Last evening on John Stewart's The Daily Show, Bill Gates introduced Windows new operating system, Vista. The program was an excellent opportunity for Gates to reach his target audience of young professionals, who mainly make up The Daily Show's audience base, and tote his new product. Myself a Mac user, I hadn't even heard of the product being released anytime soon, just hearing wispers about its beta from last year. Though it wasn't the new operating system which caught my attention during the interview. Instead, it was the discussion the two men had on the future of technology.

Gates is still adamant that their technology will completely revolutionize the way people communicate in the next five years. The model he presented continues to fuse the cyber world with current forms of media distribution, invisioning a You Tube that will become more of a "You Couch Potato.com."

I would argue that the biggest impact Gates invisions is the way in which we receive our media. I, like many (and I consider myself very tech savvy), will stil prefer to watch TV at the end of a hard day at work. And we'll still like watching a movie on the big screen instead of a brightly outlined white box on a computer screen. Gates argued that "choice" was one of the things that would change the most. But I am a believer that most Americans, and the world for that fact, don't realy care about how they get their entertainment news, so long as they know what happens to Hilton or swank. A study on Brazilian soap operas summed it up for me when I was in graduate school, where one scholar said that television in Brazil was more of an escape than a distribution of knowledge. When FM came out in the 1960s, after it had been in the research labs for twenty-five years, some thought it could be used to improve the culture of our society, giving them classical music in clear stereo sound. Still, Americans prefer Opie & Anthony over a Beathovan opus. They participate more on a passive level than an active one.

What has changed in the world, as I've stated earlier in this blog, is the rise of the independents, the little man or woman who can create a story in their room, and then they can distribute it all over the world. The "nitch" has thanks to give to the rise in computer technology. But when the world ends, I have a feeling that everyone will still be watching CNN, instead of watching dancing dogs on You Tube.

"CLEARING THE CHANNELS"


It's made a lot of news these past few days, the events that ended with the death of an on-air contestant at Sacramento's 107.9, The End. The woman, who tried to win a new game system by drinking so much water that she died later of water intoxication, cleared the way for probably the end of the morning Rave crew's career in radio, and probably way for a hefty suit against the station. What interests me in this whole story is the larger picture for radio overall in America.

I won't go on my own rant about how the Rave is just another example of how radio continues to work against the public good. I'm not against shock jocks, per say. In fact, I learned of the story from O&A's morning show here in New York. What I am discouraged with is that markets are so homogenized and run by corporate offices in Dallas or Denver that the purpose of why stations are licenced public air waves seems to be lost. There's little attention given to what fragments of radio staffs still exist in this country, since the days of audimation. And I wonder if a locally managed station with more of a grass roots style of management, like the old days of FM, might have sat down and said, "You know what, maybe this isn't the best idea guys?" Or, maybe there wouldn't be that whole quiet "hush--hush, don't talk about it" vibe that goes on whenever station employees make big mistakes. And you can't make a bigger mistake than having one of your contestants go home and die due to your pourly planned attempt to get ratings.

Several years ago, when I was riding a Greyhound bus across the country archiving FM radio stations, 10,000 miles in twenty days, I remember passing through Sacramento and listening to the morning crew on one of their stations (not sure if it was the End or not, as radio was quite different then than it is just six years later). One of the stations had a contest where a person would win a limo ride to Nevada and lose his virginity. I remember thinking this is a bad idea, and wondering if I was the only one who thought this.

One of the problems with these "bad ideas" are that people who can actually say, "yeah, that's a really bad idea," live two thousand miles away in an office where all they're ever given are the Arbitron ratings, seldom raising an eye brow unless the share of their station actually falls. Well, I have a feeling they're falling now in sacramento.

GROWING PAINS--

Recently, there’s been a lot of talk regarding gentrification in New York City, especially in Brooklyn. Douglas Rushkoff, a writer and media theorist living in Park Slope, received quite a bit of negative feedback the other week after criticizing the mal effects of gentrification into urban dwellings. Although Rushkoff feels as though he might have taken an unnecessary defensive after sharing parts of his personal life, as he notes on his blog, I am glad the writer brought up the issue, sharing on how he was mugged on Christmas morning in one of Brooklyn’s most expensive brownstone neighborhoods.

