"Shreddies is supposed to be square!"

It’s hip to be smart.

You might think, watching the inanity parade, that everybody reveres Khloe Kardashian, that everyone’s enamored of the MTV/gossip blog no-talents.

You’re wrong.

Sure, it’s fun to watch these idiots act like they’ve got no parents, and no obvious future, but the average citizen is buckling down and trying to get ahead.  Which is why the TED lectures spread so far and wide virally, like milk on a breakfast cereal.

A friend e-mailed me Rory Sutherland’s presentation.  I’ll be honest, I was listening with one ear, and then he started talking about Shreddies.

Go to the lecture here:

Life lessons from an ad man

And scroll forward to a starting point at about 11:55 (for those not tech-savvy, it’s easy, allow the buffer to expand, then drag the slider to the right until you see "11:55" to the left of the total length of the piece, "16:39").

Hang in there until you see the commercial.  Of the Shreddies assembly line.

You see Shreddies are supposed to be square.

But suddenly, there are diamond shapes.

They even did market research.

This is utterly, positively hilarious.  It’s raw creativity in action.  What we used to specialize in in the music business.  How did Frank Zappa come up with "Flower Punk", or "Status Back Baby"?  We didn’t used to play to the lowest common denominator, we challenged convention.

Watch the Shreddies Comparison here

You can watch further Shreddies focus group footage here

You can vote whether you prefer traditional square Shreddies or Diamond Shreddies here

Right now, Diamond is winning, 55% to 45%.

I prefer the new Diamond shape.  But I am wary of getting them caught in my mouth.  The points dig into my tongue, and the other edges embed in my cheeks.  Diamond has a bit more zest, they’re a bit more flavorful, instead of getting the hit all at once, it comes on slowly, the experience unfolds, from the tip to the lengthy longitude of the Shreddie.

You may disagree.

But however you feel, you’re now thinking about Shreddies.  And isn’t that the point?

The best track on "Tumbleweed Connection" is "Come Down In Time".

It’s not my favorite.  That’s "Where To Now St. Peter?"  But "Come Down In Time", following the opener, "Ballad Of A Well-Known Gun", is like walking into your dark house after a party.  It’s suddenly quiet, you’re alone with your thoughts.  Every time I hear it I go back to my dorm room at Middlebury College, after a long day at Mad River Glen, listening alone in the dark, on headphones, trying to gain the gumption to get off the bed, take a long hot shower and go to dinner.

The version from this show, two and a half weeks ago, is just as intimate, it’s got that same vibe.  It’s creepy.  It brings tears to my eyes.

You’ll probably feel the same way about "Funeral For A Friend".  Absent the sheen from "Yellow Brick Road", it’s an intimate performance, it’s still got the pomp, but somehow it’s more three-dimensional.

And the long intro to "Take Me To The Pilot"…  It takes minutes to figure out what Elton’s playing.

And I can’t stop playing this live concert album.  Buyable at the gig and thereafter from Concert Live.  Check out the gigs here:

Concert Live

Elton’s voice may not have the rich high register of yore, but the piano playing is exquisite.  Being at this show reminds one of an eighteenth century concert, sans amplification, just the music, rich in its acoustic warmth.

I cannot stop listening.

The revelation is "The Ballad Of The Boy In The Red Shoes".

From the completely forgotten, almost ignored "Songs From The West Coast", this illustrates Elton’s still got it.  It’s the changes, this track was recorded after Elton’s voice had changed.  There’s a maturity that resonates.  We’re all getting older, we’re all closer to death than birth.

Elton John fans that is.

No one buys the new music of classic rock acts.  Therefore, the performers deliver turgid shows, giving the public what they think it wants.  But we don’t want a calcified Stones show, we want something alive, something like old wine that acknowledges we’ve both aged, performer and audience.  And we want a keepsake, a memento of the occasion.

If every act was as good as Elton, if every act was live as opposed to being on hard drive, the uptake on concert CDs would be incredible.  I’ve heard so many of these instant live productions, they usually don’t work, because the acts just aren’t good enough.  In other words, you had to be there.

Listening to this Palais show I wish I WAS THERE!

(It’s just Elton and percussionist Ray Cooper.  Elton says he’s going to do more of these shows next year.  I can’t wait!)

Do you still repress your farts?

Go on a first date and farting is taboo.  Live with someone for a few years, and you’re ripping them on a regular basis.

Or how about sex?  Ever postpone it because there’s something really good on TV?

Can’t say I’ve ever discussed these topics with a buddy, but I was nodding my head in recognition when I came across them in Jonathan Tropper’s "This Is Where I Leave You".

This is my fourth Tropper book.

Last year I had no idea who he was.

Wasn’t even aware of him four months ago.

But checking recommendations of similar titles in the Kindle Store, I discovered him.  The first book I read, "Everything Changes", was too much like a movie script, but since I bought two books at once, I delved into "How To Talk To A Widower" thereafter and found it much more sensitive, I ended up reading "The Book Of Joe" too.

