Archive for July, 2004

Jul
24

comments!!!

Posted by: grant | Comments (8)

To friends of "this blog sits…"

Apparently, MT is refusing comments that use the word "as."  Oh, brilliant.  Please avoid this term.

Sorry, Grant

Categories : Media Watch
Comments (8)
Jul
23

How’s my hair?

Posted by: grant | Comments (7)

Katzenberg-9-10-03_sm.jpg

Boy, is my hair wrong for this assignment.

I have really, really short hair. When the Hollywood studio heads got scalped, I knew it was only a matter of time before I followed suit. In matters of personal grooming, Jeffrey Katzenberg, above, is my God.

But short hair doesn’t work here in Kansas City. Matrons are giving me a wide berth at the mall. Kids stare at me. Security guards are giving me hard stares. This hair cut worked ok in Boston and Seattle but here it is some kind of flag of protest, or confession of imbalance. Let’s keep an eye on this one, the locals say. Plainly, he’s a nut bar.

It reminds me of research in Shanghai about 10 years ago. Every time I turned around, I would catch a woman checking me out. In this case, the object of their attention was my clothing. Shanghai was once and is once more the style center of China. Women there are happy to gather fashion news from any source, even a slightly geeky Westerner. I was happy to be a “diffusion agent.” They also serve, who merely get dressed and go out. And frankly Shanghai is one of the few places on the planet where an anthropologist can serve at all.

But in Kansas City, I am apparently too far ahead of the curve, too “out there.” This is not the Shanghai of America but the Cheng Du, happy to wait a little longer to get the news. Here my Hollywod hair is just plain odd.

For God sake, someone tell Jeffrey.

Jul
22

how anthropology works

Posted by: grant | Comments (6)

Rainbow Sorry, sorry, sorry. 

I haven’t posted the last couple of days because I am in Seattle and doing ethnographic interviews.  The project is for a capital markets company and the objective is to see why people invest in mutual funds.

I can’t remember a project more fatiguing than this.  I am so tired I can hardly see.  For some reason, the interviews take everything I’ve got and then some.  I end up in that state where you find yourself wondering whether you can make it from the hotel lobby to your room without having to sit down for an hour or two.

The interviews are free wheeling and designed to be as opportunistic as possible.  At this point, the client doesn’t know what it doesn’t know, as it were.  At this point, it isn’t sure what to ask.  This is when you send in the anthropologist.  My job is to listen carefully and see the basic terms of references with which an investor sees themselves, their world, and investing.

So every question casts the net wide.  Let’s see what they say.  And follow up.  Let’s be prepared to go where they take us.  Let’s let the respondent design the interview so that we capture how they see the world, and not how the anthropologist or the client imagines they see the world.

Once the interview and the respondent is launched, I greet each question with the Letterman-Schaeffer question: Is this remark something or is it nothing.  The trick is to find the frame that makes it something…if you can.  I am asking myself, "what do I have to think to see the point of this?  Where can this answer take me?  What view corridors does it open up?  Does it allow me to see into the world of assumptions and beliefs that make this world make sense?  As I say, the trick is to shuffle interpretive frames fast enough to ‘hear’ what I’ve have just been told, before the rules of conversation oblige me to ask another question."

Ok, let’s say it is something.  Now I have to decide which follow-up question will open the something up.  I have a thought about where this might take us.  But I can’t flat out ask.  Because the second rule of this method is: never supply terms of reference.  If I give the respondent a way to fashion their response, they may well use it.  Then the interview has become a kind of mirror.  In a sense, I am listening to myself. 

So, I ask something that encourages them to keep going and suggest in a non directive way which way to go.  Sometimes, the thing dies.  But sometimes we are away to the races.  We have a gusher.  The respondent has let me into the way they see the world.  My job now: write like a demon.

Eventually, the interview begins to fill up with key terms and the interpretive possibilities.  I want to be as precise as I can about what these are, without being so precise that I am foreclosing my opportunity to see new definitions and relationships.  I end up with a large contingency table.  All these things may go together like this, or this, or this.  And more data is pouring in.  And the set changes as I entertain, promote or abandon my interpretive frames.

