Tuesday, September 23, 2014

Fahrenheit 2014: or, the Bonfire of the Vanities II

Local authors fume as Bezos holds secret Santa Fe retreat

Amazon CEO Jeff Bezos watches a from the wings during the June 18 launch of the Amazon Fire Phone in Seattle. Bezos is hosting a covert gathering for the culturally elite in Santa Fe. Associated Press file photo

 (Blogger's note: this is an article from the Santa Fe daily newspaper, the New Mexican, in which we learn more than we ever hoped to know about Jeff Bezos and his happy little bonfire of exploited writers. I couldn't excerpt this thing very well, so I present it pretty much whole, interspersed with my usual nasty little images. Goody.)
Posted: Saturday, September 20, 2014 7:00 pm | Updated: 1:36 am, Mon Sep 22, 2014.
By Anne Constable
The New Mexican 

A hush-hush, very private, under-the-radar, author-schmoozing affair for the creative elites is taking place in Santa Fe.

Nobody, but nobody in the know will talk on the record about Campfire, Amazon CEO Jeff Bezos’ early autumn gathering of writers and other visionary types held in recent years at the Bishop’s Lodge Ranch Resort & Spa. It’s the local version of Northern California’s Bohemian Grove, although that all-male retreat is filled with politicians and captains of industry.
Everyone connected with the covert affair here is sworn to secrecy — hotels, restaurants, even those who handle staging and logistics. As one author who has participated in the past put it, “Campfire is a private event, and the sponsors prefer to avoid all publicity.”

As far as The New Mexican could determine, no local writers are invited this year, even though Santa Fe is home to many, including best-selling authors whose works are sold on Amazon.
But several Santa Fe writers were among more than 900 who criticized Amazon last month in a letter published as an ad in The New York Times. Santa Fe-based Authors United accused the retailer of targeting them in its long-running dispute with publishing firm Hachette over e-book pricing. The writers, many of whose works are published by Hachette, say Amazon is threatening their livelihoods by delaying delivery of their books and refusing to accept pre-orders.
“Every year, Jeff Bezos of Amazon invites authors, artists, musicians and other creative people for a secret, swag-laden get together called Campfire,” said Authors United organizer Doug Preston, a writer who lives part time in Santa Fe. “Meanwhile, for the past six months, Amazon has been harming the livelihoods of 2,500 authors by impeding and blocking sale of their books in order to gain leverage in its dispute with the publisher Hachette.”

Carol Armstrong, also known as Carol Held Knight, the widow of astronaut and moon walker Neil Armstrong, said in a brief phone interview this week that she attended Bezos’ secret Santa Fe gathering in 2011 and 2012. “It was very interesting,” she said. There were about 50 people at the event, which she described as “low key,” with talks by authors and dinner excursions.
Tours to nearby sites such as Puye Cliffs are arranged for the guests. One year, the event included a geocaching treasure hunt on the Plaza.
The invitees are all ages, all very accomplished and, most of all, interesting to Bezos. And they don’t exactly get here by bus. Pilots are warned about extra traffic at Santa Fe’s airport during Campfire weekend because of all the incoming Lears and Citations.
But even in the age of the Internet, it’s hard to find out much more about Bezos’ Campfire.
Only a few snippets show up online about the 2011 event.


Diversified Production Services, which produces special events, listed the “featured talent” that year as Neil Armstrong, Man Booker Prize-winner Margaret Atwood (The Handmaid’s Tale), musician, songwriter and producer T Bone Burnett (Crazy Heart), street artist and graphic designer Shepard Fairey, author and entrepreneur Seth Godin, Czech model and philanthropist Petra Nemcova and Pulitzer Prize Winner Alice Walker (The Color Purple), among others.
Publishers Lunch, a daily online report on stories of interest to the professional trade book community, confirmed Oct. 11, 2011, that a “select group of authors, performers, thinkers and others” were gathering outside Santa Fe for the second annual Campfire, where the theme was said to be “storytelling.”
Kurt Andersen, a former Time magazine writer, author and host of Studio 360, Public Radio International’s guide to pop culture, revealed in 2011 that he had attended the gathering in Santa Fe the previous year. His website says he “felt the company [Amazon] was trying to soften up the literary establishment as it moves toward publishing.”


