note trailer.)
Then again, there is the inherent comfort of a dear Carolina home -- where the beer grows on Palmetto trees:
a.) become a moralist
b.) meditate, in silence, for six weeks
c.) get the fuck out of the ATL, Atlanta too
d.) denounce social media as the delusional mirror into nothingness that it is
e.) never blog again
I'm of course right back at it. What drew me back to hell? Jim Wooten's become a music critic!!!! How's a gal supposed to resist?!
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Here's your citizen journalism, folks. You asked for it, you got it. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
"Stoly up for the Lady, barkeep."
This post put together by the above song. Leonard Nimoy optional.
No heavy, lingering redolence here! Just your playful merger dee-lite from my Best New Friend Of The Day, Biggy Shmuel. I heart the blogosphere so. Every day brings a new friend -- of this caliber. Kinda like one of those Word Of The Day calendars, only it can write and stuff.
Yowzer! No wonder I'm posting such weird, inane loopiness today -- it's the Winter Solstice. I've been known to lose all touch with reality during the solstices. Typically just the Summer Solstice though. Aging is sooo brutal. But damn, I'd have made a terrific pagan! Some of this stuff is just smack dab in my bloodline. No other explanation.
Rich Lowery in the National Review online writing a column titled When The Media Is Right:
First Lady Laura Bush spoke for many conservatives when she excoriated the media’s coverage of Iraq the other day. She complained that “the drumbeat in the country from the media ... is discouraging,” and said “there are a lot of good things happening that aren’t covered.”Full column here.
What are those things, one wonders? One can only imagine how Mrs. Bush can figure that they outweigh the horrors in Iraq.
When did sex become Absolute Righteous Sex? Hey, don't ask me. I'm a forty-something soccer mom. What in the world would I know about the path to the feminine divine, or towards divine sexual liberation for that matter? Apparently, and applied liberally, sexual freedom now gets one a free pass into World of Sex Industry Support and Land of Porn Glorification. Hey, let's tell our daughters all about it! Or let 'em read more here.
As for the bs stuff, as the olde saying goes, never EVER bullshit a bullshitter. You simply won't win that one.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Others point to the climbing rates of violence in the white community as a sign that a white leader might be a far reach, citing events like the PS3 shootouts at Best Buy and the Trail of Tears. Voters cited “bloodthirstiness”, “alcoholism”, “tendency to abusiveness”, and “Toby Keith” as central issues which concern them about white male candidates in the 2008 presidential election.
Joseph Rago, assistant editorial features editor at the WSJ, has this nasty little shoutout for us bloggers. Hey, at least this is a fairly transparent flame of pure hatred, well written of course, rather than that patronizing joke of a TIME magazine cover, conceived by yet another suit. Wonder who's job is on the line? (Surely not mine!) Says Mr. Rago:
The blogs are not as significant as their self-endeared curators would like to think. Journalism requires journalists, who are at least fitfully confronting the digital age. The bloggers, for their part, produce minimal reportage. Instead, they ride along with the MSM like remora fish on the bellies of sharks, picking at the scraps.
More success is met in purveying opinion and comment. Some critics reproach the blogs for the coarsening and increasing volatility of political life. Blogs, they say, tend to disinhibit. Maybe so. But politics weren't much rarefied when Andrew Jackson was president, either. The larger problem with blogs, it seems to me, is quality. Most of them are pretty awful.
Many, even some with large followings, are downright appalling. Every conceivable belief is on the scene, but the collective prose, by and large, is homogeneous: A tone of careless informality prevails; posts oscillate between the uselessly brief and the uselessly logorrheic; complexity and complication are eschewed; the humor is cringe-making, with irony present only in its conspicuous absence; arguments are solipsistic; writers traffic more in pronouncement than persuasion . . . The way we write affects both style and substance.
The loquacious formulations of late Henry James, for instance, owe in part to his arthritis, which made longhand impossible, and instead he dictated his writing to a secretary. In this aspect, journalism as practiced via blog appears to be a change for the worse. That is, the inferiority of the medium is rooted in its new, distinctive literary form. Its closest analogue might be the (poorly kept) diary or commonplace book, or the note scrawled to oneself on the back of an envelope -- though these things are not meant for public consumption. The reason for a blog's being is: Here's my opinion, right now.
Full not-for-public-consumption babble here. And my opinion? Right now? What fish could even GET up an ass as tight as Mr. Rago's? Henry James would never have bothered, that boring little poofster. How about a nice, loquacious bitch-slap to the WSJ for Christmas? Oh dear... a full Python moment has suddenly overtaken me. Sing along:
I'm a Blogger-Journalist and I'm OK.
