The New Joker...
The recent New Yorker that hit the magazine racks April 3rd contained a financial article regarding the obstacles that will confront the newspaper industry and whether the industry leaders will react on impulse or procede with prudence. The article noted the rise of audiences acquiring their news and opinions at no charge from blogs. There was an admission that the profit margins of large newspaper syndicates were uncommonly high in relation to other businesses. No where in the article did they acknowledge the threat of bloggers to their own business.
I found it odd that the article was written with such detatchment from the issue. Do the editors of The New Yorker feel that they are immune from the blog and free information phenomenon? Are they so confident in the value of their contributors' work, that they need not worry about the pesky ravings of bloggers worldwide? Perhaps, they consider blogs as second rate writing, unreliable and prone to error, whether grammatical, factual or otherwise?
Certainly they have reason for their pompousness. A fair majority of blogs are, indeed, drivel- product on par with a grocery list or a computer program set to display random words from a dictionary in a series speckled with punctuation. If one comes across a blog that succeeds in expressing a coherent concept, often the subject is paranoid or reproduced at a frequency of an entry every month and then it is usually a reiteration of an idea that is on the verge of becoming trite.
The New Yorker presents the semblance of a magazine for the cosmopolitan sophisticant. Their articles are typically original and timely works, in depth and cohesive. They don't patronize their readers with unsupported convictions or sentiment, and they have not, for the years I have read the magazine, had one article about the deformed 'Batboy' that frequents the tabloids at the supermarket. The magazine excudes class and possesses taste befitting of a palace courtier. Never will they print the words shit, fuck, or cunt without a firm belief that the offense is coated with a thick layer of literary style to absorb any criticism from those that accuse them of promoting vulgarity.
Owned by a contemporary William Randolph Hearst, Samuel I. (Si) Newhouse Jr., The New Yorker is only a member of the large Advance Publications, Inc. family. Acting as the older, more successful and cultured brother, the magazine will never speak ill of father. The rare criticisms of the government's acquiesence to the power struggles of the media conglomerates are dulled and the impact cushioned so that the cosmopolitan sophisticant can rest assured that the views and opinions expressed in The New Yorker will continue to remain unscathed by the corporate wars that are being waged in the shadows of the world's market. Their reliance upon wit and a skillful application of the absurd will blur any scrutiny to detect a flavor of bias or pandering. They operate in the grey area of the slippery slope upon which all courtiers dance.
Dismissing the threat of individual bloggers to their market share and appeal to advertisers, The New Yorker declares that they are beyond the reach of individual reproach. If truth is knowledge, and knowledge is power, one can infer that they (and, potentially, their competitors) are the authority on reality. Utilizing an army of contributors, they can shape truth to whatever form they deem worthy.
Their contributors, after all, have included J.D. Salinger, Vladimir Nabokov, Truman Capote and Steve Martin. The conceptually pedophilic Nabokov was the sole contributor of that group to withstand the assault that reality profiteering had upon the psyche— the remaining succumbed to the weights of madness. Most contributors can cash their paychecks without ever bothering to question the motives for the publication.
The New Yorker behaves as a middleman, directing the cream of the collective mental crop across the globe for a price. Is that price a division of the souls of their contributors? We shall never know, but we do know that this publisher is the wholesaler of the gold sticker to place on the foreheads of renowned artists of most every medium. Does Si Newhouse Jr. wield influence over the stickers? Only the publishers, directors and editors know for sure.
If the blogger phenomenon coalesces into a collective and coherent force, then publications like The New Yorker may consider them a threat to their profit margin. The Newhouse’s and Murdock’s may then direct their wrath towards the freedoms of the Internet. Legislators, to which they donate, will demand censorship to prevent the corruption of the moral and chaste youth of America. The tools will be in place for casual abuses labeled as accidents of procedure, but guarantee the hold on power. The system will be to blame, but the alternative will be considered unacceptable by the marrionettes acting in agency to the monsters and Titans of capitalism.
Not to resemble the paranoid raving blogger I so cheerfully described earlier, the future may not be filled with eternal doom and gloom. The government could legislate some balls and disembowel the monstrous conglomerates that they have allowed to grow to devilish proportions. The publications may print articles that criticize daddy. Bloggers can represent the voice of dissent, the balancing force between tyranny and chaos.
Left to ones druthers and most people will blindly trust one another. A mindless characteristic that has been left unshed by evolution. This trait arises from the belief that people are inherently good and that cooperation is better for survival. Allowing this trait to predominate provides the powerful with means for oppression. We must encourage doubt, not laugh at a joke we don't find funny, get pissed off or depressed, fight for our own fucking minds...