Dennis Johnson, writer/journalist and co-founder of Melville House, the independent publisher in Brooklyn, N.Y., said on his book blog that year, “Well, now that Jeff Bezos is pretty much done destroying American book culture, he’s decided to spend some of his ill-gotten gains on … looking like a champion of writers. Or maybe he just needed to buy some friends.”
The item went on to say that the “Amazon oligarch” had flown authors Michael Chabon, Khaled Hosseini and Neil Gaiman, songwriter Jeff Tweedy of Wilco, and film directors/producers Jason Reitman and Werner Herzog, in addition to Atwood and Walker, to a “think-tanky” event he called the “Amazon Campfire.”
(Gaiman is in Santa Fe this weekend for a sold-out event with his wife, Amanda Palmer, at the Jean Cocteau Cinema called “Another Night of Random Stuff with Neil and Amanda.”)
Johnson’s blog quoted Publishers Lunch as saying that Bezos had paid for all the accommodations.
Johnson said in an interview that the event had been “hotly rumored,” but until the Publishers Lunch item, he hadn’t dared write about it. “Nobody knows anything,” he said. The invitees sign nondisclosure statements, and “they’re sticking to them.” Breaking the agreement would be taking your life in your hands, Johnson added, because “he [Bezos] will pursue you.”



Bezos, the technology entrepreneur who was born in Albuquerque and graduated from Princeton University, founded and runs Amazon, the largest retailer on the Web. Named Time magazine’s Person of the Year in 1999, he bought The Washington Post newspaper in 2013. He is also a member the Bilderberg Group, another super-secret assembly of 120 or more political leaders, and experts from industry, finance, academia and the media who are invited to take part in annual discussions about megatrends and major issues facing the world.
Preston, who said his paperback and e-book sales are down more than 60 percent since Amazon began its tactics to pressure Hachette, said the book retail giant should put more focus on the thousands of writers who supply works for Amazon rather than the elites he is hosting in Santa Fe this weekend.
‘These writers, most of whom are struggling, mid-list authors, have seen their book sales decline 50 to 90 percent at Amazon.com,” he said. “They are fearful about what this means for their future careers. If Mr. Bezos truly cared about authors, instead of inviting an anointed few to his little Campfire and handing them a bag of goodies, he would end the sanctions against thousands of authors and their books.”
Santa Fe author James McGrath Morris (Pulitzer) conceded that Amazon has done as much good for publishing as it has done harm and is “not necessarily a one-dimensional evil monster.”

But McGrath Morris still sees irony in the fact that Bezos holds his Campfire in “an artistic, creative city with independent bookstores who are suffering from competition with Amazon and Kindle Fire.”
To hold the Campfire here, and not to reach out to local authors and bookstores, he said, “seems a little lacking in forethought.”
One of those bookstores, Collected Works, has a sign in the window banning Amazon’s Fire Phone, which shoppers can use to order books by scanning their covers, automatically placing an order and bypassing brick-and-mortar stores.
Contact Anne Constable at 986-3022 or aconstable@sfnewmexican.com.


Blogger's note: I can't tell you how relieved I am that all this crap is finally coming out. I suppose that up to now it's been justified by a "private little event" mentality, with high-profile writers easily seduced with lots and lots of candy. Otherwise it never would have gotten off the ground.
I said in my last post that silencing a group of people by coercion or veiled threats has another name: abuse. It also has the shameful stink of bullying, of casual manipulation through generating a nameless, formless dread. But I've thought of something else (there's always something else, as followers of this little insignificant blog will realize): it also has the flavor of "YOU can play in my tree fort (if you're rich, well-known and extremely malleable), but YOU can't (if you don't have high status and won't keep your mouth shut)". My mother used to sing an ancient song that now comes to mind: "I don't want to play in your yard/I don't like you any more. . .No, I don't want to play in your yard, if you won't be nice to me." "Nice" meaning, in this case, ultra-discreet, also known as "silent". 


