Arrival of Viviennox Not Worth the Wait?

NICE, France - The long awaited birth of Brangelina's latest publicity venture in the form of allegedly naturally conceived and delivered human baby twins occured last evening after what seems like months of speculation and promise of their arrival. One day old Vivienne Jolie-Pitt and her brother Knox Pitt-Jolie are said to be in excellent condition by Doctors at the seaside hospital on the French Riviera where the celebrity couple finally "delivered" on their shrewd business commitment to produce the most financially lucrative baby pictures on the planet.

But initial reports from the Jolitt-Pilie camp suggest that the all-white offspring may fall somewhat short of the expectations placed upon their new life by family and handlers alike. David Shaw, agent to Knoxienne Jitt-Plolio seemed very underwhelmed in his first reports to the French press.

“The delivery itself was relatively uncomplicated. Angiolie is doing quite well. But…well we’ll just see how it goes for the babies.”

When pressed about his hesitation to discuss the twins, Shaw appeared not only disappointed but even somewhat pained in his response:

“To be honest, I just thought they’d be hotter.”

Shaw refused to elaborate on his assessment of Voxienne’s appearance, but others close to the family and the hospital openly discussed their similar disillusionment in the babies’ commercial viability.

“It’s a little distressing actually,” offered Dr. Michel Sussman, Jangolittsie’s obstetrician. “I don’t think anyone with a financial or even emotional interest in these babies expected them to appear so unremarkable. They aren’t deformed or anything, but both children have extremely average features. I’m happy they are healthy, but when I agreed to be a part of this project, I have to admit I did expect the result to be different. I just thought they’d be hotter.”

Relatives of the Polittlio family supported the overall dissatisfaction with the product.

“I’m not saying they aren’t normal,” an anonymous family member urged. “I’m saying they ARE normal. A little too normal in fact. And quite frankly, a little chubby. Knox has no visible abs at all, and Vivienne’s lips look like, I don’t know, regular baby lips. I just want to cry. I don’t see how anyone is going to sell their pictures for $20 million, and I can tell you that was the figure on the business plan when Brad and what’s her name decided to go through all this.”

As word of this disastrous return on Brang’s investment spreads throughout Hollywood’s publicity machines, some industry spokespeople are even starting to show skepticism toward the couple’s claims.

“He emailed a picture of them to me.” Explains George Clooney, friend of the family and reported investor in their baby scheme. “And I think someone should look a little deeper into this. This is Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie we’re talking about here, and these babies look like they could have come out of any healthy white couple! It’s total bullsh*t!”

Paparazzi continue to surround the hospital where the newborns and parents rest following their apparently failing business endeavor, although reports late this afternoon suggest that attention is shifting as Brangelina are already leaking stories of a potential violent breakup scheduled for late fall, should the un-hot twins scam prove unprofitable.

My own iStory

I went out to the mall yesterday, a lovely outdoor paradise of consumption in Oak Brook IL, to make a couple of weekend purchases. I, like any good American, love to take some time in my off hours to go spend some of my hard-earned wages on things, and the practice of purchasing something that at one time was not mine, and now is, fills me with immense pride.

But every so often, about once a fiscal quarter I guess, an event will pop up that undermines my good feelings and makes me feel inadequate and small in my consumerism. Most of these events come at the hands of the Apple Corporation, and yesterday I was victimized by their exclusionary marketing techniques once again.

If you pay attention to any kind of media, you probably know that the mighty Apple handed down another lifesaving artifact from on high to the chosen few in the form of a new iPhone, and that it became available for purchase yesterday at 8:00 am. Millions of people all over the world stood in line for hours or days to claim their very own iPhone before anyone else could. What does it do that my current 2 year old phone doesn't do? Nothing that I need it to.

But the functionality is secondary to the experience. Apple's method of purposely releasing a number far below the anticipated demand creates a far superior purchasing process. It's a Super Purchase is what it is. A purchase that attracts news coverage, and fuels debate, and makes people really really angry. It's a beautiful thing. It's one thing to go to a store, find what you need and buy it, but it is so much more rewarding to work extra hard to get it, no matter how unnecessary the work is, so that your purchase is one of legends.

I don't need an iPhone. I don't really want one. So sadly, I have no reason to own one. But the iPhone experience is not about owning one as much as it is about buying one. That's where the lucky 200 or so irritable, sweaty, tired people standing in roped-off lines in front of the Apple store in Oak Brook Mall had much reason to feel superior to me. I was only there to buy some earbuds for my iPod, and there were no newspaper stories or press releases or lines of unwashed, shiny-moist creeps waiting for those.