And now I’m reading his new novel, the aforementioned "This Is Where I Leave You".  I needed something light after "Revolutionary Road."

I know, I know, they made a movie out of it.  But I didn’t see it.  I just don’t get Leonardo DiCaprio as an adult and Kate Winslet, although a phenomenal actress, doesn’t resonate in the role of a fucked-up Connecticut housewife.

I downloaded the sample chapter because of something I read in the Sunday "New York Times" Book Review.  I never bothered to more than skim it previously, but now I’m an avid reader.  I’m looking for fulfillment.

And that’s what I got with "Revolutionary Road".  Do we need meaningful work?  Do our lives run on rails of their own, and we’re just passengers?  Exquisitely written with a phenomenal, unforeseen by me ending, "Revolutionary Road" creeped me out.  There were parts that were just too close to home.  I immediately started a new book to shake the willies.

And "This Is Where I Leave You" begins almost too close for comfort too.  It revolves around a Jewish family that’d rather be ironic, make jokes than be sincere.  My mother has never sent a sincere card in her life.  Nor do I.  We laugh at those weepy cards in the drugstore.  Could the laugh be on us?

Then again, I was laughing out loud when the protagonist found his wife in bed with his boss on her birthday, and ended up shoving her beloved chocolate-strawberry cheesecake, with 34 lit candles, up his ass while they were doing it.

You can depict this stuff in movies, even on TV shows, but it’s just not the same.  It’s not as intimate.

In other words, I’ve become addicted to books.

I used to buy a hard cover a year.  I had to be truly convinced it was great.  Now I’m downloading sample chapters constantly, and I’m angry that I don’t have a complete other life, so I can read full time.

And I found out I’m not alone.

According to Amazon, in today’s "New York Times", Kindle owners now purchase 3.1 times more books than they did before they owned the e-reader.  This is up from 2.7 in December.  In other words, Kindle owners are reading a fuck of a lot of books.

Are people listening to a fuck of a lot more music?

Some are.  Those who are unafraid of the RIAA, and are using BitTorrent and RapidShare to steal what they want.  But most people are buying less music.  That’s what the statistics tell us.  They want the track, not the album.  And who’d want the album?  Of these faux artists with records made by committee?

Have you been checking out the statistics on Pandora?  They’ve got 35 million listeners and they’re getting 65,000 sign-ups a day and the service sucks.  Well, it’s not terrible, it’s just not what most people want.  Most people want to be able to pick and choose amongst everything. They want to be able to sample what they hear about, what they read about, immediately.

You can do it on your desktop.  But it’s cumbersome.  Going from YouTube to MySpace Music to the band’s site to the aforementioned BitTorrent and RapidShare.  But there’s not one satisfying place that’s got everything.

Rhapsody’s pretty good.  Napster too.  But their uptake is slim.

Yesterday I downloaded the Spotify app to my iPod Touch.  Utterlyfuckingamazing.  The Rhapsody app is just about as good (except for the inability to download tracks for out of wireless range play).  You’ve got to pay for both.  But Rhapsody uptake is slim and Spotify is not available in America.  But people would pay for Spotify if they could just experience it.  But they can’t, because one major label doesn’t want it to be free on desktops in America.  Because the people running that company are as out of touch with reality as book publishers.

What we want is more people listening to more music.  Of course, we want them to pay for it.  But the best way to get people to purchase Spotify Premium is to let them experience the free desktop app.  And why shouldn’t labels be in favor of this, especially now that all deals are 360?  Since they share in touring revenue?

The music business has got it all backward.  Once buying a Kindle, I’m eager to buy books.  Once buying a smartphone, people will pay for excellent music services like Spotify.

The iPhone minions are a cult.  Extremely large, but they walk around tapping their screens in superiority.  Like people used to talk about bands.  But now, no new act reaches critical mass.  Because either they suck or most people don’t know about them or both.

I’m dying to read Stieg Larsson’s new book.  I’m backed up on my Kindle.  I’m passionate.  The same way we want people to be passionate about music.

In a world where there can be instant availability of all music, the major labels want to sell CDs.  They’re afraid to piss off Wal-Mart, and they’re sacrificing their audience to other forms of media.  The transition to digital distribution is wrenching.  But you’ve got to see the opportunities. Believe me, if Spotify launched its free version in America, there’d be instant hysteria.  Akin to the early days of Napster.

Don’t think Spotify doesn’t pay for the music.  It does.  It’s just banking on building a bigger business, willing to lose money now in order to make tons tomorrow.  The music business is unwilling to risk, labels and publishers are desperately trying to keep their old creaky business model functioning.  This is a recipe for death.  We’re on the cusp of a golden age of music.  The only people standing in the way are us.

