Some Meditations On Two Things “Ponzi”— In Which The Ratio Of “LOL” to “OMG” Will Attempt 50:50 But Will Likely Settle Somewhere Near 30:70— or: Here’s A Big Block Of Text With No Pictures; I Expect You To Read It
Easter is nearly upon us! In its honor, I have decided to resurrect my blog; which, incidentally, also died for your sins, and is more than ready to do so again.
Um. So, by popular demand (eg. a Twitter PM from my uncle: “Update your blog dickhead”)— we’ll give this blog thang another go.
We’ll start out with the biggest shocker of the past month, if not the whole year:
Turns out: Bernie Madoff = Guilty. Yeah. I know. Did not see that one coming.
Defying expectations, dude plead guilty to each of the eleven charges held against him, including securities fraud, mail fraud, investment advisor fraud; earth fraud, wind fraud, and fire fraud. Additionally, Madoff plead no contest to one count of leaking the new Kelly Clarkson album and one count of Grandpa Munster impersonation.
Madoff’s day of reckoning was no doubt a bittersweet day for many— the victims of his $65 billion fraud, the rest of the Madoff family (who are now forced to retire their novelty “My Other Car Is Some Type Of Car That Costs 65 Billion Dollars” bumper sticker); and for cable news anchors who no longer get to say “Ponzi scheme” every fifteen minutes.
But, OK, for reals: I really don’t give a fuck. The only reason I even went ahead and typed all that was because I had already thought of the “Grandpa Munster impersonation” joke and needed a bunch of other text in which to drop it.
I’m sure I would care more about Madoff if he had stolen his $65 billion the real way— by holding up a 7-11 in, like, a Spider Man mask or something. You know… like a man. I’m sure I would also care more about him if he admitted steroid use, or if the dress he wore to the Oscars provided an opportunity for a Bernie Madoff “nip slip”.
(Made-up “social commentary” stretch/Sex And The City episode-closing, “what does it all mean“-pondering SJP voice over): Was the Madoff story so boring because all he did, really, was tell a massive and devastating lie? Is “everybody lies” so broadly accepted as a maxim that, as a result, I’ve just sort of come to unconsciously tolerate (or even expect) a certain amount of dishonesty from everyone? Can I blame Republicans or “marketing” people for this? Would that be dishonest? If so, would anybody even notice? If they noticed, would they care? How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if— let me finish— a woodchuck could chuck wood?
Yeah. Heady. Moving on sans proper segue, though (sort of) on the subject of truth-bending and Ponzi-schemes:
Is it just me— and I realize that most the time it is— or is using a subscription service that automatically acquires you hordes of “random” Twitter followers not only super narcissistic (not to mention fucking retarded)— but completely contrary to the whole idea of Twitter in the first place?
Referring here to Tweepme.com— a “service” wherein $75/year buys you either:
A) The illusion of “online popularity” (which is itself illusory), or,
B) The illusion of an audience for whatever it is you’re currently marketing (ie. your band, your blog, your band’s blog, your blog’s remixes of your band).
This works by forcing each exisiting and future Tweepme member to receive your tweets. You, in turn, begin receiving theirs. The more people that join, the more “followers” you get.
Which, as mentioned, is fucking retarded— for a variety of reasons. Mainly because by joining, you’re effectively admitting one of two things. Either:
A) You’re interested in making it appear as though more people care about your 140-character updates than actually do; or,
B) You’re interested in broadcasting information at a captive group of complete strangers, who, in turn, are only interested in either an inflated “followers” count or the ability to broadcast their information at you.
Notice how neither “A” nor “B” mentioned anything about anyone being interested in receiving information from strangers. Nobody’s paying $75/year to receive anything.
Because receiving information from strangers is free. That’s what Twitter is. That’s the point: You choose who to receive information from, not who receives your information. I might choose to receive information from real-life friends, celebrities I admire, celebrities I admire ironically, blogs I enjoy, or strangers that are willing to show me nipples. People who have chosen to receive my tweets are likely friends or those to whom I have shown my nipples.
And so: There’s no possible way you can justify participation in this weird solipsistic pyramid scheme without just admitting that you value the illusion of “importance”/”popularity” enough to be paying for it, whether in dollars or in the time you spend sorting through all your fake friends’ updates. (Well, actually, you have to first admit that you equate “importance” or “popularity” with the number of people that have opted to receive the details of your breakfast.)
And if you’re trying to market something: No “Tweepme” member is paying for the ability to read what you’re marketing at them; they’re paying for the ability to market at you. It would be way more cost effective to yell your blog’s URL from the window of a moving vehicle in a crowded metro area. Well. Less annoying, anyway.
Which is all a way of saying: Hey, everyone? Can y’all please stop confusing “Communication Conduit” with “Viral Marketing Opportunity”?
If you’re a band that wishes to earn a successful living with your music: Talent, originality, and patience are a couple things that, historically, seem to be more important than having a bunch of followers on Twitter.
Ditto for DJs— although if you’re just now starting to try and “make it” as a DJ you’ll prolly want to add “Time Machine With Controls Set To 2006” to the list. Ha. Zing?
When you hear about a band that increased their national profile with the help of MySpace— it means they used the site to host their unique and compelling music. Communicating with fans, traditionally, is something you worry about after you have them.
Which is all without mentioning the really, obvious, important thing: You want friends/fans/followers? How about earning them? With content. Or nipples.
Shit I totally forgot to add any jokes in there. Um. Here.
Sorry about the Twitter freak-out; I’m typically all for shortcuts of any kind but it’s annoying when people focus more on marketing their content than the content itself. I kinda feel like if you make quality shit, whether its music or photos or writing, it will find its way to people if its good enough. Am I naive? Also: Not meaning to judge you if collecting pseudo-friends is what gets you horny. I just like Twitter the way it is— a way to keep constant tabs on MC Hammer’s every move and thought. And I hate marketing, especially when it tries to trick me by pretending it’s something other than what it is.
COMING NEXT WEEK/THE WEEK AFTER (?) ON BLOG ME AMADEUS:
+ “Can Something Be Simultaneously ‘Epic’ and ‘Chill’?: Adventures in Brocabulary and Metaphysics.”
+ “‘Hype’: How and Why Internet Media Outlets Love To Introduce Something; Promote It Way Too Much, Way Too Quickly; Blame The Recipient Of Said Promotion For Allowing Too Much Promotion Too Quickly; Then Use The Absurd Idea That Promotion Recipient Is Somehow Responsible For Excess Promotion As Basis For Feeling Negatively Towards Promotion Recipient; Then, Ultimately, Deem Promotion Recipient As Unworthy Subject Of Promotion In The First Place— and What This All Means To You (Not A Whole Lot, As It Turns Out).”
+ Nipples
11 months ago