I would have no story to tell tomorrow, when I told co-workers and friends about my weekend. I could not say that I stood in line for an entire day, and at times chanted angrily at the store employees when I suspected that this hype-induced scam was being run poorly, until I finally was allowed to spend a few hundred bucks on the only model that was left by the time I got into the store. And who cares if it's only 8gb instead of the 16gb that I intended to buy, and who cares if it's pink, and who cares that due to high volume on the Apple site I would not actually be able to use it as a communication device until I could figure out a way to get it working the way other people's inferior phones do! I would have had a story. A Super Purchase story that makes people go, "Wow. Really?"

That's right, I would say. Wow. And yes, really.

But that pleasure would not be mine. I stood and watched for a minute, wondering if I could even make my pathetic earbud purchase today, or if all non-iPhone items in the store had just been thrown into a back room to make room for dazzling displays of floor model iPhone units. (the ones that will be available for purchase at a ridiculously reduced price in about 3 weeks) Then I noticed that there was indeed a process in place to allow non-iPhoners to still spend money in the Apple store. A smallish 30-something guy, clearly way unhip to the happenings around him, attempted to walk into the store, and was stopped by two Apple genius-bouncers at the door.

"Are you here for the iPhone?" They interrogated him.

Looking around, this clueless individual suddenly became aware of the stockade of shoppers being held behind ropes in a line that began 15 feet from the store entrance.

"Uh, no. Desktop accessories." He replied nervously, as if trying to guess a secret password.

"Desktop accessories!" The iGoon shouted, and he was allowed to pass into the store.

There was a rumbling in the iPhone crowd, and the tone was clear and justifiable. "Desktop accessories", I imagined them saying to each other. "What a f*cking loser."

What a loser indeed. And my appreciation for the whining mass of consumer heroes was growing as they rightfully thumbed their collective nose at anyone who would buy something that didn't require the kind of manipulation and customer disrespect they so valiantly volunteered to endure. And their reward would be great. Once their long day was over, they could wake up the following morning and read about all of the iPhones that were sold, how poorly the stores handled the rushes, and how scores of technilogical glitches turned millions of loyal Apple hype-junkies into disgruntled saps who, once again, fell for the classic slow-release marketing gimmick employed at the expense of their dignity and cash, and say, "That was me!"

I would have no such tale. I had to accept my insigificance in this historic event and approach the door-geeks with my own loser password.

"iPod accessories." I mumbled, staring at the ground in utter shame.

"iPod accessories!"

I ran through the door to avoid the mocking sounds of the crowd and headed straight for the iPod wall. I immediately found the exact earbuds I planned to buy. Of course I did. And there was an embarrassingly ample inventory available to me. There was no limited supply, no rush to buy replacement accessories for a device that hasn't forced people to perspire in slow lines for over 5 years, and no conceivable story to follow my purchase.

I did have to wait almost 10 minutes at the check out line, where I imagined I was actually there to buy an iPhone, and even faked slight irritation to my cue-neighbor, just for fun, but she didn't play along.

I finished my sad transaction, and just to make things worse, did so right next to a delighted couple who were giggling as their new iPhone was carefully placed in a small Apple store bag. I looked at them for a moment and imagined what it must be like to be them, at this moment in retail history, and how they would commemorate their involvement right in the heart of it.

"Do you want those earbuds in a bag?" The cashier asked me.

I declined, as I have recently become a no-bag guy as a way to do my environmentally-conscious part. But then suddenly I heard something from a man outside, who was next in line to enter propoganda immortality, as he watched another non-iPhone buyer pass the threshold.

"You better make sure those people aren't buying iPhones!" He cautioned the iGoons. They reassured him and immediately I had a revelation.

I may not have a poorly functioning overpriced piece of electronics to take to work on Monday, but I would have my story, and my place in this historical occasion.

"On second thought, I will take a bag. One of those big ones."

I walked proudly out of the store and directly towards the suspicious man at the front of the line.

"You better hope you get in there soon," I told him, looking down into my nearly empty bag. "I am pretty sure I just bought the last two."

I hastily turned and headed towards the north lot, where I was parked. The further I got from the scene, the louder the chaos seemed to grow. I imagined the headlines tomorrow, about the Oakbrook riot and the eyewitness accounts of how a man claiming only to be purchasing earbuds made off with not one, but two iPhones, while some people waited for hours and were turned away, and as I exited the mall and tossed my Apple bag into a trash can, I became filled with tremendous consumer pride.