E-Book Fans Keep Format in Spotlight

I had a colonoscopy.

That’s what happens when you turn fifty.

Actually, I turned fifty six.  Unlike Lyor Cohen, I don’t lie about my age.  Wonder if he’s had his colonoscopy?

Many people avoid it.  Because it’s a pain in the ass.

Literally.

Well, the real problem is the prep.

You can’t eat anything the day before.  It’s kind of like being on "Survivor".

But worse, because you’ve got to take MoviPrep.

No, it’s not about preparing to go to the theatre.  It’s about moving your bowels.  It’s about emptying everything you’ve got inside so they can poke a camera up your ass to see if you’ve got anything wrong with you.  Like cancer.

I don’t.  Guess I won that genetic lottery.  Got a bunch of other stuff wrong, but my doctor said I won’t die of prostate cancer.  But that I should have the procedure anyway.

And I’ve got bad memories of the first time around, five years ago.  Because of the awful tasting juice.

But they took that juice off the market.  Turns out a very small percentage of people lose kidney function.  Completely!  Forever!

So if you’re used to those tiny little plastic bottles, you know, the ones with the ridges, with the concentrate that tastes worse than you can possibly imagine, be relieved, now we’ve got MoviPrep!  Which tastes just a smidge better, but you’ve got to drink twice to get all the shit out.

Yup, you’ve got to wake up in the middle of the night to drink it a second time.  But since my colonoscopy wasn’t until 12:30 PM, I could get up at six and drink the second dose.  Before the sun rose.  Pretty creepy.

As for those saying you take the pill?

No go no mo’.  That generates the kidney problem too.

So it’s MoviPrep.

And nothing else for a day and a half in my case.

And I arrive at the colonoscopy center where the nurse can’t find my vein.

Guess I’ll make a bad junkie.

First she drops the needle on the floor, then she pokes me in the hand and misses.  Then she pokes me in the crook of the arm and no blood pours out.  Tells me she’s gonna start the IV to see if it opens the vein.  Huh?  At what point do you scream bloody murder and say you want someone new?  I mean you’re behind the curtain, this isn’t like the supermarket, where you can just get in another lane.

And then they’re running late.  Which gives me enough time to read "Fortune" and find out that Tommy Lee is letting the public record his album.  Enough with the gimmicks Tommy, NO ONE WANTS YOUR ALBUM!  Yup, he records drums and vocals, you create the music and he owns it.  Huh?  Why does everybody keep paying attention to Mr. Lee.  He’s a DRUMMER!  He should be thankful that people still want to see him in Motley Crue.

Eventually they wheel me into the OR.  Where the anesthesiologist is quite friendly, and quite informative.  This is where the experience changes.  I’m in with the pros.   They pump some anesthesia into me and I’m gone in little more than a second.  They didn’t even have me count back from 100.  Hell, I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere near ninety five.

Then, they give you the results when you’re still fucked up.  Out of the coma, but totally groggy.  The doctor said I did great!  Literally, he wrote it on the form.  But what exactly did I do again?  I just laid on my side and he poked me in the ass.

They give you some graham crackers and juice.  It’s kind of like kindergarten, you get a gold star for doing almost nothing.  Then Felice picked me up and we went to In-N-Out.  Hell, you need a reward after that ordeal.

I was worried about getting sick to my stomach.  Like those contestants on "Survivor" who overeat after winning a challenge and then endure intolerable abdominal pains.  But I was fine last night.  Watched the Broncos beat the Chargers whilst flipping over to see the Dodgers lose. How come the Dodgers never have any bats?

And I woke up this morning feeling…a bit foggy.

It’s getting better, but I’m not one hundred percent.

But I’m sure I’ll be fine tomorrow.

But the phone just rang.  It was the nurse.  Asking me how I’m doing.

I appreciate the phone call.  But I’m gonna be fine and you’re wasting my time.  But the guy kept probing, did I feel this, did I feel that.  And that’s when I told him I was still feeling the effects of the anesthesia.

Then he started to argue with me.

Couldn’t be.  Could be the lack of food, the lack of sleep, but the half-life of the anesthesia was incredibly brief.

Then he wants me to catalog my symptoms.  I felt I was in an analogy test.  Some weird SAT on my body.

And after being stumped.  Having nothing to say.  The nurse told me they’d shot me up with Propofol.

Huh?

I barely heard what came thereafter.  He’s telling me about the effects.

I KNOW ABOUT THE EFFECTS!  IT KILLED MICHAEL JACKSON!

Kind of a weird brush with fame.

You think you’re miles away from the King of Pop, then you find out you were on the same damn trip.  Now I know that when injected he went out just that fast.  But how did he feel the next day?

Guess he’s not feeling much of anything right now.

Don’t play with drugs.  They’re dangerous.  Leave them to the professionals.

You want Propofol in the OR.  Not at home.

If this is your idea of a recreational drug…we play differently.