I work all night and I sleep all day.
I fan the flames, I blog some more,
I go to the lavatory.
On Wednesdays I may take a shower,
and opinionate some more!
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Relationship experts report that too many couples fail to ask each other critical questions before marrying.
List of the very crucial questions here. Of course you can ask questions until you turn blue in the face, but the tricky part is getting an honest answer.
Monday, December 18, 2006
Wow! Where do I begin? Web 2.0 about took over my life in 2006. I had to launch an entire company, WaySouth Media, Inc., just to keep up. (Site to be built-out when I can catch my social media breath.) It's all so astonishingly personal when I slow to ponder the question -- whether marketing my vlog TrueGritz, being caught up on the periphery of the Edelman/Wal-Mart fake blog scandal, getting serious about growing The Spacey Gracey Review, or seeing my friend Catherine wrangle with the roller coaster of success at Second Life, where she's Director of Marketing.
The biggest social media trend for me is seeing the Atlanta social media community begin to gel. We are establishing our own regionalized identity. We've read each other's blogs, we've come together at various meetings and seminars and social functions. We're starting to get an idea of who's who on the Atlanta social media scene, and we're casting our nets for bigger and better -- together.
And yes, we're still in the baby stages since we saw Creative Loafing's Best Of award for Best Blog go to a Big Media-sponsored blog, Rodney Ho's. Radio Talk is a good blog as Rodney's up on his beat in a big way; yet Radio Talk remains a non-organic blog in that it was created with a standard-issue, ready made audience, AJC.com. It thus had an assist of hugenormous, not easily overlooked, proportions, rather than put out there to grow and flourish and be marketed and build readership on its own creative merits. It didn't percolate to the top; rather, it was placed on the top by MSM, not the natural blogosphere.
Yet, we also saw Amber and Rusty recognized for their incredible hard work and devotion to creating, branding, marketing and sustaining the Georgia Podcast Network. They've been just amazingly supportive of the Atlanta social (and independent) media community, and I couldn't thank them enough, for instance, for coming out to the Punchline and podcasting Jeff Justice's Level II workshoppe graduation night performances. They are the future: energetic, smart, informed, open and community-minded, and incredibly techno-savvy. Yep, the sharpest knives in the drawer, as a good southerner would spin it for ya. (All I want for Christmas is a GAPN thong!)
All of a sudden there are plenty of social media conferences in the works for 2007: Podcamp Atlanta and SoCon (website coming soon) for starters. Who needs SXSW when we can roll our own!
Ultimately, my feelings about marketing and public relations for social media 2006 are entirely regionally focused: within the scope of the ATL, the Dirty South, the Old South, the New South, I see a sparkly, bubbly treasure trove of growth and possibility and fabulous new media creativity for 2007.
Here in Atlanta, we've given ourselves the gift of independent media. Talk about learning to love (and trust) yourself -- and one's own personal network! You built it, you've grown it, you own it. Let us go forth and use it wisely.
Happy New Media New Year!
Friday, December 15, 2006
Some of you have asked what's up with IraqSlogger's invitation to send Michelle Malkin to Iraq. It was a serious invitation, she accepted it, she asked if I'd also pay for her to take along Curt of the Flopping Aces blog, I said yes, and now we're working to arrange the trip.
Full story here.
I could so kick her righty ass. Bad. Hell, I could kick most of these blogosphere whimps and whiners, with my eyes closed. After all, I was the generation that de-segregated the South Carolina public school system. Say it with me, the South Carolina public, countryidiotass backwater school system. Talk about kids being the unintended victims of (adult) stupid legislation and good intentions. Jeez... least I know how to beat the crap out of someone if I need to, about the only useful bit of education to come out of that little endeavor if you ask me, which of course, no one did.
Jenny Clark will get the actual fashion makeover, and the other ladies are starring as the support team/cast, including my old College of Knowledge pal, the infamously funny-wicked Allison Dukes Gilmore, one of the Gorgeous Ladies and also a Laughing Matters vet. Tune-in tonight wherever you can and join in the loopy reindeer games.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Certainly not at all believable when they're screaming "I am NOT going to take a bath NOW or EVER" at you from out in the yard, and you throw up the window and yell back, "Oh, hell yeah you are Missy, and right now too." And then you realize at least six neighbors are gathered out there too. Ahhh... urban condo living.
Did those Pat The Bunny moments even happen at all? I think so, but there's homework now and already things like "March right back up there, young lady, and take that makeup off." Childhood really is just a beautiful dream... sigh...
