Michael Estrin's Blog, page 31

Adventures in concerting

Here’s a random list: Michael Jackson, White Zombie, Tom Petty, New Order.

Aside from being successful musical acts, they don’t have much in common. In fact, the only through line I can see is that these are the only four pop/rock acts that I’ve seen live in concert.

Yes, I’ve only been to four concerts. My friends think this is weird. My wife is baffled by it. She went to three concerts last week, one of which was New Order, which is my #4. Maybe that’s why she kept saying, “I’m really glad you’re coming with me to New Order.” It’s a nice sentiment, but she kept saying it like I was Boo Radley out on my first walk.

Michael Jackson

I saw MJ at Dodger stadium sometime around 1984. I was seven, and I didn’t keep a blog back then, so I don’t know the exact date.

What I do remember is that it was MJ’s farewell tour. At least, that’s what my cousin told me, explaining that I was lucky because nobody would ever get to see MJ in concert again.

Of course, that wasn’t true. A few years later, MJ was on tour again.

Between then (say 1986) and this morning, I have always told people that MJ’s return contributed to my cynical outlook, which really did begin somewhere around age 9. But before I wrote this post, I thought it might be nice to include a link to that farewell tour. Heck, I really wanted to check it, because you know, once you post something on the Internet, everyone will believe it.

ANYWAY, the long and short of it is that I was wrong. The concert I saw was the last The Victory Tour, which was the end of MJ and the Jackson Five, but really the start of MJ as a solo act.

Oops. Technically, I might lay some blame on my cousin. I was seven, she was nine, so with those two extra years she really should have known better.

ANYWAY, as I write this it occurs to me that a story I’ve told hundreds of times — one that’s an important anecdote I share to explain my point of view — is just plain wrong. If I were running for office, this would be a moment to clarify and pivot. Since I’m not running for office, it’s just disconcerting.

White Zombie

I wasn’t a White Zombie fan.

My friend Norm had scored tickets. I think Josh came too. For some reason, we thought we should paint our hair green. Before the show, we went to a drug store and bought an awful spray can. In the parking lot of the Santa Monica Civic Center, we tried to make our hair look as green as possible. My dark hair didn’t turn green, but it didn’t look right either. This was not a good look.

At the door, we were frisked. That was a first for me. The security guard who did the frisking seemed to get a little too familiar. But without a frame of reference, I didn’t really know if it was an inappropriate frisking or routine. Also, I had green spray shit on my hair, ears, and neck, so who could blame the guard?

Inside, I lost Norm and Josh. I was standing near the back when some skinheads surrounded me. I did not think I was in a designated moshing area, so I was a little concerned. Then I heard one of them say something about “getting me” or “messing me up.”

I picked the smallest skinhead, ran straight at him, and delivered an elbow to the guy’s face.

I lost them in the crowd, found Norm and Josh, and soon after we went for coffee.

I vowed that would be my last experience with White Zombie.

When I was in law school, I was in a study group with a guy who had played on the White Zombie’s first two records. He left the group because “Rob Zombie is an asshole.” That seemed about right to me.

Tom Petty

Here’s what I remember about Tom Petty at the Hollywood Bowl.

My hair looked normal — curly and dark, basically a Jew-fro.
Nobody tried to beat me up.
The security guard was content to look only in purses and bags — no frisking!

The other memorable thing about the show was that joints kept getting passed around. I use the passive voice here, because I really don’t know who would light a joint and then send it off into the crowd like a Viking funeral ship. But apparently people do this. Which struck me as odd because this was the 1990s. Pot was totally illegal in California then (as opposed to quasi-legal now), and it was also expensive. So basically, people were lighting money on fire and passing it down the aisle.

Takeaway: Tom Petty fans are much nicer than White Zombie fans.

New Order

I guess iPhones are the new lighters, everyone (self included) holds them up during the show.

Also, you don’t have to love the same type of music to be in love with someone. See 500 Days of Summer.

My wife never quite got over the fact that I was such a concert newbie. This prompted her to take on the role of rock & roll sherpa, guiding me through The Greek Amphitheater like it was my own pop culture Everest.