These writers had to sign a sort of oath of silence even to be let in. More tree fort mentality. It's like one of those really neat Captain Marvel clubs of the '60s where you sent away for identification papers, strict printed rules, and a badge. You're in; everyone else is out. Otherwise it just wouldn't be any fun. 
Writers often take a vehement, even violent stand against elitism and the worst excesses of capitalism - well, some of them do, sometimes, when they're not out there spelunking or whatever-the-fuck-it-is, getting wrapped in vast polar bear robes that they get to keep in their Vespucci endangered-alligator suitcases. For all we know, they eat bush meat, capybaras and such, roasted komodo dragons, with spotted owl souffle for dessert. Anything to keep those pesky writers satisfied - and quiet.


I'm still not seeing very much coverage on this event - Bezos is still keeping a muzzle on those who attended, apparently - or has he managed to intimidate the media, too? (Does the name William Randolph Hearst mean anything to you?). It's been pointed out that Bezos has a fondness for fire imagery: Kindle, Fire Phone - and now, Campfire. Why is this? Oh, I don't know, it's "hot" maybe? Or maybe it will just burn up the competition entirely. It's a pretty alarming take on the word "campfire". This time, however, what with all that fuss about ebooks, we don't even need starter fluid. The conflagration has already begun.

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Sunday, September 21, 2014

Big chill around the campfire: how writers are being silenced


A Writerly Chill at Jeff Bezos’ Fire

By DAVID STREITFELD  SEPT. 20, 2014

(Blogger's note: this is a New York Times article which I have illustrated in my usual non-literal/linear way. I have added italics for emphasis. A lot of italics. A lot of shit going on here.)




Jeff Bezos of Amazon has rented Bishop’s Lodge Ranch Resort and Spa in Santa Fe for Campfire, a literary gathering, this year. CreditRick Scibelli Jr. for The New York Times

When Jeff Bezos tells writers to keep quiet, they obey.

Every fall, Mr. Bezos, the founder of Amazon, hosts Campfire, a literary weekend in Santa Fe, N.M. Dozens of well-known novelists have attended, but they do not talk about the abundance of high-end clothing and other gifts, the lavish meals, the discussion under the desert stars by Neil Armstrong or the private planes that ferried some home.

Writers loved it. There was no hard sell of Amazon, or soft sell, either. The man who sells half the books in America seemed to want nothing more each year than for everyone to have a good time. All he asked in return was silence.



For four years, the bargain held. But the fifth Campfire, which writers say is taking place this weekend, is a little different. Amazon’s acrimonious battle with Hachette, the fourth-largest publisher, is fracturing the secrecy and sapping some of the good will. (Amazon will not confirm that the event is even happening.)

The struggle between the retailer and the publisher is ostensibly over the price of e-books but really over profit margins and, ultimately, the future of publishing. The conflict, which is unlike any in recent publishing history, has inflamed tensions across the literary spectrum. It began six months ago and appears unlikely to end any time soon.



Jeff Bezos Credit Win Mcnamee/Getty Images

Some repeat Campfire attendees who have supported Hachette in the dispute say they were not invited this year. Others say they are having second thoughts about going. The event has become as divisive as the fight.

“My guess is a lot of writers turned it down this year,” said James Patterson, who attended last year’s festivities. Mr. Patterson, whose novels are published by Hachette, gave a speech in May, when he warned that Amazon needed to be stopped “by law if necessary, immediately.”

“I wasn’t invited again, and I wouldn’t have gone if I had been,” he said. “I would feel very odd being there.” He noted, however, that the event had been “terrific.”



Hugh Howey, a self-published science fiction novelist who is one of Amazon’s most dedicated defenders, is in Santa Fe but said he had not wanted to go.

“I asked not to be invited back this year, as I want to be able to speak my mind and not have any hint of a quid pro quo,” he wrote in an email.

But this kind of openness is not for everyone. Some writers, when contacted about their past attendance and asked whether they were going this year, reacted with something akin to terror. One writer begged not to be mentioned in any way, insisting that it was a private, off-the-record event and should remain so, lest Mr. Bezos be offended.