Now I've seriously got to sneak down there to get a Beluga for her stocking. She wanted one soooo bad, having patted a fluffy white thing most longingly at the HUGE gift shoppee on your way out of the aquarium. (We've since been using the upstairs exit so you can bypass the gimme shop.)
Or more horrifyingly serious, having a strange, ill feeling come over me about a hospital as I passed by one overlooking GA-400, then a couple of hours later rushing my child into that same emergency room. A few days before 9-11, I dreamt of planes swooping into NYC using the bridges into Manhattan as their pathways. I thought not a thing of it until... well, you know when.
Then there's that old devil boy-man, Eason Jordan. Now I admit to a slight obsession with Eason since he was such an Atlanta fixture, starting CNN with Ted and such, and then being one of the first people to be seriously "outed" in the blogosphere. (Over his remarks about journalists being killed in... wherever, Iraq I assume. While Eason was schmoozing it at Davos one year. No lack of ye olde irony there.) Then he runs off with Mariane Pearl (they were perilously close to the alter I hear before someone came to their senses. What was she thinking? Grief will certainly cloud one's good judgement I suppose) and resigns abruptly from CNN -- not necessarily in that order.
So I fell asleep last night thinking of that doofus Eason while reading an article about the making of the badly-titled, A Mighty Heart, into a movie. (Think A Mighty Wind. I often do.) Which is unfortunate as it is a beautifully written, powerful, all-in-one-sitting book. For me, it really was as close as I'll ever get to an inspirational/self-help title as the true love and the deep bond and the friendship shared by Danny Pearl and Mariane just lit-up the entire book.
What a tragic loss for her, yet an intelligent and deeply believable story for all of us who still believe, go figure, in heterosexual, monogamous, romantic love. Or at least cling to the notion of it being possible. It genuinely was so with those two.
I read the book in a wallow of pure bitterness and cynicism over romantic love never ever being sustainable between men and women. Ye olde post-divorce scenario I suppose. Nothing unusual to be in that classically bitter state of mind, having just been divorced then subjected to two subsequent and deeply disappointing relationships. I was in the "Never Again" mindset fer sure, but that book honestly helped drag me back up to a less hardened stance in the romantic love department. Can't say I've forgiven the Islamacist motherfuckers who beheaded precious Danny Pearl yet, but I've made great strides in keeping faith that men and women can co-habitate in harmony.
But I'm diverging from my intended topic... so I fell asleep wondering WTF was up with Eason, and wondering if the Brangelina flick would have a character playing that pumpkin-head (of course not), and low and behold, I wake to the news that Eason has launched... a blog! My my my... the unconscious workings of the mind never cease to amaze me.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
If you have read the Dark Materials trilogy, no doubt you've thought about what (animal) form your daemon would take. Well, that's always up for great interpretation, but the fan site HisDarkMaterials has a fun daemon name generator you will enjoy playing with.
My daemon name is Pura. That's like the Dark Materials equivalent of... Truthiness! I like it. Also, according to the site, Nicole Kidman has wrapped all her scenes. I cannot wait to see that marvelous ice princess as Mrs. Coulter. (They just need to change her first name to Ann for even more wicked fun and games.)
And The Golden Compass (book 1) movie website is now up. Immerse yourself here.
What's your suggestion (a term) for this, uh, bizarre new "practice?" Slash and Burn? Send 'em in and I'll pass 'em on to The Mouth of The South.
Son Jay is a fascinating preacher-creature himself, and former Atlantan. Tonight, a docu-show about his life, well titled One Punk Under God, makes me wish I had the Sundance Channel so I could watch along. The six-part series premiers there at 9pm. We do breed such terrific oddities in America!
In keeping with simplistic God notions his parents infused him with, if not their fashion sense, here's a bit about his life's work:
Jay and Amanda Bakker relocated from Atlanta in August and Bakker quickly established an arm of his Revolution church here (Brooklyn, NY). His brand of Christianity calls for inclusiveness and embraces gays and lesbians, a recent evolvement that caused his conservative financial backers to bail.Full story here.
Revolution, said Bakker, "is about letting people know that Jesus is inclusive and loves everybody and welcomes everybody. It's kind of showing that we're not all right-wing Christian Coalition neoconservatives. You can care about social issues. You can care about the poor and the hurting."
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
No real hardcore stuff here. Just a pure AC love letter from some random YouTuber. And yeah, I'd about sell my momma to see just one shot of AC with MS. Or was it the other way around?
And yes, The Selmanaires are good too. Exceptionally good. Next Big Thing good. (New Year's Eve show at, yes, The Earl. Hot ticket there.) I might be a Buckhead soccer mom, but I still know good music when I hear it, go see it and buy it, too. Always have. Always will. So take that, all you hapless marketeers.
