Steve Gillmor’s GestureLab

A few nights ago I wrote a quick post on the death of TV. It attracted quite a bit of attention, not Scoble attention, mind you, but quite a bit for something Dave Winer didn't point at. I love the mechanics of this quasi-page view game: lots of well-reasoned arguments with the central thesis, a few chip shots, and some comments that just take off from the premise and run or float away with it. All in all, a good day's grazing in GoogleReader and WordPress. It helped immensely that Robert Anderson somehow fooled WordPress into accepting Akismet, which staunched the increased flow of spam comments to a trickle and then a complete halt. Wow, Matt.

Talking last night with Jason Calacanis and Mike Arrington at a fine steak place in Palo Alto, I tried to listen as these two media gladiators raked over the coals of the day's and week's issues. Gratifying as it was to see that a great deal of the discussion resonated through and around the recent Gillmor Gangcasts, it was even more welcome to see Calacanis continuing to contribute so much of his street and Web smarts to Arrington and even to me, who of course has nothing to learn from these kids. Note: when I talk about the stupid blogosphere, I mean me.

Someone called me a genius for inviting Jason on the Gang. In fact, he invited himself, and by the time he did so, I knew enough about his heart to say sure. I think what the commenter was implying was that I was taking a risk in being overwhelmed by Jason's energy and ego. No matter, Arrington is just as much of a hand full; the little "secret" of the Gang is that everybody at the table is full of themselves, some like Farber and Vizard a bit more elegantly, some like Doc and Udell (when he was on the show) more contributory to the community and therefore inoculated from the requirement to explain their self-confidence. Parenthetically, some of my favorite Udell moments from the early shows were those where Jon let down his hair a little and joined, however briefly, the bitchy vendor sports game with a little of his well-concealed attitude. Getting Udell to laugh at something snarky remains one of the great joys.

At dinner, Jason was giving Mike advice on his business and opportunity. Mike asked me why I was reading all these books on the '60s. Simple, I told him: we're seeing a renaissance similar to that one, where the arc of experimentation, youth, ego, sex, and money gave way to the constant change, the evolution as Jason called it, of those artists. The book I've been working through recently, Bob Spitz' The Beatles, grinds relentlessly through the familiar (to me) story, adding layer of rhythm, pathetic floundering, and missed opportunities upon layer, to the point where you look back and suddenly remember how miraculous it was that they accomplished anything, let alone the breadth of their work.

Almost without announcing their arrival, gestures have taken hold. We walked for a mile or so after dinner, Jason and Mike smoking some well-traveled cigars while I got a contact high in tow. I enjoyed staying a step behind these two, Arrington feeling his way through the moment, Calacanis relaxing in the comfort of his celebrity and talent. In Mike's new car on the way back to his house, he talked about the thrill he still felt to be one of the Gang. A gracious comment, not meant as a compliment but something more intimate. Not friendship either although i doubt either of us would put up with the other's shit if not for liking each other.

I feel relieved now that TV is dead. Tonight I turned the set on only to clear deadwood away, not to record shows I would watch but those I'll sample and skip. HDTV performs a similar function, revealing in exquisite detail just why I don't care about most of today's material. I surreptitiously filmed Dylan last week with Furrier's HD Xacti, capturing him looming sideways over his keyboard like some dark Mozart cowboy. I showed Mike and Jason a taste, Mike the tiny figures in a stable wide shot and Jason the closeup. I don't remember which song I filmed, something from Modern Times, but not the pre-encore closer the thrilling big band Summer Days Summer Nights from Love and Theft — I wanted to be there, not trapped as a cameraman.

Dylan is the evidence that the past continues to be reinvented. Ask the Ninja is the proof that, well, ZeFrank may be funny, but so what. At dinner tonight my five year old Ella told her mother that we watched the Beatles last night on TV — "they were up on the roof." It was Lennon singing gibberish on the second verse of Don't Let Me Down. It was YouTube, the greatest show on earth. The quality sucked, a little video tear in the transfer, Ella could care less. She saw The Beatles last night.

I told Mike a funky little thing Richard Manuel used to say. He heard it the first time but didn't quite. I told him the surround, the stuff that Richard mashed together. Mike said it again, the words cascading out of his mouth. And it was good.

Sexy Sadie, what have you done? You made a fool of everyone.

John Lennon/George Harrison '68

Thursday, October 26th, 2006 at 1:38 am.
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