The Amazon mogul does not make attendees sign nondisclosure forms. His team just cautions them that the weekend is off the record. Even those who like to share their every thought on Twitter and Facebook have kept it that way.

Ayelet Waldman has attended Campfire with her husband, Michael Chabon. Both novelists signed an open letter this summer in support of Hachette authors, whose books Amazon is making it harder to buy as a way to achieve leverage in the dispute. Ms. Waldman, who gained fame by publicly chronicling some of her most intimate feelings, including loving her husband more than her children, did not respond to emails about Campfire.

 An Amazon spokesman declined to discuss Campfire. A spokesman for Mr. Bezos did not respond to a message seeking comment.




Traces of Campfire on the Internet are decidedly rare. A publishing newsletter mentioned the 2011 event, saying it included Jeff Tweedy of Wilco and the directors Jason Reitman and Werner Herzog. Diversified Production Services, which helped stage the 2011 event, describes it on its website as a “private gathering and conference of influential artists, writers, activists and scientists for a sharing of inspiration and stories.”

The company listed the “featured talent” that year as Mr. Armstrong as well as Margaret Atwood, the musicians T Bone Burnett and Moby, and George Martin — presumably the “Game of Thrones” novelist George R. R. Martin and not the Beatles producer.

A spokeswoman for Ms. Atwood declined to comment except to point out that the writer was in Europe this weekend. Mr. Martin could not be reached. Mr. Armstrong died in 2012.

Whether or not fear of Amazon is legitimate, it exists.




When Authors United, a group of writers, reprinted the open letter denouncing Amazon’s tactics in the Hachette dispute as an advertisement in The New York Times, 17 writers and a trust split the bill. Douglas Preston, the founder of the group, said the writers willing to be identified were Mr. Patterson, David Baldacci, Lee Child, Nelson DeMille, Amanda Foreman, Stephen King, Nora Roberts, Stacy Schiff and Scott Turow. Mr. Preston also paid a share, as did the Ansel Adams Publishing Rights Trust.

Seven other contributors asked to remain anonymous. “They were quite specifically worried about the possibility that Amazon would single them out for punishment,” Mr. Preston said.

An Amazon spokesman did not respond to questions on the subject of fear.




Campfire this year is being held under the conditions of utmost secrecy, as usual. Mr. Bezos has rented the entire Bishop’s Lodge Ranch Resort and Spa, which is set on 450 acres a little north of Santa Fe. If you call the front desk seeking a particular guest, the operator will not ring the room or even take a message. There are guards at the front gate to prevent the curious from getting too far.

Mr. Bezos, who built Amazon from its dot-com roots as a bookseller into one of the country’s biggest retailers, knows the psychology of writers, several past attendees said in interviews. “You come to this exclusive event, you are treated fabulously and you get access to the next Steve Jobs, who happens to control how many books you sell,” one said.





Employees at Amazon’s headquarters in Seattle have to pay for their perks, down to the treats from vending machines. And the company is famously tough on its suppliers; the Hachette conflict is just one example. At Campfire, however, there is no stinting.

There are impressive dinners, accompanied by live music. There is horseback riding, skeet shooting and lazing by the pool. In the mornings, there are formal talks on highbrow topics. One guest fondly recalled that the swag included down vests, fleeces, shoulder bags and small suitcases to carry all the loot home. Getting back to mundane reality was postponed for the attendees who took one of the private jets. (Others say they took scheduled flights.)

Mr. Howey said Campfire was nonpartisan. “They invite all kinds of people with all kinds of stances,” he wrote in his email. “You’re the first person I’ve heard suggest that people turned this down, so I’m inferring from you that the Hachette standoff has created tension?”



The literary world overflows with tension and invective these days. People are choosing sides.

Maxine Hong Kingston, who was awarded a National Medal of Arts by President Obama in July, was a Campfire attendee but is not coming back. She signed the open letter.

