TL;DR -> it makes AdSense obsolete.
I tried to sell a story on Subbable earlier this week. Oh gods how I tried. ReadWrite, the Guardian’s tech section, even Variety… but I failed to generate interest, and/or communicate just how drastic of an impact Subbable can have on the YouTube space, business-wise.
To most of the press, Subbable appears as a gentle, crowd-sourced monthly pay-what-you-want subscription platform funding web shows that already exist. Doesn’s seem that disruptive, until you consider the allure of YouTube. The heart of the indie YouTube dream is being free, or at least above, corporate influences. If successful, Subbable could potentially do away with the advertising/hit-mining rat race on YouTube. Hank Green doesn’t exactly say this in the video introducing the platform, but he might as well.
In a private chat, I got Green to elaborate:
“Advertising values all kinds of content the same, but different kinds of content delivers different amounts of value to users. We want there to be a system that rewards the creation of stuff people love, not stuff that people will spend three minutes watching when they’re bored.”
Subbable — which is unaffiliated with YouTube — changes the YouTube money-making game because it emphasizes community and a supportive fan base over viral hits with fleeting popularity & large monetary payoffs. It’s a slow, steady win as opposed to that big payday. (It’ll be interesting to see how the addition of Minute Physics, Wheezy Waiter, and Andrew Huang next week on Subbable will play out. )
Green never came right out and said this during our chat but it got me thinking: if a content creator worked it out with his fans, he or she could essentially never bother monetizing their channel…EVER. There’s literally no reason now to go through Google corporate to make money. Their high ad cut and ad sales team are already alienating users and businesses, so why bother with that hot mess? You don’t.
I, for one, still believe in that YouTube dream.
My favorite time to take selfies is when I am drunk and alone in the bathroom. I tend to take the majority of them while inebriated, actually, and online evidence proves even middle-aged women do the inebriated selfie in the bathroom too.
Yes, even the Boston Marathon Bomber Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, when he wasn’t sober, whipped out his cellphone and took selfies. And one of these non-sober self-portraits (speculatively) is on the cover of Rolling Stone right now and making a name for itself as the most controversial selfie on our planet.
Media critics are calling Rolling Stone everything short of evil for using his selfie photo as cover art, never mind that Instagrammed self-portraiture is becoming a legitimate form of art and feminist self-expression. This universality is exactly why the self-portrait of the young and handsome (and murderous, don’t you forget) Tsarnaev as cover art choice is outrageous. How dare we relate to a killer! How dare a magazine make us feel this way! If I were the art director over at the Rolling Stone right now, I would be creaming my pants: this is the type of feedback creative types have wet dreams about.
Tsarnaev’s selfie effectively normalizes him, and as the three-day long controversy has shown, we just cannot deal with that. We would rather depart reality and delude ourselves into thinking national-headline-making killers are ugly and have nothing in common with us than see them engaging in everyday behavior. If we could somehow magically teleport to a place where we all believed Tsarnaev didn’t know how to operate a phone, we would.
In fact, to portray Tsarnaev as ordinary is dangerous, they imply, because in order to feel better about the bombings we need to see the differences, not the similarities, between ourselves and the cruel killer. It sounds absurd, but this is more or less what the critics are saying. The New York Times thinks this kind of madness is a result of the heatwave. Possibly. I think it might be a combination of Tsarnaev’s image making fresh the horror of the bombings, much like that just-healing summer scrape you accidentally pick at only to have it start oozing.
The selfies we share on the web are supposed to be the best reflection of ourselves. This skewed mirror is precisely why the Boston Globe in a Thursday post echoing the collective rage calls the use of the selfie “ill-advised” and “irresponsible.” While many of us cannot fathom Tsarnaev’s terrorist intentions, we can all relate to photographing ourselves and dare-I-say-it, creating a typically blemish-free personal brand online. The self-portrait via cellphone is a “language we all understand,” but …we don’t want to understand a bomber. Please don’t make us understand one.
This now infamous selfie, originally displayed on Tsarnaev’s twitter profile, was the “mask” he chose to portray to the world and glorifying it by featuring it on a rock-and-roll magazine is akin to “collaborat[ing] with Tsarnaev in the creation of his own celebrity,” continued the Boston Globe.