Are there any adults on TV anymore?

Seriously, is it that difficult for grown men to find a way to say nuts?

Hot Mic = Nutty Exchange

So Rev. Jesse Jackson made a disparaging and crude remark ("disparaging" and "crude" are the accepted media terms for this story, so I will use them too!) about Barack Obama. If you haven't seen it, check it out here. You know what's great about the rare opportunity to hear someone speak when they don't think they are on TV? The honesty and humanness of their statements. As an Obama supporter, I don't have any problem with what Jackson said, and from the sounds of it, neither does Obama. Through his spokesman Bill Burton, Barack defended his initial comments about parenting in the black community that Jackson was referring to, and then Burton added:

"He will continue to speak out about our responsibilities to ourselves and each other, and he of course accepts Reverend Jackson's apology,"

Done and done. Riiiight...

But Barack must know what it's like dealing with someone like Jackson, and the good Reverend sounded pretty comfortable using the phrase about cutting his nuts off. (You know who didn't look very comfortable? That guy sitting next to him. I'll bet people get nervous when a pissed off Jesse Jackson leans in to tell you a secret.) He probably uses language like that all of the time. So what? Most of us do when we aren't being interviewed on TV, where you are expected to use TV-interview friendly language and non-offensive, meaningless rhetoric to address complex issues in short, predetermined time segments. The media sets up these rules and then loves to act so surprised when something meant to be off-mic is heard, and Gee-whiz! People with strong opinions sound so much different in real life! That wasn't on the teleprompter at all!

Jesse Jackson is pretty irrelevant in this campaign, and some will suggest that's the source of his irritation with Obama. But that is just one of the things that will be suggested over the next couple of days to make this a bigger story than the simple fact that a grown man with strong opinions about his community disagrees with another grown man with strong opinions about his community. When did that kind of honest debate become a bad thing in this country, so that it must only be addressed after the mics are "turned off"?

But everyone knows the game, and once again the heart of this argument, which is really about family and responsibility, will become about something sinsister and provacative, and certainly hurtful when necessary. I can't wait to see how Fox turns this comment into some kind of castration ritual that fellow terrorists threaten each other with!

But again, we know the drill. Jackson apologizes publicly, uses all the key words in doing so, and those who need to distance themselves from him will publicly denounce him, as is evident below in a comment from one of Jackson's first repudiators:

I'm deeply outraged and disappointed in Reverend Jackson's reckless statements about Senator Barack Obama. His divisive and demeaning comments about the presumptive Democratic nominee -- and I believe the next president of the United States -- contradict his inspiring and courageous career.

Did that statement come from the Obama campaign? Nope, that one came from Rep. Jesse Jackson Jr.

His own son.

Barack Obama doesn't have to say anything about this. Jesse Sr. has real problems now. When you attack someone who is calling for better parenting from fathers, and suddenly you become "Reverend Jackson" to the kid who used to call you "Dad", you better watch your own nuts.

Sounds of Celebration

My 10 year old son and I sat out on the front porch last night at dusk, where we can see and hear most of the action from our community's public fireworks display, as well as hundreds of amateur attempts from backyards throughout the residential blocks that make up our West side Chicago neighborhood of Galewood. Above the tall trees that line our streets we can make out the tops of the higher multi-colored bursts launched from the local schoolyard, and the explosions of illegal but tolerated cherry bombs, M-80's and roman candles create a constant din of violent sound that seems to last all night.

It's awesome, the sound. I closed my eyes and tried to distinguish one from the other, to see if I could identify the origin of each individual explosion. My son was jumping up and down the front stairs, his 10 year old body unable to contain the energy created by this sensory overload. I was picturing families in their yards, finishing up their hot dogs and burgers from the grill, watching dad lighting fuses on the contraband he smuggled in from Indiana, and then running back to safety while they unpredictably exploded or shot into the air and then exploded. They would all yell, or clap, or bury their young faces in their mother's chest to hide from the bright balls of fire flying above them. Certainly each sound I could hear was one of celebration, and joy, and family.

My sometimes cynical son saw it differently, as he usually does, and his observation startled me out of my daydreaming.

"I bet this is what Iraq sounds like." His nervous smile indicated he wasn't convinced that his clever insight was a realization he was happy to have made. He understands the war only as much as a 10 year old can, and he doesn't need to understand the reason or the politics to know that death is involved, and that the soldiers being wounded and dying are members of families just like our neighbors'. And just like his.