The struggles of Park Slope come as no surprise to me, myself having to move to Bay Ridge last month after being priced out of the slope. But I’m not at all surprised with the false shroud of reality that has surrounded my former neighborhood of stoop sales and mom & pop cafes.

Today is the birthday of Martin Luther King Jr. It's not just his memorial day, but also his actual birthday. Born in South Atlanta, and growing up on the North side of that urban Mecca for southern industry and business, I knew well the teachings of Dr. King from my school years. His home on Auburn Avenue wasn’t too far a walk from Five Points on Peachtree Street, where my great grandfather from Britain had his shoe store. My childhood was one removed from the big city, watching Atlanta struggle with urban flight as I grew-up, watching my parents’ childhood homes fall into disrepair.

Last year, I had taken a group to visit the King Center on Auburn Ave., and I was quite impressed with the amount of gentrification the City had been undergoing. Many of my friends had moved into the City, opting for “Fix-Me-Ups” over suburban living. It has, in a lot of ways, become the cool way to live for America’s young hip professionals.

The situation in Park Slope is no surprise, when market values on real estate sore so high that they can hardly justify their worth against the back drop of tattered furniture left on the side walks by previous owners priced out of their homes. Recent city reports show that Brooklyn’s real estate increased 28% last year, one of the highest increases in the city. Nevertheless, new city dwellers need to remember that luxury can come at a higher cost in the city when the effects of such gentrification are ignored.

On this MLK Day, it’s important to not forget the equality that Dr. King envisioned in the world that he dreamed of forty years ago. New York, as well as Atlanta and other big cities, has changed much since then. But just because something changes doesn’t mean that what sat there before should be wiped clean. Gentrification’s greatest harm is the displacement it places on those who were priced out of the only place they could call home. And when someone is forced out of his or her home, you can imagine that they don’t have the best warm and fuzzy feelings for those who are pushing them out.

Gentrification without generosity leads to the bitter spats like those that have flamed up since Rushkoff’s comments on the subject. King reminds us the greatest leaders are servants. I imagine that those who can afford to live now in Park Slope must lead something, in order to afford such a high standard of living. So I encourage them, as well as all people who move into the city, to not just sit behind closed doors in fear, nor to go rushing to your city council to protest the acts of crime in your neighborhood. Instead, fight for affordable housing, volunteer at local churches and civic groups to help the displaced, spend one night a month at your local shelter or job placement center, helping out or teaching. Don’t rewrite the neighborhood you’re moving into, but become a part of it's living story that unfolds. I would love to hear a real estate company encourage this as they try to make a sell, rather than tell you how the kitchen just got new stainless steel appliances. It’s a global village folks, so you better learn how to live with one another, and be thankful you can choose where you want to live.

Christmas always strikes me as such an interesting holiday. It is, without a doubt, one of my favorites, while at the same time it is one of the most difficult times of the year to endure. The season has become such a commercial venture that once the St. Valentine’s Day displays have been put away—which Target had up right after Christmas--I’m sure the Santa display will be dusted off for ten long months of the Christmas season.

It interests me that more people don’t catch onto the name of Christmas. It is, after all, rooted in the Christian calendar marking the mass that is to symbolize the birth of Christ in the Patriarch Churches (Catholic and other liturgical faiths that trace their roots to the ancient Christian Church). Even though towns like Pittsburgh call it the Festival of Lights, and Chicago has Mickey Mouse turning on their holiday lights along Michigan ave., there is no hiding from the fact that the season would hardly exist if not for the Christian faith. Hanuka is, after all, a minor feast in the Jewish year. Although many modern denominations no longer celebrate a Eucharistic mass, the day is still marked as the birth of Christ by a country that is predominately Christian. And it’s as much an Icon of American life as little white churches with tall steeples, and bright and colorful Easter dresses in the spring.

There are, in fact, twelve days of Christmas, much like the holiday song actually denotes, but few seldom remember. In most parts of the world, gifts are not exchanged until the last day, known as the Epiphany, when the wise men came to Bethlehem bearing gifts for the newborn son they had heard of in a dream, or vision, or whatever desert juice they were drinking.