Need I remind everyone, Tsarnaev was already a “celebrity” before his Rolling Stone cover, having graced the front pages of newspapers the world over with some even featuring that same image. Rolling Stone is not responsible for this mass media interest, the spread of the photo, or for Tsarnaev’s fanbase of young girls cooing over the soft locks in his approachable selfies. To suggest Rolling Stone is appealing to Tsarnaev’s misguided female fans by choosing this already-widely circulated photo when this same criticism was not levied against the New York Times, is logic I’d only be able to process if my head was in the sand.
CVS banning the sale of the magazine in its shops (and now Walgreens too), and folks celebrating this decision, is akin to saying “monsters must be clearly portrayed as monsters, or else.” Who wants to live in that black-and-white society, presumably filled with bad art? Not me. (Not to imply Tsarnaev’s selfie as cover photo of a magazine is good art — it is in fact the opposite for a variety of reasons and not just because of the bad captions.)
The disconnect between the villain within and the exterior shell of Tsarnaev as a potential sweetheart through his selfies is precisely why the self-portrait should be used for feature-length pieces about his descent into terrorism. But don’t just take my word for it.
Cover Think points out Rolling Stone’s cover is “doing nothing more than reflecting back to us the vanity of a young man’s narcissism, complete with his Armani Exchange T-shirt.” The Washington Post writes “the photo in question jibes with the impression of Dzhokhar Tsarnaev that has emerged from countless interviews with friends and schoolmates” before calling the cover art choice “an accurate and journalistically responsible portrayal of this young man.”
To not use the photo as cover art because it humanizes, then, reveals a willful ignorance on the modern human condition. It is not only “irresponsible,” but bad journalism too. Art that elicits strong emotions is powerful, but banning it only increases its strength.
We can’t will away Tsarnaev’s cellphone, his looks or his seemingly normalness, just like how we can’t will back the lives and limbs his actions stole. And maybe that’s okay, because sometimes we need to see the similarities between ourselves and the villain in order to help us understand the differences. Cellphone selfie and all.
As for the cellphone selfie as legit art form, well, this controversy took care of that.
This is a guide for people who are more interested in the cultural and societal implications of technology from a non-technical background. (I’d recommend attending all the “future of TV/media” talks as a beginners guide to video distribution and social media use.)
Thursday, June 27th:
The US First Robotics Challenge, from 12pm – 4pm.
“US First’s mission is to inspire young people to be science and technology leaders, by engaging them in exciting mentor-based programs that build science, engineering and technology skills, that inspire innovation, and that foster well-rounded life capabilities including self-confidence, communication, and leadership.”
“The debate around how we should view the concept of intellectual property and copyright in the digital age has continued since the launch of Napster in the ’90′s until today. Why is file-sharing still so limited and how has it affected the world at large?”
Friday, June 28th:
Funny or Die‘s “When Humor is Serious Business,” from 11:00am – 11:30am, featuring Funny or Die CEO Dick Glover. (I have an inkling what Glover will discuss, but being as I have never heard him speak, he might surprise me.)
“Funny or Die is now synonymous with Internet humor…What makes their business model so successful? How do they acquire high quality content with a low budget? What does the future of Funny or Die—and Internet entertainment in general—look like?”
Digital Art; From Easels to Pixels, 12:00pm – 12:30pm
“Art infilitrates everyday life, and every surface, object, or open space is fair game for medium. See how artists are incorporating technology into their work, whether as a means to an end or as the finished product itself. These people are innovating on what it means to be a traditional artist and the burgeoning interest in creating art meant to be consumed in digital form.”
The very ambitiously titled “How the Second City Can Become the First in Fashion,” 5:00pm – 6:00pm
“Take the tech from the West and the high-end fashion from the East and meet somewhere in the middle. Where do you end up? Chicago, of course. Combining the best of both coasts, a slew of Chicago startups are leading the pack in terms of the merging of high-tech and high-fashion.”
Saturday, June 29
In the wake of Hasting’s mysterious death and the conspiracy theories suggesting his car was hacked I feel compelled to attend “Driverless Cars: Speeding to the Future,” 12:30pm – 1:00pm
“While flying cars are still just a figment of our collective imagination, self-driving vehicles—such as the Google Car—are on the imminent horizon. Not only does this technology have the potential to prevent millions of injuries and save countless lives, it also has the power to disrupt the flow of trillions of dollars in industry revenue. Nearly everyone will be affected: suppliers, automakers, service-and-repair shops, insurers, energy companies, hospitals, and car rental companies, to name a few. Undoubtedly, there will be huge implications for all transportation and logistics—the backbone of every company’s supply and distribution chains.”