There are mechanics to keep track of in all of this.  Where are we in the interview?  Have I covered all the possibilities raised by this particular answer?  Have I covered all the things I must ask about in the course of the interview.  Given this respondent, and these answers, what is the best way to get these questions in?  How should they be phrased and in what order?

It ends up being a little like air traffic control except that you have to keep reshuffling the stack even as you wonder whether you have correctly posited the principles of lift and flight that apply in this particular air space.

Yesterday, I had two quite different interviews.  The first was with a guy who writes educational gaming software for children.  He was smart, but deeply cautious.  He would answer every question very carefully and then bring the interview to a dead stop.   With every question, I would have to get out the paddles and see if I could restart the interview. 

The second interview was much easier.  A woman from the arts who spoke with great ease and wonderful figures of speech.  I could see into her easily.  She lived in a glass house and never closed the drapes.  Lots of momentum here.  She saw where I was going, she saw where she was going, she saw where we might both go.  In this case, the task is to offer direction that was small, precise, and, I hoped, on target, and then write like hell to capture the profusion of data that resulted. 

A couple of days I did an interview with a guy who looked a little Dennis Hopper and talked like him too.  Smart but circuitous.  Just when you would think, "damn, this is going nowhere," he would say something that was remarkably interesting.  My job: to ask a question that Dennis would ignore and then wait patiently for him to wander into  illumination. 

My point, and I do have one, is that I think this interview process has something in common with contemporary culture to the extent that both of them demand that we "shift frame" with greater constancy and skill.  By "shifting frame" I mean that we find ourselves in situation where our favorite and customary assumptions do not apply.  Nor can we see what assumptions do apply.  We are obliged to nose into this world and respond nimbly in real time, and work out what to think and how to act as the data is forthcoming. 

The anthropological conclusion?  This is hard.  It demands a special elasticity.  And too much of it induces a particular inelasticity.  The cosmopolitan becomes a zombie.  Anyhow, think of this post as a "note from my doctor" or at least an excuse why I have been blogging infrequently.  Thanks for your patience.

Jul
19

Montreal vs. Connecticut

Posted by: grant | Comments (9)

I live in Montreal, in a neighborhood where everyone is noisy all the time: soccer fans, college kids, street people, muscle cars, good drivers honking at bad drivers, bad drivers sobbing uncontrollably, kids playing the street. Just about everyone makes a joyful sound. Only junkies on the nod in the park withhold their contribution from the city’s din. I live in Bedlam where the moon is always full.

Take a plane and a train and I am in a suburban Connecticut. This world has free standing homes with commanding entrances, color coordinated gardens, trees that reach for the sky, and lawns that roll on and on. There is some noise: birds, lawn movers, houses ceaselessly renovating themselves. But all this happens so far away, it might as well be happening in another county. The only blight on this landscape is the Cris Craft someone has left at the far end of their property. This is Connecticut’s idea of an eyesore.

Even on the weekend, people are well appointed, beautiful, rested. They are genial and say hello to strangers. But then everyone here does have something in common: they have won one of life’s lotteries. Actually, you can’t live here unless you have won most of life’s lotteries: intelligence, beauty, ambition, determination. The little local store looks like a film shoot, with everyone from central casting. The women are more interesting than Stepford wives but not less beautiful.

Montreal in the post war period was a little like Cape Canaveral. My neighborhood was all Jewish families preparing kids for lift off. Fifty years later, these kids now help run Canada, serving as distinguished jurists, university presidents, top surgeons, politicians, lords of capital, architects and writers, Mordicai Richler among them. This is that urban neighborhoods are good at, mixing raw talent with urban opportunity. Houston, we have ignition.

By contrast, the suburb is the place that ideas and ideators are supposed to come to die. Softened by self indulgence, lulled into a sense of complacency, stupefied by good fortune, things coast to a stop. Before you know it, your career is a Cris Craft sitting at the end of the garden. Every so often you think, “we really should take that out for a spin.” And then you don’t, again today.

