Google Game: Why won’t my…?

Am I tempted to take this set of results as an opportunity to soliloquize smugly on the fallibility of Apple? To point out the difference between omnipresence and omnipotence? You bet I am. But I won’t. Much.

Considering that people are apparently inclined to turn to Google while sitting in a car that won’t turn over (presumably on their iPhones — and indeed I did watch my traveling companion a couple weeks ago google “why won’t my Ford van start”; it did not return what we soon figured out was the answer: hold the shifter a half-inch above “P” with your left hand while turning the key with the right), it seems fair to conclude that the search engine fields myriad queries about glitches in our most prized and important machines.

And so isn’t it curious that just one of the top ten Google searches aimed to elucidate the causes of malfunctioning electronics regards anything other than an iPod,  iPhone or iTunes? I wonder.

Continue reading

Annals of Uncool: Where Do You Fit in?

If you’ ve wondered where on the (un)social scale you lay, I hope this Venn diagram will help you sort out your approximate geek/nerd/dork/dweeb quotient.

Oh, and for those inclined to comment and debate the categorization (which I fully encourage, of course), I created this easy reference:

[From GreatWhiteSnark via my mom!]

Syntax and Digital Semi-Cinema

F the message and heed the awesome power of word order. Syntax rules.

[via Primordial Ooze]

The Finances of Friendship in a Social Media Stock Market

Here’s the beginning of an interesting article called “The Social Media Bubble,” from earlier this week on the Harvard Business Review blog:

I’d like to advance a hypothesis: Despite all the excitement surrounding social media, the Internet isn’t connecting us as much as we think it is. It’s largely home to weak, artificial connections, what I call thin relationships.

During the subprime bubble, banks and brokers sold one another bad debt — debt that couldn’t be made good on. Today, “social” media is trading in low-quality connections — linkages that are unlikely to yield meaningful, lasting relationships.

Call it relationship inflation.
Nominally, you have a lot more relationships — but in reality, few, if any, are actually valuable. Just as currency inflation debases money, so social inflation debases relationships. The very word “relationship” is being cheapened. It used to mean someone you could count on. Today, it means someone you can swap bits with. [via all things d]

Such a strong start, but unfortunately author Umair Haque loses me pretty quickly. Indeed, this notion of “relationship inflation” is something I’ve been ruminating on for some time, and while Haque lays out some interesting points about the tenuous and ofttimes dangerous ties that bind online, he doesn’t ever fully make good on his principal metaphor. I’ll try. Continue reading

Stuck on Tapes

Score.

In a bit of news that warms my analog heart, Engadget today reports that VHS sales (in the UK) doubled in 2009:

According to a report by [the UK]’s Entertainment Retailers’ Association (ERA), while music sales dropped by 0.8 percent in 2009 (the lowest decrease in five years) and all other video fell by by 10.6 percent, VHS sales more than doubled, from 44,377 in 2008 to 95,201 last year. Of course, everything is relative — while PC games, for instance, declined nearly 25% last year, some 6.4 million titles were sold.

Sure, the numbers are paltry next to, well, just about any other type of media, but the trend makes sense to me. Here’s my completely unscientific take. I don’t think that it’s the cache of the antiquated medium, the way wannabe audiophiles buy records as status symbols. Really, there’s no precedent for VHS tapes being “cool.” What there is precedent for is them being cheap as hell. For instance, I just picked up The Blob, Cronenberg’s Shivers (produced by Ivan Reitman) and Rooftops (1989) for a buck apiece at a gas station-slash-Quiznos-slash-minimart-slash-collaborative-antique-store in Ohio. Don’t know Rooftops? Me neither, but I’m pretty psyched. From the cover:

Jason Gedrick stars as T, a misunderstood loner who has escaped the heartless, drug-ridden streets of New York’s Lower East Side to make a life for himself on the roof-tops of abandoned tenement buildings. T and the other homeless kids live by their wits during the day and “combat dance” every night at an empty lot they call the “Garden of Eden.”

Truth be told, I probably wouldn’t have bought any of these on DVD because they would have been too expensive to justify the purchase. But I’ve got a working VHS player so that I haven’t had to replace my awesome tape collection, and so that I can continue to grow it on the cheap. So there’s my proof. Poor folks like me in the market for pre-21st Century cinema, might just keep the VHS trade going for a while. VHS. QED.

Google Game: Are there…?

What I like about these Google Suggest results is how they meld healthy curiosity, paranoia and almost heartwarming idiocy.

Thanks for the tip, Kevin.

FYI from Central Kentucky

This truck delivers… a message.

Everything’s Fleshier in Texas

…and they respect those who serve for our country. Either that, or our troops are heading overseas armed with  rubbery anatomical recreations. Talk about an arsenal. (Oh!)

Honorable mention to this sign on the News & Video’s side wall:

Remember, you must be 18 years of age and share their sensibilities to enter. No children, no pansies.

When False Advertising Merges into Cruelty

You’re driving on the highway. You’ve been driving on the highway for hours. And hours. And hours. Maybe you’re on your way from New York to Austin, Texas for SXSW. The Mid-Atlantic states long ago began to bleed into one another — Pennsawestvirginhioky — and all you want is for one of them to have something to show for itself — roadside attraction, lake, brush fire. That, and a cup of coffee. God, you need a cup of coffee.

You realize you’re under the speed limit when an oil truck appears from within the gaping blind spot of this rental van and merges into your lane. It’s a Pilot truck, splattered with an advertisement for the gas and mega-mini-mart chain that’s duke if not king in these parts. The behemoth slides itself to fill your frame of view and teases you with the sublime and impossible suggestion that you’re gaining ground on a tanker truck full to capacity with the caffeinated black  gold you lust for.

You imagine the possibilities of  pulling alongside and filling up. An interstate iteration of mid-air refueling. Your head bobs to the gentle sloshing of salvation. Blearily you snap out of it and sputter a mangled “Oh, you assholes” as you pull off at the next exit, restore energy and regain dignity with a defiant Dixie cup of joe from the Shell station.

Reader Appreciation: Big ups to the flavor savior

Thanks to the readers who found the site by searching
coca cola jesus” and “jesus rules.”

HM: “coca cola sex” and “ressurrection [sic.] of jesus motherfuckin christ.”