media
Chimeric Thinking in the Trough of Disillusionment
I love this. Matt Jones at BERG shares a list of totally uncool technologies. Mice! Kiosks! CDs! Landline phones! 512MB flash drives!
Matt argues that these technologies all live in the Trough of Disillusionment (which is where you fall after cresting the heights of hype), and that recombining or recontextualizing these technologies…
…can expose a previously unexploited affordance or feature of the technology – that was not brought to the fore by the original manufacturers or hype that surrounded it. By creating a chimera, you can indulge in some material exploration.
The rest of the post is really interesting, and you should check it out. But I want to dwell on the word “chimera” for a second.

We obviously love hybrids and interdisciplinary thinking here at Snarkmarket. But you know, I think we might love chimeras even more.
Hybrids are smooth and neat. Interdisciplinary thinking is diplomatic; it thrives in a bucolic university setting. Chimeras, though? Man, chimeras are weird. They’re just a bunch of different things bolted together. They’re abrupt. They’re discontinuous. They’re impolitic. They’re not plausible; you look at a chimera and you go, “yeah right.” And I like that! Chimeras are on the very edge of the recombinatory possible. Actually—they’re over the edge.
Tim’s last post feels chimeric to me.
I was going for something chimeric with this post, I think.
Chimeric thinking. It’s a thing.
Their hair is clean; their shoes are on
Lois Beckett’s narrative of her experience helping to create 48 Hour Magazine last weekend is just absolutely A+ great. Really fun and funny:
The documentary film crew shows up.
This is not totally crazy. The 48 Hour project is a Twitter sensation. More than 6,000 people signed up to potentially contribute to the magazine’s first issue, some from as far away as Brazil, Rwanda, and Japan. The project had been covered that day by the L.A. Times and the Wall Street Journal.
But when the filmmakers arrive to document the drama and the glory, they find a handful of people working quietly around a conference table.
Their hair is clean. Their shoes are on. They are not visibly intoxicated.
The film crew retreats to an empty conference room to regroup
Love it. Of course, I also love the magazine itself, which I’ve ordered. You should, too! (There’s a short piece of work from Robin Sloan waiting for you on the very last page.)
The Op-Tech genre of journalism, Pt. 2
More thoughts on Op-Tech writing at major dailies. In particular, I had a sentence that I wanted to squeeze in, but forgot about until an hour after I hit submit: “Op-Tech is equal parts business, politics, and aesthetics.”
Think about it! Most of this journalism is about major corporations who each release a handful of significant products or technologies each year. In a few cases, a Pogue or Mossberg will spotlight peripheral objects by smaller companies. But it’s really about major trends and players in the tech sector, trying to understand and evaluate what’s happening. That’s the business end.
But again, Op-Tech writers don’t largely touch on issues of manufacturing, personnel, law, everything the tech reporters do. They write as users (albeit expert users) for users. They talk about the aesthetics and experience of using an object, and make recommendations to users (and only occasionally to companies) about how best to use and whether to purchase a business or service. This is where they’re closest to food or movie reviewers.
Think about it! Like a meal or a movie, personal digital technology is criticized primarily according to the aesthetic experience of the user. I’ll ramp that up beyond the bounds of plausibility. New gadgets or software packs are among our most important aesthetic objects, more significant and universal than books, TV shows, or movies — so much so that the paper of record requires experts to weigh in on their value and importance.
At the same time, technology writing is political in a way that most aesthetic criticism simply isn’t. What I mean is that 1) there are real arguments between partisans, and 2) these arguments have significant real-world consequences — in ways that criticism of movies or restaurants, simply don’t, unless you live in the right part of Manhattan.
This, I think, is why so many people get upset about the cozy relationship between Op-Tech columnists and the companies they cover — they feel as though criticism, any criticism that might question the strategies of the Major Powers (yes, I’m talking about Apple, Microsoft, and Google as if they were empires on the verge of World War I), is shut out or at least diminished and contained for that reason. The weird position of the major guys as reviewers/insiders/brands appears to guarantee that.
