Rambling at Full Tilt

Don't say you weren't warned by the title.

One of the central ideas you focus on when you study economics, especially in college, is the way that markets distribute goods. The greatest advantage that capitalism has as an economic system is that it is best suited for an efficient distribution of resources. Of course, even the most market fundamentalist of economists will tell you that a free market cannot provision all goods properly, that it is just the best model that exists. The classic examples of market failures typically deal with public goods, but I've always held that art is an example of the type of things that can be underprovided by the market. Which is why I particularly love Netflix.

Netflix as a business model is pretty great, because on top of selling movie rentals they really sell convenience. It is not the best in its class--Blockbuster has the benefit of physical locations to facilitate movement along your queue of films--but it's damn good. But the most interesting thing about Netflix's lower cost model is their ability to stock obscure, little seen films. A lot of the time these obscure art films stay that way because they're shit, but sometimes they are really good. For one of these more esoteric films, it only needs to be rented a handful of times for it to be a good investment for Netflix. The same can be said for those brilliant but cancelled TV shows (Darren Star's Grosse Pointe was a delight to watch on DVD).

I think the trend in newspapers and television of reporting box office numbers for films as evidence of their quality is wrongheaded. The financial success of a film is really only important to the studio, but more troubling is the idea that because a film makes $70 million in a weekend that it is good--that because millions of people like something that you should like it too. Box office reporting causes studios to become obsessed with opening weekend numbers and the truth is to have a big opening weekend you don't need a good movie you need a good poster and marketing campaign. Spending loads of money on marketing blows out the budget of the film--budget that could have been used to improve the quality of the film. Big budget films have to capture huge audiences to recoup their costs, but they have to do it in three days or risk being labelled a flop by the Hollywood Reporter. David Milch, perhaps one of the best television writers (or writers period), notes that the revenue model for films necessitates a big audience and thus a broadening of the story. It cannot sustain nuanced or complex narratives, and instead must be fixed around set pieces--an explosion, a sex scene or some protracted bit of slapstick comedy. In order for films to appeal to such a diverse body, they have to smooth all the edges so that each new film is just an amalgamation of 4 previously successful films. The cable TV revenue model--needing a radically smaller audience to be financially viable--is why the best dramatic and comedic work of the last 10 years is coming from television (The Sopranos, The Wire, Deadwood, Brotherhood, Californication, and now Mad Men). If we want to trace its roots, I feel confident saying that The Larry Sanders Show completely changed the television comedy and created the idea of cable being the vanguard of intelligent television. If you need to know how influential Larry Sanders was, just look at the names of people who got their start or honed their skills there: Judd Apatow, Jon Stewart, Peter Tolan, Ken Kwapis, Todd Holland, Jeremy Piven, Jeffrey Tambor. To complete the effusive praise, the shows that Larry Sanders directly influenced are incredible: The Daily Show, The Office (UK and American), all Judd Apatpow productions, Entourage (Ari Gold is actually the second TV adaptation of the legend that is Ari Emanuel), Arrested Development and 30 Rock. You can rent shows like this that have long since left the air because of the great gods of Netflix. Netflix presents such a fantastic platform for these smaller art pieces to be showcased and make them even more likely to stick around. The innovation that comes from these shows is more likely and stronger because of Netflix.

It would be better if you bought the DVDs though.

We've all seen them, nobody likes them, but deep down we all want to be them. I'm talking about that guy with his shades on strolling into a coffee shop (he gets bonus points for going to Think Coffee instead of Starbucks, because if it's not fair trade it's basically drinking the tears of a Colombian farmer) and before he can even open his mouth, pulls out his Blackberry to check if anyone has texted him or tagged him in a photo between the door and the counter of the coffee bar. I can say that I hate those guys, and that I've been one of them for a while.

My Blackberry is probably the closest thing I have to a child. I love it unconditionally, even when it has flaws and service outages. I depend on it implicitly, and I defend it to any and all challengers. But I can't deny that it sometimes makes me annoying to hang out with. I'm not proud to say it, but if I am in a group social situation (4 members or more) and the conversation drifts away from a topic I'm interested in, I'll just pull out my phone and start reading the news or texting somebody. I've never been particularly tolerant of people I find boring, but knowing that I have an escape plan tends to worsen the problem. Without question however, the biggest benefit to having my Blackberry around is for these kind of situations:

Friend: What was that movie called that Jennifer Aniston did with Kevin Costner?
Me (20 seconds later): Rumor Has It.

That's not a great example, because when my friend asked me that I didn't have to look it up, but you get my point. I have never been able to stand it when there is a piece of information, no matter how casual the conversation, that is left out or passed aside. I normally just store it in my brain until I can get to a computer and find it out, but now I just do it in front of you, my dinner companion. Even if you're in the middle of a sentence.

Blackberry users are annoying primarily because they divorce themselves from actual interactions with people to maintain virtual interactions, but because I suffer from intense boredom around almost everyone I meet, it saves me on a daily basis. On the plus side, if you see me thumbing away or talking to someone on Blackberry Messenger, ask me some random stuff you want to know and I'll be compelled to Google it for you.

1968 Redux: If Only Hey Jude Was #1 Again

I've been lingering in the life of a post-graduate for a few weeks now, and I've got to say I really enjoy it. The amount of time I am afforded to read is exceptional and I've been fortunate to experience an breath of subject matter--from Evan Thomas's biography of Robert Kennedy to Vanity Fair's cover story on Robert Kennedy to the book 13 Days, Robert Kennedy's memoir of the Cuban Missile Crisis. So the subject matter is a bit narrow, but you'd have to forgive me for thinking that Bobby was the nominee. 40 years on, the memory of RFK beats strong in the grassroots side of the Democratic party and for over a year we have heard about the links between Bobby and Barack. Everyone from William Kristol (of a dying breed of conservative columnists who still use phrases like 'beau ideal') to Rolling Stone (better political feature writing than you'd think) to Vermont Senator Pat Leahy (of Dick Cheney's 'Go Fuck Yourself' fame) seem to have drawn this parallel over the past year. It can be said that there are certain merits to it: Kristol put it well when saying that both Obama, like Kennedy, is "running before his time but — supporters think — uniquely suited to the time." I believe that whether or not Obama is the heir to the Kennedy mantle, Edward seems to think so, is less relevant than the idea that young people who were so enamored by Bobby Kennedy express similar, if not more intense adoration for Obama. It's an example of perception being stronger than the reality. The imagery of the Kennedy campaign (Bill Eppridge's photos truly are masterful) is so powerful and is so clearly replicated in the Obama campaign that the link between these two men becomes self-fulfilling.

It will be interesting if the idealism and passion that was so much a part of Bobby Kennedy and his campaign (a campaign that was as close to a politician's personality as one has ever been) will be seen again in Obama's campaign. My hope is that Obama and McCain will run strong, clean campaigns and really try to lift the common discourse and edify the populace to make informed choices about clear and distinct world views. My further hope is that when the candidates or their surrogates inevitably deviate from the high-minded path, that some media outlet will clear aside the obfuscation and correct the distortions--not in a partisan way but in an honest one--so as to fulfill their missions of public service to educate and elevate.

After that breaks down, I hope the one who will screw up less wins.