“It seems that I’m not invited,” she wrote in an email. She declined to say anything else.
Like I said, a lot of italics. It is hard to know where to start here. I feel like I'm reading about William Randolph Hearst, so powerful that no one dared to stand up to him - so, no matter how corrupt his actions, everyone had to be his "friend". They were too frightened to be anything else.  I am disgusted at all the elitist fat cat writers who gleefully took the bait while pretending not to know they were being seduced: hey, aren't writers supposed to be more aware, more conscious, more sensitive, even more conscientious than the rest of us? Surely they would KNOW if they were being bribed into silence. But could it be they KNEW they were being seduced, and didn't care because it's nice to be dipped in melted butter once in a while? 

What bothers me most of all is the emphasis on secrecy, on keeping it quiet. This means that people in the writing community are being effectively silenced, and putting up with it because they are afraid that speaking out will cost them too much. Sacrificing your integrity is a mighty high cost for a deluxe weenie roast, I'd say. Don't go on the record saying anything against Amazon, or - . Oh! God! There goes my career, Henry! The fact I don't have one, and Amazon is partly to blame for charging junk-sale prices for my novel, means I can say whatever the hell I want.




The irony is that for years I thought Amazon was the best online company to deal with: I never once had a problem with cancelling an order, or returns, or getting things late, or ANYTHING. I have dealt with them for years, because - why? Because, like Kleenex Brand, they were "there", and slowly but surely getting bigger and better at their particular brand of con. With all the lying, deception, intrigue, secrecy, bullying and fear, there's a trace of McCarthyism here, of witch hunt, of who's-side-are-you-on, and it stinks to high heaven, while everyone is looking around sheepishly and saying, "What?" Don't you want your books to sell? What's wrong with discounting them, anyway? Isn't it an advantage to be able to buy six or seven copies for the list price? What are you complaining about?

. . . But that's just me.



It wasn't so long ago we were hearing a version of this in Canada, only it was about Chapters-Indigo. Now that particular brew-haugh-haugh has died down, mainly because now we know that it's no use, we're not going to change anything or get any of our real book stores back by snarling about a high-end gift shop with a few books in the back. Since there are no book stores in my community, none, I (an author, yet) don't go to bookstores any more - I can't get to one. I have to order them online. But where can I go for the best prices, best service, etc.? I think the only answer is to stop buying books altogether.

I don't like hearing about campaigns of silence because they reek of the dynamics of abuse. It means there is something SO special going on that if you tell anybody else, something very bad will happen. So hey, just keep it to yourself, don't say anything. It's our little secret, remember?  That's how it is with special things, and special people. And that is how it is going to stay.
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Scat-singing Popeye





There must be, somewhere, and I know there is, a better version of Popeye's famous or infamous scat-singing version of I'm Popeye the Sailor Man. But I can't exactly go through 211 cartoons or whatever it was, to find one. This is from the dreadful 1960s made-for-TV series, which I had the misfortune to spend $40 on for a boxed set, thinking my grandchildren might enjoy it. Don't buy these, please, they're complete duds, not only poorly animated but with no plot whatsoever, no story. This is the only good feature, and it comes complete with transcription for singing along. So toast up some marshmallows, roast some weenies, gather the kiddies around the fire, and Sing Along with Popeye. Or try to.


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Saturday, September 20, 2014

Popeye the voyeur




I thought of trying an experiment with some of the early Fleischer animation: to make gifs on slow speed (with no idea of exactly how much it's being slowed down). This one came to mind, not because I particularly like it but because Olive's frenetic dancing might look sort of interesting if her stringbean arms and legs were flying around in slow-mo.

What I like about this, aside from its overwhelming sexiness, is the fact that she seems to dance in one spot while the room moves under her - no mean trick. Watch the saloon patrons in the background, and you'll see that while they're completely static, their expressions are quite amusing. Backgrounds in these cartoons were always imaginitive and done with a lot of care, though I think they were purposely minimal to avoid distracting the audience. I won't get into the 3D rotoscope thing yet - or did I already? Bish-bosh, it's just too many Popeyes, too many gifs (to paraphrase an old Hungarian proverb).




