Sometimes I think about how all of this stuff we're chasing around, the internet and how to harness it and cultivate it and make it our money-maker, our sugar daddy, is so 1995 it's not even funny. I'm writing papers about how "the playing field is leveled because of the ease and ability of users to create their own individual content, breaking into an array of entertainment as yet unharnessed by any corporation (and possibly could never fully conquered and employed)." But all I can think about is ascii art and MS DOS and "the net" and how I should have a dot com business model or something.
Dude, the next level of storytelling is going to take place like in people's brains or something. I don't know. I can't understand it. I don't really care that much either I guess. I write things. None of this interests me. I think I read too much Seneca.
All I do know is that Ingrid Michaelson is the new Lisa Loeb. And that we may laugh at the dirty, mealy-faced 90's. But soon enough we'll be looking at the 2000's saying, "What the hell was wrong with us?" And also, "Hoverboards rule!"
Monday, September 28, 2009
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