"Yeah," I said. "I bet it sounds exactly like this."

He stopped jumping, and his smile turned to a look of confusion and sadness. He sat down next to me on the steps, inching his now quiet body right next to mine.

"Is the noise bothering you?" I asked.

"No, I'm just listening with different ears."

We sat in silence. It wasn't necessary to discuss what we were both thinking, there was no need to try to work out our feelings about this. We just sat and listened. We weren't laughing and gasping anymore, we were imagining what it would be like to hear the constant explosions and know that they are meant to kill people, and that the really close ones were meant to kill us.

I'm not anti-American and I don't wish to dampen any opportunity for celebration, but as I considered this country's current involvement in a war that so few of us support or understand, I hoped that amidst our artillary simulations and singing of songs about "bombs bursting in air", that my 10 year old son wasn't the only one this 4th of July listening to the sounds of the fireworks with different ears.

How To Be A Productive Writer

All of us who consider ourselves to be writers struggle with the same issue: How to go from being just a writer to being a productive writer.

First and foremost, if you are reading this, then you are most likely already a writer, meaning you have written something at some point. Good for you! Being a writer is not only a rewarding experience and a satisfying creative outlet, but it’s also just an impressive thing to tell people about yourself.

So how do you calm that nagging voice telling you that as a writer you must be more productive? I have found the answer to be quite simple…

Schedule time to write.

That’s all there is to it! And the more time you set aside, the more productive you will be! I, myself have decided to dedicate the entire day every Sunday to writing about all of the little things that pop into my head during the week. And I don’t bother writing them down as they come to me, because come writing day, I have no trouble recalling all of the great ideas that I haven’t forgotten. Forgotten ideas are most likely bad ideas. Your creative brain does a great job of discarding the fleeting thoughts that would have made for bad writing anyway, I think. That’s called Natural Idea Selection, and guess what? It’s already built into your DNA!

Today’s writing day was one of the most productive yet. I made sure that I cleared my calendar of any external responsibilities, and even set my alarm to make sure I could get an early start of it. I told my wife and son that I was not to be bothered, and that they should plan to do something out of the house. Nothing was going to interrupt my writing day.

First, a hearty breakfast and a long shower. Nothing clears the mind like a fortified and clean body. Next, a little Sunday morning newspaper for inspiration. There are a million story ideas on every page and I made sure to read every word. I can’t remember the last time I read an entire Sunday newspaper, but I had a big day of writing ahead, and I needed to equip myself with topical material. While the millions of new facts and opinions whirled around in my brain, I headed outside to let the fresh air oxygenate my fertile mind and sort those budding seeds of thought into well manicured rows of words and stories. This process made me feel so exhilarated I found myself pulling weeds out of my back yard, one at a time. Before I knew it, there was not a single clover patch or dandelion in my plot, and my noggin was that much closer to housing a Pulitzer Prize-winning novel. A quick pass with the old lawnmower, front and back, and I was inside to continue my writing.

Flipping open the face of my laptop, I noticed the clock in the corner telling me it was well past lunch time. This writer certainly isn’t going to hamper his genius with low blood sugar, so you can bet I headed straight to the fridge for a little “word-fuel”! Nothing but a full sink of dirty dishes stood between me and my special writing day sandwich, and once an entire weekend’s worth of dinnerware was hand-scrubbed, dried, and put away, with only a few extra moments taken to completely reorganize the silverware drawer and clean out the crisper, I assembled a 3 course midday feast that would have made Hemingway proud.

Back to my anxious computer, I began to type…

June 29, 2008. Writing. By John Cates.

My fingers were electric with possibilities as they hammered upon the keys. I was almost finished pre-numbering the first 50 pages of my essay when I decided to find my trusty old college thesaurus. How much better will my first draft of clever insight be with old “Thessy” at my side. And in the relatively brief time spent pacing around in a circle thinking up a nickname for my thesaurus, I actually remembered where it was! I was unstoppable.

Wow…memories, huh? Nothing like a trip through the boxes in the back of the basement to take me back to when I was still only dreaming of one day becoming a writer. If my younger, unfocused me could see me now!