Let's hope the kiddies out there have been stirring at their cauldrons well so that they can hex that hag good. And yeah, if anyone needs a nice, secular Happy Holidays shoutout, it'd be Laura Mallory.
So say it with me folks so they can hear it out there in Gwinnett County... HAPPY HOLIDAYS! And to Laura Mallory and whatever your freak-agenda really was, get back to the subdivision, read the books for chrissake, and leave the rest of the world free at last of your idiot babble, hon.
UPDATE: The case will be decided Thursday Dec. 14th at the State Board Room at the downtown Atlanta-based Georgia Department of Education. The website is here. Location here. The regularly scheduled board meeting begins, behind closed doors, at 8am. According to the GDE communications department, the "vote (on an appeal case) is taken without comment. Generally they identify the case by number only."
For the life of me, I can't find a case number associated with the Laura Mallory case on the website, which seems to be a very good one until you enter the search term "Laura Mallory." Then nothing pops up. No case number. Nothing. Maybe you can find it here.
FYI: J.K. Rowling's official website is a delightful time-waste. Find the secret body image rant! Love it.
Technorati tags: Harry Potter, Laura Mallory, Georgia Board of Education
Monday, December 11, 2006
Remember, when they finally pull the plug on the Internet it will be to “save the children” or “fight the terrorists.” And guys like Rush Limbaugh, Bill O’Reilly and Mark Steyn will be fighting tooth and nail to help shut down the greatest free-speech technology. And then the pulpit will truly only belong to the select few.Yep, why share the goodies when you've got 'em all?
Turdpolishing is slang we TV photogs use for turning an utterly worthless story into something that sticks to video tape -- polishing a turd. Be careful or you'll get some on you.
A perfect case-in-point is a bit from this Turdpolisher entry, Got AIDS?, about trolling for news only the suits can use:
Can I tell you... the only thing worse than attending a poetry reading about AIDS is actually having AIDS. But it gets better, the poets are 11 years old. What do these kids know about AIDS, how one contracts it, lives with it, or prevents it? Luck was on our side...we were late. We got there just in time to shoot the winners getting their checks. But there's still that nagging need for a story tonight.
Having just produced a network shoot this past Saturday, I was reminded, yet again, of just how elaborate the T polish can be applied.
See this hardworking crew dress a set for instance. The crew used-up about an hour of good manpower time creating a curtain to block light so that they could pop-off a couple of interior shots, a couple of shots inside a filthy shack. Of course, you simply can't get a good shot with full sun blaring right into your lens, whether you're using a $150 DV cam from Circuit City or a customized Betacam, as this crew was using that can run you or your network 50K or more.
We were not there to do a story about poverty though, so the camera crew could light and frame to capture a "nice" setting anyway they saw fit, conveniently ignoring the ramshackle squalor our interviewees were living in. (Filth and grime and poverty? What's that to a feature story about overcoming anxieties!? But I diverge. I was just the hired hand on this one. The folks in NYC want a story about an anxiety disorder, that's what they're gonna get. It's not the place of a freelance producer to even THINK about contributing to the editorial direction. You show up on time, you smile and nod, and you ship the NY desk their tapes immediately. That's what they want from us folk on "the ground." Nothing more. Nothing less.)
So here's your case for "real" citizen journalism. And this does not mean just giving a newsroom of highly educated journalists a DV cam and a lesson on iMovie, as only when the stories bubble-up organically from the ground, by any means necessary I suppose, and then go straight up to the suits, and not the top-down method by which we're accustomed to receiving news, will turd polishing become less important. Only then will the TV news audience begin to recognize a genuine turd for what it often is -- the crap or non-news item or PC bullshit or outright lies (WMD) it often is.
And will the print folks ever be able to simply catch up? Should they even try to catch up with video? Should writing and video be mutually exclusive? Tune-in to the blogosphere to find out more. Exciting times we do live in, folks.
NOTE: Do not miss Turdpolisher's short story either, The Blond and The Klan. Hilariously underwritten in a loopy style perfect for capturing the sheer lunacy of a Louisiana local news station. Get this guy an agent!
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Here's the video of how one of the Clayton County massage parlor raids went down yesterday, from Channel Two's longtime investigative/crime reporter, the always captivating Mark Winne.
That dude gets to ride along on all the best stories! The cops trust him, and he can weave an exciting story with a moment's notice since he knows ALL the players, a story crammed full of the wackiest Carl Heisen-esque characters: good guys, bad guys, really bad guys, good cops, bad cops, ICE, GBI, FBI, CIA, ATF, BFE, any and all assorted Feds, rouges, rascals, impresarios, thieves, hustlers, judges, lawyers, whores, crack-heads, you-name-it...
