saving ink

As creatures of flesh that crumbles and consciousness that fades, we only have two roads to immortality, and one is easier and thus chosen by most, and one is infinitely more difficult and even the ones who choose it, inadvertently or not, usually fail. Some may try both, but in the end one will always be sacrificed, whether through lack of attention or logistical failings. We have two choices: genetic or artistic immortality.

Genetic immortality is self-explanatory. You reproduce, have a kid or a dozen, pass on not only your genes (though, biologically, that’s really the only purpose of our existence) but your ideas, teachings, and the traditions of your family and your language and your nation, and hope your kids live on to do the same.

Artistic immortality is much trickier. You must give birth to an idea so potent, so pivotal it becomes part of the human story, and is passed on from generation to generation. Perhaps there’s a better name for it than “artistic” immortality, as I don’t mean just creating a visual or auditory masterpiece a la da Vinci or Beethoven (though that’s certainly one way); Einstein, Heisenberg, Darwin, Copernicus, Satre, Curie, Marx, Rand, Newton… all of them did this, for better or for worse, and that’s the level of ingenuity each and every one of us is competing with for immortality.

Perhaps that’s what separates humans from the rest of the animal kingdom: our belief that we are more than our genes, that ideas can live on just as organisms do. Ideas evolve, adapt, and sometimes die out, but once they’re out there they become separate entities with fates no longer bound to their originators.

Of course, the word “immortality” is misleading itself, as unless we make contact with intelligent beings from other worlds or the robot singularity occurs or a new, even more intelligent species evolves on Earth, both types of immortalities are tied to the mortality of the human race. But since we’re a part of that closed group labelled “human”, we can’t see past the event horizon anyway, so this simulated immortality will just have to do.

Thoughts?

Last month, I transitioned from a “proper” job as the editor of a small newspaper to a freelancer. Now that the novelty of working at home and out of cafes at whatever hours I choose is wearing off, I’ve made some observations.

To be completely honest, what I’m going to miss most about my job, besides the people I worked with, is the press previews, free passes, and additional access that the title of “journalist” afforded me at events like exhibition/museum openings and festivals. Not because, if I were to add it up, I probably got thousands of dollars in free entrances and swag (although that certainly helps), but because of the status that came with how I got those things. That little badge that says “MEDIA” or “Press Photographer” on it is not just a free entry, it’s proof that I’m just a little more clever than the people without one, because, hey, those suckers had to pay to be here while I didn’t!

It’s the privilege of knowing something first, before the unwashed masses get their hands on the information (though thanks to Twitter and WikiLeaks, that privilege is quickly disappearing). It’s tangible proof that I’m better than other people - or, of course, it just seems that way, because everything I’ve said is complete and utter bullshit.

Being a journalist does not make you a better person; it makes you, in the best of cases, a more observant person, and in the worst and more frequent cases, a closed-minded, self-satisfied son of a bitch. Journalism is a world of entitlement, because whatever job title or piece of paper says that you’re a certified journalist entitles you to information. But it’s a closed world, and it rarely produces human beings that come out better than when they started in the business.

Still, I’m glad I had the experience, and I’m glad to be out. I still want to write more than ever, but on my own terms, and not dictated by the hot topics of the day. And I believe there’s still a market for this type of writing, perhaps more than ever before, thanks to the proliferation of god-awful articles and thinking out there. It just becomes that much more difficult to make it without that innate entitlement that comes with the title. That’s ok, though, it’ll make it all the sweeter in the end.

One morning a couple of months ago when I still had a job (a painful 9:15 am to be exact, about five hours before my brain tends to wake up), a colleague and I interviewed one of the trumpeters of St. Mary’s Church (if you don’t know what I’m talking about, I suggest clicking the afore-mentioned link to read about an awesome legend that involves a Tatar warrior with rather unbelievable archery skills). While in general the interview was pretty fascinating (turns out, there are seven trumpeters, and they work in 24-hour shifts that allow, at most, 55-minute catnaps during the night), there was an anecdote he told us after the tape recorder was turned off that seems like an apt parable for today’s news media.

According to the trumpeter (and technically, fire fighter, as every trumpeter is a member of the Krakow Fire Brigade), in the early 1900s there was a watchmaker’s shop on the Market Square, right by St. Mary’s. Every morning, the trumpeter on shift would go to the watchmaker’s and check the time and calibrate his pocket watch, then proceed up to the tower to do his job, which means playing the Hejnał (St. Mary’s hymn) every hour, on the hour, sun or rain or hail or snow or holiday or weekend. One morning, the trumpeter awoke to find that his watch was broken, so he set out earlier than usual to make a longer stop at the watchmaker’s. As the watchmaker was fixing the pocket watch, the trumpeter asked, “Sir, how do you calibrate the clocks in your shop to keep the correct time?” “Well, that’s easy,” the watchmaker replied, “I listen for the Hejnał every hour!”