A hilarious dream of the naive, but one I don't mind sleeping to at night. Today our own mind, tomorrow the market, and maybe someday this dream won't seem so funny.
I found it odd that the article was written with such detatchment from the issue. Do the editors of The New Yorker feel that they are immune from the blog and free information phenomenon? Are they so confident in the value of their contributors' work, that they need not worry about the pesky ravings of bloggers worldwide? Perhaps, they consider blogs as second rate writing, unreliable and prone to error, whether grammatical, factual or otherwise?
Certainly they have reason for their pompousness. A fair majority of blogs are, indeed, drivel- product on par with a grocery list or a computer program set to display random words from a dictionary in a series speckled with punctuation. If one comes across a blog that succeeds in expressing a coherent concept, often the subject is paranoid or reproduced at a frequency of an entry every month and then it is usually a reiteration of an idea that is on the verge of becoming trite.
The New Yorker presents the semblance of a magazine for the cosmopolitan sophisticant. Their articles are typically original and timely works, in depth and cohesive. They don't patronize their readers with unsupported convictions or sentiment, and they have not, for the years I have read the magazine, had one article about the deformed 'Batboy' that frequents the tabloids at the supermarket. The magazine excudes class and possesses taste befitting of a palace courtier. Never will they print the words shit, fuck, or cunt without a firm belief that the offense is coated with a thick layer of literary style to absorb any criticism from those that accuse them of promoting vulgarity.
Owned by a contemporary William Randolph Hearst, Samuel I. (Si) Newhouse Jr., The New Yorker is only a member of the large Advance Publications, Inc. family. Acting as the older, more successful and cultured brother, the magazine will never speak ill of father. The rare criticisms of the government's acquiesence to the power struggles of the media conglomerates are dulled and the impact cushioned so that the cosmopolitan sophisticant can rest assured that the views and opinions expressed in The New Yorker will continue to remain unscathed by the corporate wars that are being waged in the shadows of the world's market. Their reliance upon wit and a skillful application of the absurd will blur any scrutiny to detect a flavor of bias or pandering. They operate in the grey area of the slippery slope upon which all courtiers dance.
Dismissing the threat of individual bloggers to their market share and appeal to advertisers, The New Yorker declares that they are beyond the reach of individual reproach. If truth is knowledge, and knowledge is power, one can infer that they (and, potentially, their competitors) are the authority on reality. Utilizing an army of contributors, they can shape truth to whatever form they deem worthy.
Their contributors, after all, have included J.D. Salinger, Vladimir Nabokov, Truman Capote and Steve Martin. The conceptually pedophilic Nabokov was the sole contributor of that group to withstand the assault that reality profiteering had upon the psyche— the remaining succumbed to the weights of madness. Most contributors can cash their paychecks without ever bothering to question the motives for the publication.
The New Yorker behaves as a middleman, directing the cream of the collective mental crop across the globe for a price. Is that price a division of the souls of their contributors? We shall never know, but we do know that this publisher is the wholesaler of the gold sticker to place on the foreheads of renowned artists of most every medium. Does Si Newhouse Jr. wield influence over the stickers? Only the publishers, directors and editors know for sure.
If the blogger phenomenon coalesces into a collective and coherent force, then publications like The New Yorker may consider them a threat to their profit margin. The Newhouse’s and Murdock’s may then direct their wrath towards the freedoms of the Internet. Legislators, to which they donate, will demand censorship to prevent the corruption of the moral and chaste youth of America. The tools will be in place for casual abuses labeled as accidents of procedure, but guarantee the hold on power. The system will be to blame, but the alternative will be considered unacceptable by the marrionettes acting in agency to the monsters and Titans of capitalism.
Not to resemble the paranoid raving blogger I so cheerfully described earlier, the future may not be filled with eternal doom and gloom. The government could legislate some balls and disembowel the monstrous conglomerates that they have allowed to grow to devilish proportions. The publications may print articles that criticize daddy. Bloggers can represent the voice of dissent, the balancing force between tyranny and chaos.
Left to ones druthers and most people will blindly trust one another. A mindless characteristic that has been left unshed by evolution. This trait arises from the belief that people are inherently good and that cooperation is better for survival. Allowing this trait to predominate provides the powerful with means for oppression. We must encourage doubt, not laugh at a joke we don't find funny, get pissed off or depressed, fight for our own fucking minds...
A hilarious dream of the naive, but one I don't mind sleeping to at night. Today our own mind, tomorrow the market, and maybe someday this dream won't seem so funny.
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