Friday, December 08, 2006
Bono, the lead singer of the band U2 is famous throughout the entertainment industry for being more than just a little self-righteous. He was playing a U2 concert in Glasgow, Scotland when he asked the audience for total quiet. Then in the silence, he started to slowly clap his hands, once every few seconds.
Holding the audience in total silence, he said into the microphone, "Every time I clap my hands, a child in Africa dies." A voice with a broad Scottish accent, from near the front of the crowd, pierces the silence..."Well, fukin stop doin it then!"
Clayton County law enforcement is kicking ass and taking names, and closing all massage parlors in that metro Atlanta county. They have reason to believe that the women working in the massage parlors are likely being trafficked here for purposes of prostitution, which is illegal in Georgia, something Atlanta's out of control sex industry seems to have conveniently forgotten. This is good news, and thank you Clayton County sheriffs for getting serious about sex crime and sex trafficking in this (metro area) town.
Let's hope the trafficked women will be safe, freed and provided for now. Atlanta has been growing a strong anti-trafficking community over the last couple of years, thanks in part to funds from the Bush Administration (they can't possibly screw-up everything can they?) and coalition building folks like Erik Voss and his group, Rescue and Restore Atlanta, a broad coalition of law enforcement, church groups, social services, city and county governments, and concerned citizens.
I hope we will read more about these trafficked women in the press now, and hear their horrid stories of being imprisoned as slaves in these unthinkable places, and elsewhere, so popular in this town. That is the only way we, the citizens, will pressure the powers that be to do something about our modern day slave trading in women and children.
UPDATE: A judge throws out some of the cases. Go figure, and stay tuned!
Only one business-class seat could be procured because the trip was hastily arranged. But "Murphy (Katie Couric's hairdresser) went to the foreign desk and screamed at people about how outrageous and incompetent this was. She threatened that heads were going to roll," an insider says... More here.
It ain't the bloggers who will bring down network news. MSM can do it just fine left to their own devices. Thank goodness for blogs though, as now more people can see what I suffered through in my network years.
Now where'd you put my goddamn conditioner, Zelma? (My dog.)
Now switching to Yo La Tengo, in keeping with my Bands Beloved By NPR Listeners (that's urban code for "smart liberal geeks with glasses" of course) theme this am.
Having once made the painful mistake of having it all ripped-off, in a ludicrous language barrier breakdown of communication between me and a well-meaning but illiterate Vietnamese salon gal, all I can say is NEVER again. Not only is it extremely painful, utter pandering to the latest sex trend, you only end-up looking like a pitiful, naked hamster.
My experience in extreme waxing only brought about a highly unusual bout of self-loathing and a (temporary) revert to a juvenile, hyper-obsession with one's body parts. I hate that my normally robust ego had to suffer that way. Never again.
This post put together to Patty Griffin's Impossible Dream.
All you kids get out the back door. I've never seen her this way before.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
But there is no way to edit your thumbnail choices on MetaCafe once you've made them, nor can you delete your videos once you've posted them! After clicking through the site for what seemed like an hour, I finally found this page. Whew, I thought. I can delete now. Wrong. There simply was no “Remove From Metacafe” link anywhere for me to click in my My Videos list. Such an option simply does not exist.
But I kept trying like like crazy to change the thumbnail and delete the questionable video, but since there's no live customer service support or functional blog associated with the site, only this useless Help thingee, I ended-up calling some clueless PR person in Palo Alto, the only live number listed on the site.
To their credit, someone with the Palo Alto marketing office did return my panicky call later that evening, and then someone sent an email two days later when I filled-out and sent in this form, asking me to re-send/re-capture a thumbnail shot (I wasn't quite sure how to do this without their uploading wizard prompting me) and send it back to them.
The video thumbnail in question has since mysteriously disappeared from my My Videos list, as have all the others I posted too, but I have no way of deleting the actual space I'd parked it on, or the copy I wrote associated with this video.
The whole experience made me feel powerless and vulnerable, and I still have some videos there on the site/account, but I have no control whatsoever over them now. Someone's being sold a bill of good with this deal when a page passes for customer service.
Makes you wonder if the people shelling out 200-million for a website even bother to test-drive, personally, the product before they spend so wildly. Or will the new owners go in and make it all better? They'd better hurry before others get as frustrated as I was that one night.
UPDATE: Just now managed to find a timely MetaCafe blog. Not from their own site, but by Googling Metacafe. WTF's with that?