My response would be 1) that you don’t need or even want a David Pogue or Walt Mossberg to be running around playing Edward R. Murrow, and 2) that job is open — at least that sliver that hasn’t largely been filled by magazine writers, academic critics, and independent bloggers.
Still, I would love to see more writing in newspapers that really focuses on the aesthetics of tech — Virginia Heffernan is really the model here — or the broader ramifications of tech policy. Imagine if the New York Times had an opinion columnist — right next to Krugman, Dowd, Brooks, and the rest — writing about the intersection of technology, politics, and culture? Not in Slate, not in the Chronicle of Higher Education — but smack in the middle of the NYT, WSJ, or the Post.
After all, EVERYONE who reads the editorial page of the Times has an opinion about who OUGHT to be writing for the editorial page of the Times.
I say, let’s treat this like it were actually already happening: write your model nominees in the comments below.
Know thy market
For the past few years I’ve been trying to think this way about projects, professional and personal: I need to know how big the market is, and I need to know what success looks like. Now, this doesn’t mean the former has to be huge and the latter has to be blows-the-doors-off; in fact, the opposite usually sets a better stage for satisfaction. Small, well-understood audience; limited, well-defined success scenario. The Powell Doctrine of projects.
So you can see why I loved this estimate from Daniel Menaker in the Barnes & Noble Review (which I didn’t even know existed)—
I have this completely unfounded theory that there are a million very good — engaged, smart, enthusiastic — generalist readers in America. There are five hundred thousand extremely good such readers. There are two hundred and fifty thousand excellent readers. There are a hundred and twenty-five thousand alert, active, demanding, well-educated (sometimes self-well-educated), and thoughtful — that is, literarily superb — readers in America. More than half of those people will happen not to have the time or taste for the book you are publishing. So, if these numbers are anything remotely like plausible, refined taste, no matter how interesting it may be, will limit your success as an acquiring editor.
This is great. Even if it’s off by an order of magnitude (and I don’t think it is), it’s great. It’s like Drake’s Equation for publishing. Here are the odds that there are intelligent life-forms in the universe… who will buy your book.
It’s hugely important. The reason the web works so well—even though, for so many things, the web barely works at all—is because at this point it’s simply so sprawling. Your starting number, N, is huge, so even if you have to whack it down (oh, only 10% of N are even interested in this, and of those N1, 1% will ever find our blog, and of those N2…) you still end up with a huge number.
This is not true of the Kindle-verse. Not true of the App Store—though it’s growing fast. Some markets just don’t have the liquidity to support anything other than the utterly generic, the totally mass-appeal—and it’s not that hard to scratch out some numbers and find out which is which.
An estimate like Menaker’s is also important because it helps you gauge success. What we always hear about are the best-sellers and the blockbusters. They tend to make any numbers that don’t end in –million seem pretty lame. But with Menaker’s numbers as context, suddenly a super-smart book that sells 10,000 copies seems like an improbable success.
So, this is stuff to think about when you’re creating anything. How big is the potential audience—the upper limit? And what fraction of those people do you have to reach to feel like you succeeded?
Via Matthew Battles’ posterous, which is just about my favorite thing on the web these days.
Silvers and Huffington
Gotta say, even though I’m not a huge HuffPo fan, I like the sound of this: a new books section produced in partnership with the New York Review of Books.
It’s almost weird how good the NYRB’s website is; you expect an institution like that to barely have a website at all, to be vaguely hostile to the notion. But nope, it’s great! Really, I guess the virtue at work here is minimalism—the articles are basically presented in print-this-page format. Smart text, no distractions: can’t go wrong.
But, like, their Twitter feed is really good, too! Somebody over at NYRB knows what’s up.
Anyway, the idea of turbocharging NYRB ideas with everything that HuffPo knows about web traffic—getting them in front of HuffPo’s huge audience? This could be interesting.
