On mild catharsis

November 18th, 2007

When I rock Sierra to sleep, my mind finds release. Something about the pendulous motion, the back and forth of a gentle glide, sends my mind in a flurry, throwing out unnecessary thoughts like someone preparing for a rummage sale, clearing my mind of any clutter and focusing my brainpower on single, solitary ideas.

I come up with a lot of writing concepts during these times – concepts that I end up forgetting soon after, when I have the ability to use my arms to write. The thoughts simply float away. Or, more specifically, they become lost in the shuffle again, the cathartic nature of my previous actions overwhelmed.

Catharsis. It’s a word more commonly used for rage-filled release, for pounding fists into pillows or scream therapy. To me, it’s an emotional release that’s more akin to relaxation. My mind releases the clutter by focusing on what’s causing the clutter, the constant, droning motions honing my ability to pick and choose the thoughts that should be dispelled.

It’s more ablution than catharsis – a ritual cleaning, a washing of unneeded words. It happens to all of us, and it happens during the most odd times. It’s triggered by a constant, menial action; mowing the lawn, folding clothing, vacuuming. Some people feel it while they’re beading necklaces, or etching glass. Carving wood. Anything that’s nearly pure action. Anything that leaves the mind free to wander, to focus, to clear out.

It’s similar to the marathon a mind runs when it should rightfully be calming down for the night. Those moments before sleep cultivate a rich crop of original thoughts, but a combination of sleepiness and apathy keep them from reaching full harvest.

The action, though, creates more clarity, as if the motions of the body were somehow fueling the brain like a steam engine. At these times the simple struggle against the constantly multitasking nature of our mind gives in, and the catharsis of thought – the fighting against over thinking by thinking itself – is at its richest.

I enjoy these times. But they often come so quickly, without warning. I’m unable to capture the clarity, to put the catharsis to good use.

Other times, though, the moment is recorded. The thought is saved. And I’m always amazed at what my brain can come up with when left alone with itself.


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Issues Considered: On...

Redefining alone time

November 17th, 2007

My mother called the other day. She told us to leave. To go on a date.

She wanted Sierra. And she wanted us gone.

So we obliged. We drove to my mother’s home so she could enjoy a well-deserved day with Sierra and we could enjoy a well-deserved date night.

We dropped Sierra off. We looked at each other. Panic set in.

What do we do now?

It’s getting like this more and more, it seems. Is this is what parenthood becomes – a longing for time away, but no necessary reason for it? A need for a break, but then instantly looking back to when you were with your child?

We had to find something to do. It should be something we can’t do with her, sure. It should involve eating, drinking, long uninterrupted conversations. We talked about going to the coffee shop and playing cribbage. We talked about driving to Luverne to see the Jim Brandenburg museum. Instead, we wandered around downtown for a few hours and came home to let the dog out before realizing we should just go get some drinks and eat sushi.

It’s funny. When we’re without Sierra, we search for things we can’t do with her around. This is our idea of personal time. But in all reality, caring for a child doesn’t preclude adults from doing anything aside from going to the bar and eating a long dinner without interruption – and even then, if caught at the right time, an hour nap can coincide perfectly.

Our lives aren’t as drastically different as we once thought. And the changes no longer result in missed opportunities. It’s as if we have left our younger days behind, have taken the bar rush and deposited it at the curb with house parties and video games.

So when we run out on our own, we find that there isn’t much we want to do that we couldn’t already do. We struggle to find that perfect thing – that one non-child oriented vice. And that’s okay. We’ll learn to do simple things – to enjoy each other’s company, to drink coffee and eat cookies and talk about things that get interrupted otherwise. It doesn’t have to be big. It just has to be genuine.

Sierra integrated her entire existence into our life, with or without her presence. Enough that she’s confused us as to what our purpose is when we go off without her. And though it seems rather constricting, like we’ve been tied around the ankles, it’s actually quite comforting. It’s refreshing. Relaxing.

She’s with us. And we’re with her. No matter where we go. And no matter what we do.


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Issues Considered: Sierra, Vilhauer

The halo is well deserved

November 16th, 2007

I love this spot for the new Halo 3.

It is, by far, my favorite commercial of the year.


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Issues Considered: Marketing, Videos

Fresh whole rabbits

November 15th, 2007

Hmm…

I just want to check on one thing.

*types on keyboard*

Yup…

They still offer Fresh Whole Rabbits on Amazon.com.

Good to see things never change.

P.S. The comments are hilarious.


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Issues Considered: Linkage

Content is king; production is chancellor

November 14th, 2007

Content is king. We’ve heard it thousands of times. Content is king.

But while watching a local television commercial today, I wondered if that is always true.

Which catches your attention more? A television spot with horrible content, yet great production, or a television spot with great, clever content and horrible production. The idea might be funny, but the image looks and communicates better, in most cases.

In meetings, which is more likely to succeed? A great idea or concept that isn’t sold correctly? Or a bad idea that’s sold incredibly convincingly.

Or, think of it in personal terms. Who gets the job – a fully qualified, future superstar who has a horrible interview, or the person who’s half as qualified yet twice as good as interviewing?

The truth is, production matters. Your idea might be great, but if you can’t show how great it is with a great production level, it looks cheap. It looks cheesy. It looks like a bad idea. Image, as someone else has said, is everything.