Wow! Know who Big Meech is, white ATL? You will now. Here's the kinda throwdown, hardcore, local reporting work we've been waiting for: exposing the moguls and the scenes behind the scenes of Atlanta's music industry, and veering into something very sinister called the Black Mafia Family.
Wanna know more? Mara Shaloup has a crack investigative piece, a year in the making, in three parts, the first part being in this week's Creative Loafing. This is some serious dirt folks, appropriately titled: Hip-hop's shadowy empire. Get reading. You can thank me (and PS) later.
(Why don't I ever get invited to these kinda parties? I adore champagne. And if you're a real writer, here's your New South material just waiting there in the gutter for you to reach down and pick-up.)
Mike is adorable-precious too, but no-go ladies as he's very married to a gorgeous blond. Little one at home, stuff like that. But, if you were toiling away over your Perfect Guy hot cauldron, as I've been known to do when the broom's in the shoppe, you probably would cook-up a potion that would deliver to your doorstep Mr. Luckovich. One of the best APC events I've ever been to was one where Luckovich and his French (also adorable, bien sur) counterpart from Le Monde led an overhead projected, draw-off "discussion." Priceless it was, ummm hummm.
Another book that sold-out while I was there was for this interesting title, The Race Beat. I'll add that one to the nightstand pile to eyeball longingly as I crash from the usual mommy-exhaustion. Lots of Christmas shopping accomplished though, and even ran into an old radio comedy show ensemble co-writer pal, Walter Sorrells, a veritable writing machine if ever there was. Walter remarked that he'd cranked-out ten books this year alone. My repy, "I wrote ten blog entries this year."
Still, was it worth the $20 cover and the $7 gin-and-tonic? Hard to say. Although there was a funny moment when Tom Hauk's name badge somehow got tangled in Maria Saporta's gorgeous tresses. Was hoping to run into yet more Southern writer pals, but writers are so notoriously narcissistic that they won't come the the annual event unless they have their own book to sign that year. Me, on the other hand, I've never gotten close to writing a book, let alone publishing one, so I go every year.
Here's your moment of "Could've fooled me, dude." here:
While Divine providence has placed Iran and the United States geographically far apart, we should be cognizant that human values and our common human spirit, which proclaim the dignity and exalted worth of all human beings, have brought our two great nations of Iran and the United States closer together.
I love saying "Ahmadinejad" for some reason; I just think Trout Almondine and I can remember it that way. And now I shall add him to my People I'd Like To Meet (or again) always fluctuating list, along with:
Karl Rove, Warren Beatty, Christopher Guest, Ralph Fiennes, Rod Stewart, George Clooney, Bailey White, Neal Boortz, Dallas Austin, Griftdrift, Driftgrift, Lilly Tomlin, the guy from summer camp who played the banjo, Vivianne Westwood, Prince Charles, Prince Charming, Prince, Marc Jacobs, Martin Amis, Christopher Hitchens (with booze), Stefan, Tony Paris, Beige, Keith Olbermann, Lu (Grrrlfriend hon, it's been way too long since we've been drankin' at the Yacht Club), Shelley Ross (see entry below), Peter Murphy, Anne Cox Chambers, and of course my lifelong secret obsession-person. (I'll never tell, but I might blog it periodically. Hint, it lives right here in the ATL.)
Forgive me, but the spirit of the Making A List time of year overcame what's left of my good reasoning. And did Newt's Free Speech committee approve that oh-so-rational Iranian's remarks?
I'd sit down here on the front porch and hear tell of Ms. Ross' super-size exploits from my Atlanta-based pal, Terri, who traveled the world for decades as a "flyaway" editor with Good Morning America. I never possessed anything remotely like Ms. Ross' career drive, but I sure admit to admiring it as a producer on a professional level, from afar. That gal knows how to live large, and she'll no doubt keep on doing just that.
Full story about Ms. Ross and her ABC News departure here, but I like this little snippet the best. Ogling engagement rings is a universal, girl, water cooler pleasure that has no socio-economic boundaries, other than that on display by a rock-wearer of course:
Over the course of three hours, Ms. Ross polished off most of the smaller half of a turkey wrap purchased for her (“You’re buying”) at the Café Europa opposite Lincoln Square. She planned to bring the rest home to her husband, David Simone, a successful record-industry executive who has just purchased the complete catalog of Hall and Oates.
Mr. Simone and Ms. Ross share an apartment in the Bloomberg Building and a manse in Connecticut. Among his most successful career acquisitions is the catalog of a little-known Trinidadian songwriter. Hidden in the catalog was one particular gem, Ms. Ross explained.