This is one of the few Popeye cartoons where he actually says "Arf, arf, arf," like he did in the original Segar comic strip. Popeye soon evolved past such things, developing his "ack-ack-ack-ack" laugh and the bizarre scat-singing version of "I'm Popeye the Sailor Man" (which I can't reproduce here - I'm working on an imitation of it for the grandkids). He also muttered to himself in perversely funny ways that were generally not scripted, followed by an exclamation of "Woaawwwwwww!"




Olive dances with great elegance in spite of, or because of, the spittoons caught on her enormous feet. I always thought Olive was perfect for Popeye - there is not one thing about her that is appealing or attractive or charming in any way - she's just plug-ugly, though something must have happened somewhere along the line to produce Swee'Pea. My favorite move here is the Windmill, also called the Egg Beater. Slowed down, you can see some of the tricks the animators used, the shadows falling quite realistically on the floor (try finding that today!), the little lines drawn to indicate a blur of speed or the impact of the spittoons on the floor.




Sadomasochism at its finest. Along with her plug-ugliness, Olive is not just plucky but brutal, obviously needing no protection from any man in spite of all her irritating mock-flirtation. Slowed down, the violence is even more horrible, but you also get a better view of those beautifully-drawn shadows, lending the cartoons an air of reality which the audience would not even consciously notice. The other thing is, and I have no idea why they did this, in the first twenty or so Popeyes, everyone constantly bounces up and down. Animation was still relatively new then, and stillness must have seemed like the equivalent of dead air on the radio. Everything must be in motion at all times. Slowed down, however, it does look a little bit like heavy breathing. Popeye the voyeur.




Popeye, with no teeth, a popped-out eye, a grossly-deformed chin and grotesque forearms, not to mention tiny pimple-like elbows and knees, went on to become one of the most beloved cartoon characters in human history, proving personality can overcome any obstacle. Or so they say. I think it was the violence.





Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book
    It took me years to write, will you take a look

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La Bottine Souriante - Le Reel de Pointe-Au-Pic

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Thursday, September 18, 2014

Terry Gilliam says NO HE ISN'T




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LIES, it's all LIES! The great cheddar cheese scam



From a site called Cheese.com:

Canadian Cheddar

Although, Cheddar is originally a product of England, but now, Canada produces some of the best cheddar in the world. The climate, soil, pasture, cattle stock, and milk quality separate out superior Canadian Cheddar from the regulars. Unlike other cheddars, Canadian cheddars have a smoother, creamier texture as well proffer the right balance of flavor and sharpness. Depending on their age, the flavor, texture and aroma of a cheddar cheese can vary.

All right, I'm having a problem with this (and not just the awkward writing). For years and years, I bought a very nice extra-old cheddar made by Lucerne, Safeway's house brand. Then ownership shifted around, and I couldn't get it any more. Lucerne was out. The search was on for something similar. Since house brands are often surprisingly good, I tried President's Choice and was appalled: I might as well have been eating Velveeta. Not only was the flavour "off", blandly dairy like warm milk right out of the cow, it was gummy, rubbery, not at all like the rich, crumbly texture of a good cheddar. Damn. 



So I tried a fairly large block of Armstrong, thinking: I KNOW this one will be good, because it's, well, it's Armstrong cheddar! Award-winning Armstrong Cheddar. They're constantly bragging about all their awards, and I have always had good experiences with it. And voila, mild, milky, bland, almost waxen cheese. Not anybody's idea of a real cheddar. It's hard to get your knife through it because it sort of bulges out and sticks to the knife like glue. I could use it in place of mozzarella on a pizza, and it would "string" the same way.

I just don't get it. It's not cheese. It's not the cheese I grew up with, that I continued to love, unchanged for decade after decade, that I crumbled into salads - CRUMBLED, do you hear me? If you try to crumble this stuff, it just bends and flexes like a piece of rubber. And this is "extra old", the crumbliest kind.