Entrepreneurship in Eastern Europe, 1:30pm – 2:00pm
“Eastern Europe’s tech scene is small but growing. Find out what Google is doing to facilitate the growth of the tech sector in Poland and beyond, what ideas are brewing in that corner of the world, and how they plan to impact the future.”
”Is the Internet Destroying the Middle Class?,” 2:00pm – 2:30pm
People tell jokes about violence against women all the time, either because they don’t realize violence against women is a cultural norm, or because they think laughing at said cultural norm will somehow make it less horrible. This is the only way that I rationalize the astronomical rise of the tumblr “Exploding Actresses” and the lack of any adequate critique of it as a form of Internet art.
As the title of the viral tumblr suggests, actresses explode. Not any random actress in any random movie either, these are actresses in movies very much beloved by women. There are GIFS, YouTube videos and stills.
“Have you ever imagined your favorite actresses and Disney princesses without heads?” opened one gleeful blog post about the subject. Huffington Post labeled their “hilarious” post about it “satire” but was unclear as to what was actually being culturally commented on: that women iconography was being destroyed rather violently, or that a male was behind it?
Them exploding is no big deal, it’s a joke, it’s supposed to be funny, all the write-ups imply. This is problematic for a variety of reasons but Lindy West can explain those best somewhere else.
Perhaps the tumblr creator Simone Rovellini — who lives in a country the UN flagged for having particularly bad domestic abuse problem – didn’t mean to be sexist with his movie choices or in picking the “greatest actresses in film history,” and merely chose the movies he did because the depictions of love in those movies make men’s heads explode. Or maybe he was implying that while watching these movies might make women happy, it will really leave them braindead. Oh wait. Both of those reasons are still sexist.
It’s interesting to note that as Rovellini’s mini-art project picked up press all over the world, he began exploding men’s heads in his work. Still only in movies beloved by women though. Hmm.
I can’t believe I made two of my previous posts private the other day. Part of me was ashamed– the mental health issues, mostly — and I felt like they were unfinished bits, which was why I took them down. But that was me doubting myself. Diary-like entrees don’t have to be perfect personal essays. I can always use the material again for a healthcare or mental health post, and the republishing of some bits shouldn’t be a problem if I do sell a piece anywhere. Now I am ashamed I hid them, to think that I faltered like that. I am ashamed I was ashamed.
I am still focused on fixing myself, which is still taking precedence over writing for money, so that has remained consistent at least since March. A therapist is still in order now that my crotch pain has subsided and I feel like I can walk like a normal person. Some people would put mental over physical health, but I am lucky to have a patient mate.
When I’ve talked about my mental illness before to friends and family, I always talk about me “waking up” because I describe it as if I am no longer sleeping, I know who I am again. But then, something happens to shake up my worldview and I realize I had fallen back asleep and didn’t even realize. Going to NYC (and seeing friends and family) always wakes me up, and this time I hope, pray and wish I stay awake longer than I have previously. (I was in NYC recently to write about GF2045 for VICE’s Motherboard.) Another way to describe it is I have lost myself, or personality, somehow so to fill the personality void I absorb the ones of those around me. Or I could get really emo and link to Tor Amos’ “Silent All These Years” but my situation isn’t really like that. I’ll go with the obscure Von Iva’s “Same Sad Song,” which doesn’t really fit either, but… maybe if they were combined.
I am telling you all this, dear Internet, because while looking at the VICE suicide fashion photoshoot I was overcome with thoughts of Emma Bernstein, and in examining my behavior while remembering her it became apparent I have now completely processed her death. Her influence was what made me want to be a writer, and in thinking of her, I looked at my writing career with a new perspective.
There were many times when I was flakey, promised things I couldn’t deliver, and let people treat me like a doormat. I had issues meeting deadlines and failed to negotiate properly for what I wanted or needed and misunderstand what people were trying to teach me. My ability to produce good work is what saved me during my post-accident mania, I think. (My accident roughly 5 years ago also relit my writing desire, so I guess that is the one positive outcome out of all of that, even though right before the accident I was serious about modeling and improv. Why I am still doing journalism despite preferring creative writing and performance art — and even going to school for it– is something I will need to transition to, and soon. )
Another pattern emerged during last night’s porch-in-the-moonlight reflection: I’ve had relatively manageable depression since high school and was also “moody as fuck” (my troubled parents failed to notice this but my therapist freshman year of college was not the neglecting sort), but following my accident — specifically the concussion– I became what one therapist described as manic and maybe ADHD. My moods would fluctuate from uncaring, cold and full of hatred to overly enthusiastic exuberance of emotion and energy. I engaged in reckless, selfish and intentionally hurtful or self-sabotaging behavior. I have many apologies to give now… and many mistakes to correct. Here’s hoping that come tomorrow I still give these same fucks.
as I would like to use snippets from the last two, as they relate to health care, elsewhere. For money.