Perhaps you can see where I’m going with this.

The world of the news media and journalism has become a closed circle of information, feedbacking onto itself much like a guitar pick-up placed too close to a speaker - after a while, all you get is noise. The news agencies have replaced interviewees as primary sources, and the rapid pace of updates has allowed for inexcusable mistakes. All of this has led to a downward spiral of journalistic quality, when one outlet keeps time by the other’s watch, which is simultaneously being wound according to the former’s. 

So what’s the solution? Better quality control at journalism schools? (Does anyone even go to those anymore?) A narrowing of the market? Or perhaps a change in motivation, from ad revenue to direct payment for content? I still don’t know the answer, but I know damn well that a change is necessary, before the rest of the world’s media is swallowed up by the self-referencing American model.

Freelance is not a fancy word for not having employment; it is a fancy word for not wanting employment.

Is turning down a good job proposal in lieu of the dream of freelancing ballsy or just stupid? Either way, that’s what I’ve done several times now since I became “unemployed”. I use the quotes with a tinge of sarcasm, because in my head I hear the apprehension in the response of everyone who has ever heard me say that I don’t want a job anymore (“But is that sensible?” “In these economic times, is that really a luxury you can afford?” “Everyone has to make a living…”). And I keep saying that I should be scared about such a pivotal life decision, but somehow, try as I will, I can’t summon that supposedly-healthy fear.

Granted, I’ve only been at this for a week, technically. However, I’ve been planning this kind of life for nearly a year, and so far it looks to be working out pretty damn well. I’m certainly ecstatic about the fact that, for better or worse, I’m now far more in charge of my destiny than at any other point in my life. Now it’s up to me to not fuck it up - or, if I do, to at least learn something before trying again. So right now, I’m swimming in uncharacteristic, undiluted optimism.

Perhaps it’s because when I’m at a crossroads, I prefer the option of forgetting the paved roads and running through some pretty fields for a while.

I hate to resort to LOLspeak, but it’s true, New Yorker.

In case you haven’t heard, Condé Nast, parent company of The New Yorker, released an iPad-only app of the esteemed magazine. The app may be beautiful and functional, but as I wrote last week, the world is not quite ready for an app-based publication.

First of all, as the above commentators point out so eloquently, there is no subscription model in place. Second, print subscribers are (justifiably) infuriated that they have to pay twice for the same product - which also exists online for free. Not only does this highlight an absurdity, but it illustrates something that the decision-makers at Condé Nast have obviously failed to realize: it’s the content, stupid. The content is what matters, and the delivery system, whether print or app, only exists to facilitate access to that content. When people buy magazines, they’re not paying for the dead tree parts in their hands, they’re paying for the content - the same principle applies to apps (and should have applied to the Internet from the start).

What the New Yorker should have done is to hold off on the app until the time was right: until tablets and iOS devices became truly ubiquitous, at least in the US, and until their print subscriptions had dropped down to the point of non-sustainability. That’s the tipping point, and that’s when you make the switch.

But the switch cannot be made half-assed. Once you decide to go app, you must kill the print, and discontinue the system of offering the same content for free online. In fact, just stop offering magazine content online! No one wants to read that in a browser when they can experience it in an app, even if that means they have to pay. Because if the product is good, they will.

Will it piss people off? Of course. But revolutions always piss some people off. Hell, revolutions piss most people off. I’m sure when Gutenberg was extolling the virtues of his dandy new machine, there were plenty of detractors predicting the end of civilization behind his back. And yet, there will always be those few people who embrace change and usher in a new, better system, years before everyone else catches up. The history books will call them visionaries. But are they visionaries? Maybe. Or maybe they’re just fairly smart people not crippled by the fear of change.

NOTE: I wrote this in September 2010, right after the launch of the iPad, long before the iPad 2, Galaxy Tab, Kindle Fire, etc. had made this prediction a reality. Um, I told you so?

The dominant trend for mainstream news and magazines has overwhelmingly been paper —> website —> app (or occasionally website —> app for newer media organizations) for the past few years. The problem with this model, other than the obvious lack of ability for these organizations to find a way to generate revenue online, is that rather than eliminating a previous platform when making the switch to something newer, the content is simply replicated across the different platforms. Worst of all, one or two of the platforms charge for access to the content, while the other one or two offer the exact same content for free.