There is so much energy put into the thirty-minute span when presents are to be opened, that Americans seem to blow out as soon as Christmas arrives. Some can’t even make it to Christmas Day, which in many denominations begins once the sun falls on Christmas Eve. The result is a hangover of commercialization that leaves us cloudy for the twelve days following December 25th, so much that it passes us by with little notice, except for the start of the New Year, which has nothing to do with Christmas.

Take for instance today, which is technically the 8th day after Christmas—eight maids a milking, or whatever it is that we’re suppose to get today. To get the true meaning of this day, Christians should ask their friends who celebrate Hanuka to better explain the 8th day after a new born boy’s birth.

The 8th day after a Jewish male is born is when the child is circumcised and given his proper name. The custom predates written history, and until the nineteenth century it was a custom reserved for mostly Jewish boys, orthodox Arabs and a few indigenous tribal ceremonies around the world. Although the practice has not been partaken by Christians, except in the U.S. and Philippines for medical purposes, it is in fact an important feast day within the eastern and Western Catholic Churches. Originally called the feast of the Circumcision, modest Irish bishops, who would rather not talk about such squeamish things (Face it bishops, Jesus was Jewish), simply now call this day as The Feast of the Holy Name, when Jesus received his name; I’m sure under the much protest of the eight day old infant. It was historically celebrated on January 1st (technically the 8th day of Christmas—I always have trouble counting), but it was moved to the 2nd day of January and renamed as the memorial feast of the Holy Name, a minor day in the catholic Church.

There is actually a church in the north of Italy, in the ancient mountain town of Calcata, named after the Sanctus Prebus of Christ (you do the Latin), The church had claimed to possess the venerable artifact before being stolen in 1983. Slate Magazine did an interesting story on the theft which many believe to be a conspiracy by Rome; one which the Catholic Church denys. Though I doubt it caught great demand along the illegal markets of Rome or Florence if taken by run-of-the-mill thievs.

The bris is an important event, worthy of celebration amongst my many Jewish friends. My Fiancé was invited to one just last week. Unfortunately, depending who you ask, she was unable to attend. In the Christian faith, this day is an important day, as it symbolizes when Jesus entered into the covenant that he was to change. It showed his obedience, not that he had much say in it. And it reminded his parents of his purpose as they gave him the name Jesus, which translates “He who saves.” It is, incidentally, the same as Joshua, the popular anglicized version of the original ie-su-a.

The tone of this post probably gives away the fact that I am a Catholic and was held up in seminary for far too long before making my exodus to Brooklyn. I find interesting the liturgical calander of my faith, it full of so many feast days that tell the stories of saints and legends. There’s little mystery in our world today. But somehow, Christmas revives that sense of mystery, a sense that was quite alive in my childhood, but forced into the dry winter earth once I grew older and fell victim to the commercialization of the season. Tradition is nice for breaking out of the mainstream. Some might say it’s ancient myth. But it’s in myth that real creativity is born. And when I dive into the history of my faith, I find my own creativity taking on a new depth.

So, if anyone asks you what you learned today, you can squirm a little in your chair as you explain. I doubt you’ll see television commercials marking the day. Television does wonders for making tradition sterile, much in the same way a surgen makes the cerimonial work of a moil less profound and much more painful to watch.

Merry 8th day of Christmas.

The New Year came in with little bang,but great company as I gathered with close friends and my fiancé at a bar in SoHo last evening and into this morning. I’m sitting here now in my apartment enjoying cable, one of the gifts I gave myself for Christmas. It’s the first time in six years that I’ve had such a luxury—not including the cable that I had while living in the cloistered religious houses over the past several years. VH-1 is calling me back to the memories I tried to forget from the 1980s. Yet, somehow I’m mesmerized to see where the icons of my youth have ended up in this new age of nitch music.

My resolution this year is simple. My blogs, this one particularly, will begin to receive much more content and a fresh of well-needed fresh air this coming month. It’s the first day of January in New York, and it feels like the middle of April (59 degrees and rainy). So let’s hope this is a sign of my resolved spring-cleaning here on this blog, and not a sign of the end of the world.