So I've blown considerable dollars on two large blocks of extra-old cheddar that seem to have morphed into something more like Velveeta. We are pensioners and can't throw out food unless it is absolutely rotten, so once more I will have to find a way to use up this monstrous inedible brick. I may slice it up (if I can get the knife through it) and make grilled cheese sandwiches and serve it with Campbell's tomato soup. But how I will miss my sharp, nippy aged cheddar, with walnuts, with grapes or slices of tart apple, melted over Triscuits or grated and sprinkled on hot pasta (I'd hate to grate this gummy stuff), or a big slice by itself. I guess my only recourse is to go to some deli or market or premium cheese shop and spend $25.00 for a small slice, then find out it's just as bad. I can't believe consumers haven't bitched and complained about this, but when you DO complain you get the company line: "we have improved our product to reflect the desires and tastes of our customers." Speaking of cows, this is total bullshit! Don't TELL me yet another of life's small pleasures has been withdrawn from me forever.


CHEESE DETECTIVE'S REPORT. I actually did find out something about rubbery cheddar that I didn't know. Cracker Barrel, a Kraft product that I remember used to be fairly decent, failed a recent Huffington Post taste panel test for the same reasons I objected to: a bland, waxen product with a gross kind of steaming udder quality. About as appealing as a baby's sour spit-up curds.


Cracker Barrel, Sharp White

Comments: "There's something weird about this that I can't explain and do NOT like." "Tastes like nothing." "Too creamy, sort of like eating butter." "Bland and waxy." "There's something about this that I don't like. Too lactic?"

Cracker Barrel, Extra Sharp White

Comments: "The texture is too gummy but the flavor is decently sharp." "Boring." "Way too mealy -- how did they manage that?" "Rubbery, with not much flavor." "The texture is weird, but I love the sharpness."

Cracker Barrel, Sharp

Comments: "I like the creamy mouthfeel but it tastes like Velveeta." "Seems like a good melter, but it's not sharp enough." "Tastes fake, like American cheese." "Tastes like American cheese." "Tastes too processed, almost like Velveeta."


Hmmmmmm. There's that V-word again.




Most of the high-ranking cheeses in this comparison test are brands I've never heard of, probably available only in the States. Somebody mentioned Costco, and though I quailed at the thought of bringing home a 30-pound brick of bad cheese, I've been pleasantly surprised at their home brands up to now and am tempted to take a chance, once we've somehow gotten through this awful Armstrong stuff that set us back a miserable $12.00.

Listen, folks, we'd love to be cheese snobs. We'd love to drive 100 miles to a specialty store, but we can't afford the gas. Nor can we afford the cheese. We've got to find something that, like my beloved, rich, piquant Lucerne, can serve me consistently without breaking our budget. I can't afford to have a formerly-yummy cheese end up tasting like a block of blubber. I have to be able to depend on it.



By the way, I discovered in my cheese sleuthing that the "off" texture and Heidi's-milk-pail smell and taste results from insufficient ageing. Armstrong used to pride itself on a cheddar that had been aged 5 years, and it was pretty darned good for the most part. Now it's just junk. It's barely aged at all, maybe for a few months. Rush it along, age it the minimum amount and add some sort of flavoring to make it appear "extra old", while the industry web sites burble on about Canadian cheddar winning international awards. I've even noticed a kind of fake texturing made by small air bubbles injected in it, to imitate the marbled quality of good cheddar with its natural cracks and fractures. From the outside of the wrapper, it even looks kind of like the real thing.

LIES!!!

 (Cheese-o-philes, take notice. As usually happens when I am exploring a topic, I came across unexpected things. The blog below is cheese porn, no doubt about it, and I doubt if I will ever be able to find/afford any of these. The lady lives in Vancouver, but must spend a lot of her time at the Granville Island market. We're lucky if we get there once a year. But it's a nice blog, nicely set up, simple, no pop-ups or ugly margins or things happening all over the place. Just cheese.)


http://myblogofcheese.wordpress.com/




(Wait! There's more! Trying to suss out the mystery of formerly tasty cheese turning into orange rubber, I came across the Cracker Barrel company fan site. You're not going to get balanced, objective views here, folks. Keep in mind that this is THE SAME Cracker Barrel cheddar that turned the stomachs of the Huffpost taste panel. I'll just include one comment because after reading it, I became sick and had to go lie down for a while.