But what if we got rid of those first two steps, and simply began a media source* as an app?

A media entity that starts as an app is unencumbered by the burden of “free”. It was never free to begin with, so there is no initial gut aversion from the public. But more importantly, it ends the disconnect between customer and content, because when readers pay for what they’re reading, there is no longer room or need for advertisers to worm their way into that relationship; the editors and writers once again work to please readers, not corporate overlords.

The concept of in-app purchases is becoming accepted as a way to pay a fair price for new or additional content to an existing product. In fact, there are already whole categories of apps (comic book companies, for one) where this is the norm. A couple of media outlets (McSweeny’s is the first that comes to mind) are doing this already. So why can’t media apps work this way, in which they are initially bought for free or for a very low price, and every day or week or month a new “issue” of content is available to pay for and download within the app. It could be tied to an email system that informs subscribers that a new issue is ready for download, or entices casual readers to purchase the issue by giving a small preview of what’s inside.

The beauty of this system is that it would eliminate the need for both print and online versions.

Granted, for this to become reality, several things must happen:

1. iPads and similar devices must become ubiquitous.
2. App development must become either easy enough for a non-developer to handle, or app development apps, if you will, must become ubiquitous.
3. Apps must be made cross-platform by default, just as websites can be opened in a variety of browsers and most programs are made for several operating systems. OS limits can only harm media apps.
4. Our concept of “app” needs to change completely, from being a pretty icon on a phone screen with limited use to being part of an overall system. iOS4’s folder organization is definitely a step in that direction.

My guess is that it will be at least five years before these conditions are met - or at least enough of these conditions are in place so that slowly but surely media organizations can once again see a profit. But with any luck, the iPad and whatever devices follow will allow for a renaissance of quality journalism.

Hey, a girl can dream.

*I’m hesitant to use the words “magazine” or “newspaper”, even though that’s still the closest approximation. Perhaps a fifth condition should be the invention of a new word to describe these new forms of media.

Maybe because I never went to journalism school (or took a single journalism class, for that matter), I have resisted to a fault using journo-slang such as “angle”, “lead”, “advertorial”, etc . But while those terms are simply annoying and usually unnecessary, there is one piece of journalese that I absolutely cannot stand: “copy”.

Copy |ˈkäpē| noun ( pl. copies):

1. the words of an article, news story, or book
2. any broadcast writing, including commercials
3. any written material intended for publication, including advertising

What’s wrong with “article” or “story”, or if you must speak more technically, then “text”? ”Copy” sounds cheap. It sounds like something produced in a factory, tailored to the specifications of the customer.

“I’ll have 1,200 pieces of copy, and two crates of by-lines, please. And throw in an advertorial on the side, will ya?”

Perhaps it’s just my lack of proper initiation into journalism. But perhaps this is a case of semantics dictating attitudes. I mean, have you ever heard Shakespeare or Joyce described as “great copy”? Did Hunter Thompson produce “killer copy” for the National Observer while tripping balls on LSD? No, he told amazing stories, submitted mind-blowing articles full of engaging sentences constructed from perfectly chosen words.

So it’s no wonder that other than occasional long-form gems found in a few select papers, the majority of mainstream journalism has become cheap, AP-style copy. Perhaps if journalists stopped thinking of themselves as cogs in a machine producing copy and began writing stories, the public might want to read them again.

But what do I know? I never went to journalism school…

Today’s search through the Internets have resulted in an absolute gem: Revenge of the Introvert on Psychology Today.

Reading this article is like reading a manual on me. A few parts stand out especially, like this one:

“As a card-carrying introvert, I am one of the many people whose personality confers on them a preference for the inner world of their own mind rather than the outer world of sociability. Depleted by too much external stimulation, we thrive on reflection and solitude. Our psychic opposites, extraverts, prefer schmoozing and social life because such activities boost their mood. They get bored by too much solitude.”

And this one:

“Scientists now know that, while introverts have no special advantage in intelligence, they do seem to process more information than others in any given situation. To digest it, they do best in quiet environments, interacting one on one. Further, their brains are less dependent on external stimuli and rewards to feel good.”

I’ve known for some time now that I’m not a team player. Not that I can’t stand other people (that largely depends on their level of intelligence and sense of humor), but for the most part, I prefer to be alone or in a small group, especially when working. Then, that 20-30% of me that’s extroverted comes out in large bursts, usually on weekends, usually when there are large amounts of alcohol involved.