With Thessy in hand, I headed back up the stairs to continue my art. Even though it is late June, I was feeling as if I might write a holiday story. Perhaps the dust of Christmas spirit was still in my nostrils after reordering and relabeling 5 boxes of ornaments and decorations on my way out of the storage area. I almost felt sorry for Charles Dickens, imagining the possibility that his “classic” was about to become obsolete. Even he could not question his lower status, knowing the power of a writer with adequately scheduled time on his hands.

Over the next several hours, I ensured that no unforeseen intrusion would ruin my progress. The last thing the John Cates Literary Express needed was an interruption by a ringing phone or urgent correspondence. So I proactively replied to every unanswered email in my overflowing inbox, and phoned each and every member of my family to announce that I would be taking no calls for the remainder of my writing day. After all, the schedule is sacred.

Shortly after hanging up with my mother, who could not say enough about how proud she was that I was finally writing, my wife and son returned home from their day at the mall with new shirts for me. I couldn’t wait to try each one on to decide which would be my official writing shirt! I settled on a plain white T-shirt that felt somewhat symbolic of the white electronic pages that flickered with anticipation on my laptop screen.

Following a delicious dinner of steaks that I prepared on the grill, it was time for my writing Sunday to come to an end. It’s as important to stick to the end time as it is the start time, to ensure a solid writing day regimen.

So there you have it. How to be a productive writer. I can’t think of a more productive day in my adult life, and I’m really looking forward to next Sunday, when I will set aside another full day to devote to my craft as a writer.

I think I might finally get those gutters cleaned.

Facebook

I have recently acquired a Facebook account. I think it’s called an account, it doesn’t cost anything and it doesn’t generate or achieve increasing value that I’m aware of, but I did have to give some personal information to the internet Gods to get it, so we’ll go with account for now.
Considering the fact that I turned 40 this year, I realize that my participation in this…thing…is not only of little interest to the majority of the youngsters who truly appreciate it, but may be in fact insulting its very purpose. That purpose being the…well, the phenomenon of…I suppose it’s a networking…tool? What the hell is it? Forget for a minute why I did it, I’m going to get into all of that and defend my decision for a man my age to belong to a…site? Page?...database, I guess, that doesn’t really want or need me there. I’ll get to all that. But I need to first figure out the point. Do you meet people on it? That seems unlikely, because it seems to be set up to ensure that you are only “friends” with people you already know. That’s cool, so it helps you keep in touch with people who clearly have email accounts that could easily be used for the same thing, in fact more easily I think…

Tell you what, I’m gonna put that discovery session on the back burner for a time and not make this about everything I don’t understand about Facebook, but rather what it is I enjoy about it:

I like…looking at it.

I have friends there, with pictures of themselves. They comment to each other and I am notified when they do. So I look at it to know that people I know are communicating with each other and I feel good about the fact that many people I know like each other. That’s good. I look at it to see who recently completed a quiz about cartoon characters and the pants they wear and find that my co-worker Dan who has an office across the hall from mine got 74% right on that quiz, narrowly topping my sister Amy’s 68% correct on the same. So now I know that. Good to know where my family name stands in the universe.

I look some more and see that a girl I don’t really know, but whose husband I have met twice, has announced that she is “…out of town in Rhode Island until Wednesday and misses her cat.” My immediate reaction to these public postings of “what are you doing right now?” that everyone is encouraged to update every 30 seconds, is that I want to respond to the statement, saying something like “Have fun in Rhode Island, and don’t worry, cats can live for like a week just drinking out of the toilet in case your husband is accidentally killed while you’re away.” You know, something comforting to someone obviously crying out for reassurances. But then I realize that these statements aren’t really set up for response, nor are they posted with that intent. It’s like a way for everyone to spray paint whatever is on their mind onto a common wall for everyone else to see and acknowledge, and then essentially do nothing about. I can dig that.

So Facebook is basically a database where people post personal information about themselves, with a picture or 10, and constantly update their personal statements to let everyone know where they are and what mood they are in. I’m guessing the several billion members of Facebook are definitely not the same people who complain about Bush’s bill to wiretap and eavesdrop on phone calls and emails, right? Because the more I look at this thing, and look at it and look at it and try to figure out what it is I’m supposed to do with it, the more it occurs to me what the point of all this sharing really is; this is our young people, performing their most patriotic of duties, saying to Homeland Security, “Hey, I know your job is tough, and I support you. Here is everything you need to know about me without you having to invest a lot of time and resources looking for it. It’s all right here on my Facebook. And apologies to Dick Cheney for beating his cartoon quiz score, but come on Dick, Porky Pig doesn’t wear pants! LOL, and God bless America.”