This is in any case what the intellectuals tell us. The suburban paradise is a trap. It is the worst place for something who has taken orders in the University of Chicago priest hood. The instructions are clear: renounce the world, refuse distraction and blandishment, indulge the idea, not the ideator. And particularly: do not live in a leafy suburb!

Hmmm. But has anyone actually done an empirical test of the proposition that suburbs are bad for the life of the mind. Shouldn’t someone actually do a participant observation?

Jul
17

the anchorman

Posted by: grant | Comments (3)

anchorman01.jpg

It’s a wonder that Anchorman (Will Farrell) is doing well at the box office. “Ron Burgundy” is, after all, now a fixed stereotype in the Hollywood repertoire. As a genre, it’s a little long in the tooth.

We know that genres have a “sweet spot.” We like to catch them “in the middle” when they are sufficiently well formed to be readable but not yet so over formed as to be stale. Ron Burgundy comes late in the cycle but Farrell somehow found a way to make him “fresh.”

Stereotypes of this kind are the life blood of contemporary culture, and an anthropological question of some interest. The Anchorman (and his cousins, the talk show host, the lounge singer, and the game show host) has always inclined to self importance without substance, self congratulation without cause, and self celebration without cease. And I think it’s fair to say that for a long time we endured him without protest or even explicit acknowledgement. Everyone (or everyone with a brain) noticed his pomposity but we all noticed separately.
The anchorman was present but not fully accounted for.

Then something happened. Someone (probably a comedian) somewhere (probably Saturday Night Live) used parody to aggregrate our little acts of quiet observation into a larger moment of collective recognition. A stereotype was born. (A nice example of how cultural meanings are, in our culture, emergent.)

For the moment, it is an insider’s joke, know to relatively few. Then it goes mass. Sigournney Weaver in Ghostbusters says to Bill Murray, “You’re not really like a scientist at all. You’re more like a game show host.” If we weren’t already in on the joke, we were now.

Many comedians worked the vein: Bill Murray, Greg Kinnear, and Chevy Chase and then moved on. Well, not Chevy Chase. Murray even succeeded in giving us a glimpse of the Anchorman in his later years, abandoned by his florid self regard and and now a little “lost in translation.”

If the Anchorman has survived the genre life cycle it’s because we llike him well enough to extend his visa in pop culture. (Fictional characters, like the celebrities who play them, are foreign nationals in our midst. They serve at our pleasure…we send them packing when we, and they, are done. Chevy Chase, again.)

So why does Ron Burgundy get to stick around? Partly, there is something charmiing about sommeone who reaches extravagantly for social effect…and fails. We are all social actors tempted by gestures of self aggrandizement and we see some of ourselves in him. There is also a diminishment effect. We are charmed when potentially grand characters are self puncturing. There is also an act of gender apology at work here, filed by a celebrity male on behalf of all men. And finally there is an element of revenge. We are pleased to see the great brought low. If there is a little Ron Burgunndy in each of us, there is even more of him in the people for whom we work.

Most all all, the Ron Burgundy stereotype is an index of how thoroughly we “get” popular culture. All of us can see the “man behind the current.” We are all hip to the game. We know what pop culture is up to and now view it with our “irony” glasses firmly in place.

The culture critics believed that this moment would some day come. And they believed that when it did, we would throw off the chains of our oppression and take the high road to Culture or the low one to revolution.

Wrong, as usual. We like the “debasements” and predictabilities of popular culture. A ticket to Anchorman is actually two tickets in one. We see it for what it is as entertainment and because it gives us yet another factory tour of Hollywood. Long live Ron Burgundy, long may he reign under us.

References

Thanks to Jeff Brown of Bowling Green University for telling me about genre theory.

Comments (3)

leviathan.jpg

The first time I heard the word “disintermediation” I applied the David Letterman test: “is this something or is it nothing?” I decided it was nothing. Too many syllables for too little concept, I thought, and a word badly in need of a little disintermediation of its own. Surely, de-mediation was sufficient.

Fifteen years later, it’s a term I cannot live without.

Technological disintermediation is, of course, the notion that it is possible to take out parts of the market channel that once saw goods to market. Dell eliminated parts of the distribution chain and the especially retailer.