But I go crazy if I don’t get a certain amount of alone time each day or week, to the point of getting irritable and snappy towards those around me. Luckily, since I’ve been living by myself for about three years now, that doesn’t happen very often anymore.

And then there’s this perfect explanation of why I’ve always preferred writing to conversation - or at least found that I’m far better at the former:

“Extraverts are comfortable thinking as they speak. Introverts prefer slow-paced interactions that allow room for thought. Brainstorming does not work for them. Email does.”

In other words, I can absolutely come up with a witty and intelligent retort to your insult that could reduce you to a blubbering mess… if you give me a couple of hours.

Anyway, I’ve known the previously-mentioned information for a long time now, and accepted it as part of my personality. However, reading about the following correlation just resulted in an epic “duh” moment, as in, why the hell didn’t I see this earlier:

“As a result, introverts are not driven to seek big hits of positive emotional arousal - they’d rather find meaning than bliss - making them relatively immune to the search for happiness that permeates contemporary American culture. In fact, the cultural emphasis on happiness may actually threaten their mental health. As American life becomes increasingly competitive and aggressive, to say nothing of blindingly fast, the pressures to produce on demand, be a team player, and make snap decisions cut introverts off from their inner power source, leaving them stressed and depleted. Introverts today face one overarching challenge - not to feel like misfits in their own culture.”

Of course! How did I overcome this challenge? By leaving it - by leaving America and the 9-to-5 system I obviously don’t belong in, and that I’m even now continuing to distance myself from more and more. But that means that there are millions of others - half of the population of the U.S. according to the article - still stuck in a country that “promotes the direct, fast-paced style of communication associated with extraversion” and rewards “talkativeness, assertiveness, and enthusiasm”. To summarize the gist of the rest of the article: That’s kind of fucked up, right?

I think the ultimate irony is that the best response to this problem would be to join together as introverts and rise up against the dominance of extroverts in American culture… except that, well, we can’t really do that. At least, not comfortably. And probably not that effectively. Perhaps a manifesto of some sort would be more fitting, but that would just be ignored. What’s an introvert to do?

Perhaps one place to start would be to instill some understanding in extroverts: What Not to Say to an Introvert. Damn straight.

Finally, this apt distinction between introversion and shyness should be far more prevalent in our culture:

“On the surface, introversion looks a lot like shyness. Both limit social interaction, but for differing reasons. The shy want desperately to connect but find socializing difficult […] Introverts seek time alone because they want time alone. An introvert and a shy person might be standing against the wall at a party, but the introvert prefers to be there, while the shy individual feels she has no choice.”

Yes! The introverted aren’t hopeless social rejects, we just don’t like you!

Ok, ok, more accurately: we just like our own heads better.

First of all, let me explain a fundamental principle: there is such a thing as a casual smoker. Just like a casual drinker is someone between an abstainer and an alcoholic, a casual smoker is someone between a non-smoker and an addict. Now that that’s out of the way and society can correct its erroneous perceptions, we can move on.

I have been a casual smoker for about five years now. I typically buy one to two packs per month, and when I can afford them, I prefer cloves. Most often, I smoke only on the weekends, in social situations, and generally when also drinking. I don’t smoke because I need the nicotine, I smoke because I enjoy the act of holding a cigarette; of being part of that smoker “club”, even if I’m a part-time member; of that moment after the first few draws when I become aware that my heart is beating because it starts to race and I remember that I’m a living human with this mechanism that pumps life through my veins and isn’t it awesome to be alive. That moment.

However, social smoking is just something I do to keep my hands busy when sitting in a pub, because it’s still allowed indoors in Poland. It’s also something I could give up without much thought.

The kind of smoking that I would never want to relinquish is more rare; it’s the kind that gives me a reason to escape and indulge in my own brain for a few minutes. It allows me to leave whatever surroundings I’m in, whether it’s the busy office at work or my distraction-filled apartment, and just sit outside on a bench and stare off into space. But because I’m also lifting a cigarette to my lips and inhaling and exhaling smoke in the process, I’m not just that weirdo staring off into nothingness on a park bench. No, I have a purpose, I’m there for a reason, or so it appears to the outside world, so I don’t have to worry about being self-conscious because everyone around me just assumes I’m indulging a different habit than the one I’m actually addicted to: thinking.

And that’s why won’t quit (casually) smoking. So save the warning labels and black lungs for others, because this one is a lost cause.