1984

when i first read george orwell's 1984 a couple years ago, it was more to understand (and partake in) the dystopian cultural references & themes than anything. [vain, i know. sue me.] one of the most fascinating parts throughout the novel was the telescreen, the tv that watches you, too. how did people let these things into their homes? and then, almost as if to answer that very question, comes this. it's an application designed by a handful of microsoft inventors that uses "cameras, remote controls and biometric sensors to detect the identity of the person viewing a TV, cellphone, or computer monitor display" in order to provide the most relevant advertising.

for example, amy's watching some gardening show on hgtv. this application will serve her ads promoting home depot's sale on plants & flowers. then i come home & turn on the history channel for some hoover dam/modern marvels action only to receive an vacation offer to the hoover dam. don't get me wrong, i'm all for contextual & relevant advertising. but there's gotta be a limit. seriously.

people: "wow, that's just like google does on the interwebs! that would be great! i'll take three, no, ten, and give them as christmas gifts!"

me: "oh, that's how the telescreens got in..."

good beer

i like good beer. that is, i like beer that is brewed to be enjoyed, not the glorified runoff made solely for overconsumption & non-sobriety. considering i learned to enjoy the brew in colorado & oregon, it all makes sense.

that said, i appreciate carlsberg's effort to prevent heinous ruinations of what is "probably the best beer in the world." i also appreciate, given my profession, a mockery of interweb fads.

faded

i came across this blog last week and it seemed to me that the blogger's observations only went so far.

he's talking about a new book entitled The Writing On The Wall: Economic and Historical Observations of New York's "Ghost Signs" put together by a 17 year-old son of a marketing prez. focusing on its industry for obvious reasons, ad age strolls through the biggest of apples with the book's author, ben, and his dad admiring & discussing the book's topic: fading advertisements. the cited ad age article learns:

“The lesson one gleans, however reluctantly, is that whatever seems absolutely immutable, isn't. Not what is advertised. Not how it is advertised.”

while i agree with him that neither products nor media are always permanent, we can't stop there. is anything on this earth "immutable," that is, it cannot be silenced, its "voice" lingering and our attention continuously in its hand?

if i think of myself as one of these signs, i can picture myself going in & out of mindshare (brightness of paint for the sake of the illustration) as i go through high school college and from town to town after that. in each community i'm in at the time, it rarely occurs to me that most of these people will likely forget who i am (or vice versa) within a period of time proportional to the depth to which i knew them (except in the strange cases when you remember someone who you don't remember, like victor in middle school). even so, i generally conduct myself in a way that will maintain my good legacy as if they'll remember me beyond their grave.

i'm going to bet that, when we're not thinking about it, we simultaneously believe ourselves and our actions to be immutable while knowing their finite, even shortlived, prominence. that's the longing for legacy: the building of tombs, the battling for territory and the unending pursuit of success that makes one's name great.

way back when, somebody made their living by these then-bright advertisements. others "learned" of their "need" from these now weary proclamations. these "ghost signs" presumably fulfilled their purpose for a time. they satisfied the needs of their makers only temporarily until other needs arose as the bigger & better arrived as it always does, always too soon. and so i have to ask myself (and my imaginary readers) how does (can?) one transcend the power of memory? how does one leave a legacy that inspires life, not fading into quaint, nostalgic wonder of irrelevant days.