If you were linked here, well, you’re out of luck.
Possible alternative title: My vagina gives me much trouble in 2013. (Oh no, that’s so victim-blaming. Maybe try, how the current health care system failed my crotch! Or make it something about the lack of bike lanes! Or the dangers of a sedentary life style! The modern condition! I have many ways I can take this… )
Stadtmiller, recently profiled in the Observer as being a “gross over-sharer” and a ”crazy woman” is dare-I-say it, fast becoming an inspiration to me. (Not linking to piece because it was rude and reeked of internalized misogyny.) I’ve always found Mandy’s writing fearless, and her transparent but self-deprecating style — she makes herself the butt of her jokes many times — has made me an admirer. I wish she talked about mental health more though, so I would feel less a fool.
So yeah, if my mother and my mate want to harass me about all these posts about my crotch, well, I am going to direct them to Mandy. I’m already getting slack from gamer males, whispering in my head-setted ear late at night while I try to take a control point or shoot a sniper, about me liking to slice my pussy — a reference to my Thought Catalog piece about my vagina. It’s unsettling, which was probably why they were doing it — to mess up my game — and I took the verbal abuse and shrugged it off without comment.
Anyway, see that photo above, of my favorite flats that I have been wearing since last summer? It is the perfect visual metaphor of how unstable my life has been, both mentally and physically.
Of all the things the grey-haired veteran journalist-types taught me before they were laid off, one was ringing true now: I must first take care of myself. Which explains all these posts about my crotch, see. I must take care of myself before I can take care of anyone else.
As you can probably guess by this post, the pain in my crotch woes continue because nothing is ever that quick-fix easy. (A lot of my other woes continue too like some same old Sam, including me failing at various work plans like leaving the house or sorting my freelancer issues, of which I now have 6. Ugh, help. Co-working spaces in Chicago, anyone?)
Once again, the pain is partially my doing too: I was too delighted this Sunday with having full hip rotation that I pulled a muscle – the psoas – in my crotch, right side. I was feeling sexy at the time, and still only partially regret it — having full movement made me so very confident. But then it came, like a punch from the universe. In my goddamn crotch. I floundered in bed for at least an hour sobbing from the pain, a long hot shower did nothing to soothe it, and I thought very seriously about going to the ER. I didn’t go, because what can they do besides fondle my crotch and give me painkillers I’d refuse to take?
It was quite possibly the worst pain I have felt since the accident, and I was limping well into the night. When the pain and the muscle spasms finally subsided around 3am, I masturbated furiously and to my satisfaction everything down there was still working. Thank the gods. Yeah, I am so male in that way, of wanting to make sure my junk is still fine. This way of thinking, as a woman, is a luxury in many parts of the world I realize.
(Is no one going to hire me full-time now that I mentioned masturbation in multiple posts? Am I a disgrace? These are interesting branding questions… questions Mandy probably knows the answer to.)
Speaking of Mandy, Stadtmiller gave me an interesting idea yesterday, about crowd-sourcing my medical bills. I don’t know if I am cool enough to pull it off, but I really do want some x-rays down there and actually go to a physical therapist instead of doing shit from home. I also think my last doctor missed some things. My essayist friend Rachel Rabbit White suggested I clean up my last post and submit it to xoJane, but I am unsure of what to focus on in the re-edit. If I do though, I would ask for some medical bill help.
I am officially getting tired of all this pain shit. I want to be running, dancing and biking already goddammit, but I know that is out of the question right now given walking normally is still a motherfucking problem. I feel like my crotch pain — what I’ve currently self-diagnosed as a grade 2 psoas strain — has been slowing me down for years. I am getting incredibly impatient with the limits of my body right now, if you can’t tell, and it is not helping my mental health or work issues. Ugh.
Not to end on a completely negative note; all this pain and self-reflection has forced me to slow down and re-evaluate things in my life. (Like, not freelancing for so many places, learning how to say no, figuring out better time management and what not, etc.) So, there’s that.