She pointed to her left ring finger, atop which sat a brilliant-cut yellow diamond about the size of a quarter. “This is courtesy of ‘Who Let the Dogs Out?’” she said, meaning the 2000 mega-hit by the Baha Men. Ms. Ross declined to provide the diamond’s carat weight for the record, although she did describe the day she passed the ring around the predominantly female Good Morning America staff, to a chorus of admiring oohs and ahhs.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
While not as sexy as biting bats found in Christmas trees, now on CNN.com (see list of video offerings there), we did find the loveliest little bird's nest built into ours when we started to decorate.
Hmmm... which holiday bustier shall I wear? The black or the midnight blue? I just adore having a fashion anxiety to look forward to.
So bands that don't like the way the music site Pitchfork writes about their "music" make cute little videos of double entendre disgust and put 'em on YouTube? What a darling love letter compared to the cracked skulls that used to be administered to smart-ass music critics in
Try as they might, those gumming wannabees at Pitchfork will likely never achieve full-bite DTL status. Ahhhh... the good 'ole days of genuine music industry abuse.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Security at that time, at that brig, 1981, with a live Presidential assassin right there in it was nothing remotely like the security measures taken on behalf of this one suspected "enemy combatant." Nothing. Not even close. I doubt this dude's getting a whole lot of family in to visit with boxes of fried chicken and cigarettes to hold him over to the next visit either.
Maybe for a good Christmas deed we could visit someone, anyone, in jail? Not a pleasant thought I know, but it's the kinda thing Jesus really would have done. At least pray for someone, like this "enemy combatant" rotting away there at the Charleston brig?
My dad remembers going to look at the Germans held at the Shaw AFB WWII prison camps when he was a boy in Sumter, SC. He said the POWs were treated very well, and lived out the war in comfort and physical ease. My have times changed.
Almost live from Saudi Arabia... the executioner's song, as grabbed and made into a quickie graphic novel. I honestly can't figure out whether to laugh my head off (not!) or cry. Just, uh, see and read for yourself here. I will never again complain about our primitive ways. Promise. Then again, we Southerners had a really tough time giving up the dueling habit. Still, somehow we managed.
Don't forget folks, the Saudis are our friends.
Monday, December 04, 2006
Faulkner's estate has given the script to Lee Caplin, a producer who says he would like to set it in the Deep South. Little more is known but there is a revival of interest in adapting Faulkner's work to the screen. It is said Oprah Winfrey wants to make Light in August and Caplin is looking for a writer to adapt Faulkner's 1935 story Golden Land (the only tale he actually set in Hollywood) in the twisted style of a David Lynch film.
So Big Oprah and some fucktard producer who thinks that that drooling, fake gothicist David Lynch is no doubt a brilliant filmmaker are waiting in the wings to leech off the rest of the backwater vapors? Deep South is cool, eh? Most real southerners are so Deep South stupid they'd confuse Faulkner with Colonel Sanders, although he looks an awful lot like an aging Billy Bragg in the above snapshot. (He too likes the ladies much I hear.)
How about methed-out rednecks, mega-church mentalities, gated communities, ghetto culture, I Heart Bush stickers plastered on pickup trucks, fat developers in pink shorts on manufactured golf courses, Wal-Marts and NASCAR nowadays, you clueless Hollywood dickheads? Who'd want to film that crap?
Having been to Atlantic Station several times, I haven't noticed anything but a horde of overly-processed fashion victims and tarted-up yuppies of every flavor. Once, at a date-night (weekend) movie time, about 9pm, there was a family bringing small children into an adult movie.
But other than that, I can't say Atlantic Station is anything remotely like Underground. Atlantic Station doesn't have nightclubs that stay open until 4am either, as Buckhead once did, so there won't be a lot of black folks shooting each other up at closing time.
Besides, Sam Massell and his posse went in there and cleaned-up that Buckhead town anyway. All you white folks can spend your hard-earned money in hermetically-sealed peace now.
So much for the Lear jets and the Ritzs network news mandarins, and their unrivaled egos, once needed to cover the news. It's all downhill from here. The people and the technology have driven change. What would Peter think?
Careful what we ask for. We're doomed to get it. How about a nice rooftop vista as a compromise?
Sunday, December 03, 2006
What a smack to the hometown paper fer sure, considering there are assorted Cox offspring present in these particular pews on any given Sunday. Wonder for how long after that little item! Hilarious. Maybe they should try incorporating blogs instead.
Saturday, December 02, 2006
Friday, December 01, 2006
Atlanta government is using Edelman (pro bono, see UPDATE below) to promote a city initiative to end child prostitution. Do we really want a PR company that specializes in creating and disseminating phony information to get mixed-up in the deadly serious, city government business of eliminating crimes against children?