If content truly is king, then production is it’s chancellor, the entity whose sole job is to make the King look good – to cover up blemishes, to speak for the King in times of trouble and to make a problem come to a positive outcome.


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Issues Considered: Marketing

Becoming a blow-hard

November 13th, 2007

Don’t ask me why this popped into my head.

Sierra’s sick – and has been, with a revolving door of sicknesses, from croup to pink eye – and I have a sore throat, and Kerrie’s getting one of her own. We’re all overtired and worn out and ready for the weekend, already.

But then I realized that, this time, for real, I’m going to learn to play harmonica.

I wonder why the harmonica became such a cool instrument – how some of my favorite artists, some of the most influential musicians of all time, names like Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen, ever decided that the restrained whine of a harmonica was a necessary sound for life-changing music. Seriously – there’s a nails on chalkboard element to it, yet it brilliantly captures loss and sadness and hope and old-town values and everything that America stands for.

I also wonder why I’m thinking about this now. Maybe I’ll make a podcast out of it so you can hear a before and after. If there ever is an after.

Harmonica


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Issues Considered: Music

In Rainbows we trust

November 12th, 2007

In RainbowsRemember that scene from Clerks, when Dante leaves a pile of cash on the counter, hoping that people would be honest and respectable enough to make correct change and leave with only what they paid for?

It’s a throwaway scene, really – a cut to show how lazy Dante can be – but it’s always stuck with me. I’ve always wondered if it would work; if there was some portion of society that could be trusted to monitor its own spending habits in the face of deceit and theft.

If Radiohead’s new album, In Rainbows, is any measuring stick, we now know that it can.

The story is simple. Radiohead is without a record company. After a lengthy discussion, the band decided to release their album to the masses early – without backing of any record company – for free. “We’ll simply have our fans pay whatever they think the album is worth,” they thought. They sat back and prepared for the worst.

Amazingly, it worked.

The estimates (according to gigwise, as of Saturday) are that consumers downloaded 1.2 million copies of In Rainbows. Additionally, an Internet survey of 3,000 consumers by Record of the Day in England revealed that fans claimed to have paid an average of £4 ($8) for the download. A third of those surveyed claimed to have not paid a penny.

That’s $8 x 1.2 million. About $9.6 million in first week sales. If sold through iTunes, Radiohead probably would have seen only bout $1.50 per album had they been on a label that sold music through iTunes. Instead, they saw roughly $8 per album.

$9.6 million. Unfiltered. All straight to Radiohead.

How realistic are these numbers? Who knows. A sample of 3,000 doesn’t dictate sales of the entire 1.2 million. And how many people downloaded the audio files only to pay for them later after sampling the music?

Still, you have to admit that Radiohead’s foray into a completely independent album release process – no prepackaged compact discs, no record label, just the band and its music – came across as quite a success.

It takes a lot of guts to do what Radiohead did. To put yourself out in public, naked, without the safety net of a record contract, with nothing but your music, your entire lifeblood, for people to take or leave as they feel driven.

If you fail, you lose out on thousands – millions, maybe – of dollars. Or, as Radiohead has shown, you could bypass all of the bureaucratic bullshit and make millions without filtering it through anyone.

I keep thinking – who benefits from this? Probably only a select few. The independent band hasn’t built up the loyalty to expect long-standing fans to help buck the system. A lot of mainstream artists couldn’t get away with it either – after all, the fans of many popular musicians aren’t as loyal. They have no emotional connection. They will take music for free because they don’t care about the performers, don’t feel as though they’ve been with them since the beginning.

Radiohead, like Pearl Jam or Nine Inch Nails, has the luxury of being a mainstream artist with a surprisingly loyal fan base – the type of fans that would be willing to shell out money for new music even if they don’t have to. I know. I was one of them. I paid $5.00 for the 10 tracks.

In fact, I may have overpaid. Sure, I may have the benefit of feeling honest and warm and fuzzy by legitimately paying. But it doesn’t change the fact that I was screwed – that thousands of people received the exact same album for free, that I, when compared to other people, paid too much for my music. Was I goaded into it by guilt? Was I acting as a true fan? Or was I just a sucker?

It was all pre-meditated, I think. Radiohead knew that a good chunk of people wouldn’t pay for the music. It’s commonly known that, when it comes to digital music, those who want, take. There’s no need to pay for music if you know the ways around it. So they weren’t getting those dollars anyway. Why worry about that? Instead, they focused on the people they knew would pay. And pay they did.

In the meantime, Radiohead have produced an album (which, by the way, is very good) that garnered them not only millions in karmic value points but also millions in real, non-middlemanned Euros. And they’ve set themselves up for another successful run the next time around – a feat of permission marketing, inviting your consumer to tap into the potential of your music and creating a closer culture between band and fan.

So Radiohead might not have changed the world. They might not have done much more than skirt the middleman, pocketing a modest sum while forgoing the conventional wisdom that a record label is needed.

But they did seek change – change from the marketing machine, and change from a lifetime of answering to bigwigs while on their quest for art. And in finding no one suitable to help them, they placed their product on the counter. They waited, achingly prone to failure and bracing for the worst for people to respond.

And what they found is that, like the people in Clerks, they were able to reach out, count their sales, and make their own change.


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Issues Considered: Marketing, Music