She’s huge New Order fan, and I know them from the movie 24 Hour Party People. (If you don’t know that movie, you should watch more movies. And if you got that reference, you’ve seen 24 Hour Party People a few too many times.)

But like the song doesn’t quite say: Love will tear us apart, but pop culture won’t.

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Welcome to the goat rodeo

Watching the debate on TV and following it on Twitter is like hot-boxing your meth.

Information overload makes the shock to your system sound like a mild disorder, one that would require treatment at a clinic with rolling green hills and afternoon lemonade. But I’d rather seek help from Nurse Ratched after tonight.

This was a full-on goat rodeo.

I follow about 800 people on Twitter. Most of them are media people. Not political reporters. But media people — editors and reporters for websites and magazines that have little or nothing to do with politics; digital advertising people; professional writers. I am a media person — writer/reporter. I have little to do with politics.

These are my notes:

Big Bird flies over our heads

For the most part, my Twitter feed (self-included) made much of the Big Bird thing. We were like an army of meme-hunters, stalking our prey, and tonight publicly-funded fowl was on the menu… sort of. The idea that you could kill PBS and take a serious step toward cutting the deficit seemed too complex (or not funny enough?) for 140 characters.

Jim Lehrer lost the debate

There were a lot of jokes likening the moderator, Jim Lehrer, to the replacement refs. But that’s crazy-talk. Everyone knows we take football way more seriously than presidential politics in this country. Just ask @SilentJimLehrer.

Obama also lost

My Twitter feed skews left, but doesn’t post much political stuff. They seemed disappointed in Obama. I voted for Obama. I thought he lost, and I was disappointed.

The fact that I feel compelled to preface this observation with a statement of my political feelings is a good example of how dumb the debate about journalistic objectivity and bias has gotten. Bias is in all of us; objectivity is the goal.

Some people don’t turn off their Twitter bots

I’m looking @ social media ninjas and gurus. Why would we listen to you for social media advice when you send a robot to the party?

R2

Romney 1 was robotic, just like Arnold in T1. Romney 2 has a lot of moxie, kind of like R2… damn if he wasn’t the most plucky droid in the galaxy.

Disclosure

My father works for the Commission on Presidential Debates. He calls the shots on things like sound and communications — technical stuff. He doesn’t pick the questions, the moderators, or the formats. He does have some stories, though.

 

Me (unplugged)

I have this dream of unplugging.

Maybe it’s more of a fantasy.

It goes something like this:

I drop my cell phone into the deep blue sea.
I throw my computer off my roof. Think Letterman, not Mötley Crüe.
I (somehow) erase from my mind any passwords that give me access to the cloud.

In short, I go off the grid. Well, off the grid in a modern-dude-just-doesn’t-do-computers-or-have-a-cell-sort-of-way. In other words, I’m not cut out for roughing it like one of those survivalists. I’m sort of a luddite living among digital natives and early adopters.

But as it turns out, I’m not even cut out for part one of my fantasy.

My Droid died the other day. Actually, it died two days short of my contract with Sprint.

Here’s how that conversation went:

Sprint guy: You can either pay $50 to cancel the contract and get a new phone today, or you can wait two days.

Me: You can’t waive the fee? It’s only two days. Actually, I think it’s 36 hours.

Sprint guy: I can’t. Sprint used to do that like a month out, but they stopped.

Me: That’s really stupid.

Sprint guy: I agree. It’s totally stupid.

Me: Thanks for being honest and not defending a ridiculous policy.

Sprint guy: No problem. What do you want to do?

So I went with option B. I figured I could live without a phone for two days.

Turns out, I did manage. But it wasn’t pretty.

I was grumpy for no reason.

I honestly felt cut off from the world, which in a sense, I was.

I had trouble sleeping, mostly because I listen to audible before nodding off.

I couldn’t work out, mostly because I use my phone to play podcasts at the gym.

Waking up was another story. I start my day with the NY Times mobile and Twitter.

In short, it was a hellish 36 hours. Although, it’s worth noting that I didn’t miss talking on the phone. I use it for work, but I was able to reschedule interviews. And beyond that, there are less than six people I talk to on a regular basis. But the rest of the phone… I couldn’t live without it.

I may dream of a simple, technology-free life. But honestly, that dream is a nightmare.