Cultural disintermediation is the process by which we eliminate mediators that used to stand between us and the larger world of politicians, teachers, doctors, and civil servants. The individual once needed these mediators. They were the conduit by which essential information and services found their way to us. Now we are inclined to throw them off.

Partly, this is a question of self supposed authority. We are suspicious of medical authority. We are consult several authorities and to see remedies not approved by the AMA. The self-help section of the book store is filled with therapeutic and professional advice we once sought from a certified professional. The New Age movement is filled with new kinds of spirituality that could care less for orthodox religious authority. And politicians? Don’t get us started. Everyone knows better than them. In sum, the experts invite more skepticism than reverence. In many cases, we prefer to roll our own.

Some of this must come from the influence of the Reformation. What was this if not a massive disintermediation. At a stroke, we removed popes, cardinals, celestial intermediaries, saints, and the lesser figures in the Catholic hierarchy. The Protestant church made the relationship between man and God more direct and some of more radical versions of the new faith insisted that the individual was the sole arbiter of the relationship and the sole judge of the state of grace. We’re still doing it.

Now we are seeing a disintermediation of the corporate world. The old model ranked and filed the individual, giving him a place in the “corporation,” the body. Labor was divided. Everyone had a small part to play, a narrow band of competence, a little piece of the puzzle. We were in this corporation a little like the tiny figures that make up the body of the monarch on the frontispiece of Hobbes’ Leviathan. We were embedded in what Durkheim called an “organic solidarity.”

Now we live in corporations which, at the bidding of the complexity theorists and Tom Peters, suppose that every individual will, as much as possible, contain all the knowledge and competence contained in the organization. In the new corporation, more intelligence and decision making power is located in a disintermediated individual.

The extreme example was the Silicon Valley start-up where the key players would ‘trade hats” for each new start up, until eventually everyone knew how to do everything. Now anyone could stand in for anyone and everyone. The single individual contained virtually all the knowledge and competence represented by the whole.

Clearly, all three work together. It is because we are technologically enabled that we can contemplate new kinds of cultural and corporation disintermediation. It is because we are culturally disintermediation that we can be engaged in new, more multiple, ways by the corporation. It is because the corporation treats us in a newly disintermediated way that we can contemplate new kinds of cultural disintermediation…and may (and must) embrace new technological enablements.

But finally none of this works unless we have access to a form of education that encourages the particular strengths of selfhood, sharper abilities to be self monitoring and self motivating, an internal complexity and multiplicity, and a certain breadth of interest, exposure, and point of view. And this is the stuff of a liberal arts education. This is where we make every man his own commonwealth.

But the liberal arts education is overwhelmingly in the hands of a teaching professional that is mildly and sometimes deeply hostile to a disintermediated individualism. First of all, university teachers are an imperiled elite that does not take kindly to student choice, challenge or engagement. They will not teach disintermediation in part because they are offended by the very idea that such a thing should be possible. But just as bad, these people are uncomfortable with the freestanding, self invented individual. They continue to treat some individual experimentation as narcissism and much of popular culture as pap (unless of course it is “transgressive”). They treat the marketplace, its disorders and its sometimes frantic liberties, as the very thing that ails us. They prefer collectivist approaches, government management, and state intervention. When they speak of the individual, they prefer a kind of Romantic self-discovery to anything that smacks of world-engagement. Or to put this in the language of Daniel Bell, they insist that expressive individualism should move away from instrumental individualism as briskly as possible. But finally they are suspicious of even of expressive individualism, and prefer that students, and the rest of us, take our lead from our cultural betters. “Just read my book.”

At Harvard, they use the phrase “every tub its own bottom” by which they mean every university department must make its own way. Disintermediated individualism makes every tub its own bottom with new intensity, and a thrilling and sometimes terrifying experiment is upon us.

But academics have other ideas. Generally, they have made themselves the enemies of the experiment and withheld an essential resource required by us. Not content to withhold themselves as part of the solution, they are now unmistakeably part of the problem.

I say, time for new barrel makers.

Categories : dynamism
Comments (2)
Get Adobe Flash playerPlugin by wpburn.com wordpress themes