I'm sure they are kings of the best propoganda money can buy (Edelman VP Michael Krempasky runs the righty, very popular blog, Red State, Shirley hon. Did you know that?), but the Edelman reputation is being paraded through the streets of the blogosphere -- for good reasons too. Will it end up on the block?! Tune-in to the ever-howling blogosphere to find out.
And for chrissake... like Peachtree Screed says, forget glossy PR campaigns! Use the energy and effort to send the johns and perverts and pimps and assorted child sex-crime offenders to Reidsville so they can get what's coming to them. In just the right place.
UPDATE: Someone who worked on the Hidden In Plain View study just let me know that the work done by Edelman for the City of Atlanta's campaign to stop child prostitution was done pro bono. At least no tax-payer dollars were, uh, misplaced that way.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
If you want the real poop on Amy Sedaris' journey southward try this from my pal Tom. He's got his finger on the pulse of Atlanta, when it's not on an Avid that is. (Or do you folks at Crawford use Final Cut nowadays? Either one, too much clicking and mousing for me. Blogging alone is almost more clicks-per-day than this bit of square-eyed Space can handle.)
Anyways... here's Tom's Take on Ms. Sedaris' visit:
So tonight was the night of Amy Sedaris' book tour stopping in Atlanta, at the odd time of 7:15PM at a suburban (Decatur) public library. All day I was mentioning this to friends, as I wanted to make sure Amy didn't come out to speak to a crowd of like 9 1/2 people plus the library janitor.
My wife and I pulled up with 15 minutes to spare and there was apparently some huge other event going on in downtown Decatur. Traffic a mess, no parking anywhere, people everywhere, and full-ish marching band of the doo-dah variety in the library parking lot playing "Louie Louie" etc.
We parked far away and walked and walked. As we got closer we saw this throng in a line of perhaps 700 people snaking around the band.
I asked someone walking toward us... what the heck is this event that someone has booked simultaneous with the small event we are here for?? "Oh, this is all for a book singing for someone named Amy Sedaris" was the reply. And as we got closer damn if half of those 700 people (600?- 1000? who knows) were clutching their copy of "I Like You".
We know this little library and there was no way 1/10 of those people were getting in. So we skipped to the side entrance and we walked into the 3- storey library proper as if we were there in "research."
We rode the elevators down to see if we could travel to the ground floor auditorium and sneak in that way but that elevator button was locked out. So we rode up, walked around some research space, then stepped into another crowded elevator to ride down again, this time Finding Amy (get it, ha) standing right beside us.
"We figured we'd never get in so we've decided to talk to you now" I joked. "Oh?" said the diminutive Ms. Sadaris, her mind seemingly elsewhere. Standing beside her handler, she sported a 50's-homage crisp shiny brown dress.
"The line you you; we'll never get in."
"There's a line?" she asked.
"Whoa jeez yes, you've not seen? It goes on forever," I said as I fired up my camera to show her digital-pix proof. (See above.)
She looked at my pix and countered, "Oh no, they aren't here for me," starting to look a little worried.
My wife looked her in the eye and said in friendly seriousness "They are here for you. It's a LOT of people. You should be at The Fox, not here." Suddenly the elevator opened on the restricted floor, as she got off she just said "What's The Fox?" as her handler blocked our exit.
So we didn't get in and I got no further pictures. But at least we saw her and talked however briefly and saw her real shock at what a sensation she, and her book, are becoming.
I'll bet when she sat in her Manhattan apartment putting this book together she never once said "this weird tome will be HUGE in the South."
There are some great examples, on either side, of the flat-out battle to shape the message. I love it. All the flaming and name-calling. I'm particularly charmed by this one anti-Wal-Marteers' slogan: America, Pray for Wal-Mart to Change. A lot of yap in search of a genuine problem perhaps, but it's got zing. PR warfare at its snarky-delicious best.
Note the Newt dude here, and his lukewarm “Dukakis-like” messaging effort:
Then Republican strategist Frank Luntz (famous for helping Newt Gingrich forge his Contract With America) takes a turn. He's been brought in to analyze the focus group, and when he tests classic Wal-Mart rebuttals, including how much the company saves consumers, he bombs, scoring a Dukakis-like 30 percent.
And this: "Last time I checked, he (another dude) wouldn't have a job if it weren't for our (anti-Wal-Mart) campaign."
Yes, these are some glory days for the PR industry. My editorial two-cents: Wal-Mart is losing points for having ZERO sense of humor. Humor’s hot these days, clueless dumb-asses. Hell, even suits stuck way out of reality in a Gulfstream can tell that. Then again… maybe not.
Keep it coming folks. There's big money to be made in war -- and corporate PR.