Back 50+ years ago Cracker Barrel cheese was the most favorite thing in my 3 year old life. My uncle would call me on the phone, I would stand up in a kitchen chair and tell him what I wanted him to bring me from the store. It was always Cracker Barrel cheese with crackers. He and I shared a birthday and a love of cheese, when he passed in 1977, he was 101 y/o he loved it too. Now whenever I sit and have Cracker Barrel cheese and crackers I enjoy a wonderful memory and a wonderful cheese as well. Thank you for a wonderful product and wonderful memories.

Pretty cheesy. . . wouldn't you say?)



Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book
    It took me years to write, will you take a look

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It took me years to write (will you take a look)



Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book
    It took me years to write, will you take a look

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It got THAT clean on the cold cycle??

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Wednesday, September 17, 2014

That desperate time of year




Artists struggle to survive in age of the blockbuster

RUSSELL SMITH

Special to The Globe and Mail

Published 

In the artistic economy, the Internet has not lived up to its hype. For years, the cybergurus liked to tell us about the “long tail” – the rise of niches, “unlimited variety for unique tastes” – that would give equal opportunities to tiny indie bands and Hollywood movies. People selling products of any kind would, in the new connected world, be able to sell small amounts to lots of small groups. Implicit in the idea was the promise that since niche tastes would form online communities not limited by national boundaries, a niche product might find a large international audience without traditional kinds of promotion in its home country. People in publishing bought this, too. The end result, we were told, would be an extremely diverse cultural world in which the lesbian vampire novel would be just as widely discussed as the Prairie short story and the memoir in tweets.

In fact, the blockbuster artistic product is dominating cultural consumption as at no other time in history. Hundreds of millions of dollars are spent on each successive Hunger Games, and the rep cinemas have closed. A few sports stars are paid more individually than entire publishing houses or record labels earn in a year.

A couple of prominent commentators have made this argument recently about American culture at large. The musician David Byrne lamented, in a book of essays, that his recent albums would once have been considered modest successes but now no longer earn him enough to sustain his musical project. That’s David Byrne – he’s a great and famous artist. Just no Lady Gaga. The book Blockbusters: Hit-making, Risk-taking, and the Big Business of Entertainment, by business writer Anita Elberse, argues that the days of the long tail are over in the United States. It makes more sense, she claims, for entertainment giants to plow as much money as they can into guaranteed hits than to cultivate new talent. “Because people are inherently social,” she writes cheerily, “they generally find value in reading the same books and watching the same television shows and movies that others do.”





Well, the same appears to be true of publishing, even in this country. There are big winners and there are losers – the middle ground is eroding. Publishers are publishing less, not more. Everybody awaits the fall’s big literary-prize nominations with a make-us-or-break-us terror. Every second-tier author spends an hour every day in the dismal abjection of self-promotion – on Facebook, to an audience of 50 fellow authors who couldn’t care less who just got a nice review in the Raccoonville Sentinel. This practice sells absolutely no books; increases one’s “profile” by not one centimetre; and serves only to increase one’s humiliation at not being in the first tier, where one doesn’t have to do that.





Novelists have been complaining, privately at least, about the new castes in the literary hierarchy. This happens every year now, in the fall, the uneasiness – after the brief spurt of media attention that goes to the nominees and winners of the three major Canadian literary prizes, the Scotiabank Giller, the Governor-General’s, and the Rogers Writers’ Trust. The argument is that the prizes enable the media to single out a few books for promotion, and no other books get to cross the divide into public consciousness. And, say the spurned writers, this fact guides the publishers in their acquisitions. Editors stand accused of seeking out possible prize-winners (i.e. “big books”) rather than indulging their own tastes. This leads, it is said, to a homogenized literary landscape and no place at all for the weird and uncategorizable.





But even if this is true, what can one possibly do about it? Abolish the prizes? No one would suggest this – and even the critics of prize culture understand that the prizes were created by genuine lovers of literature with nothing but the best intentions, and that rewarding good writers financially is good, even necessary, in a small country without a huge market.

It’s not, I think, the fault of the literary prizes that the caste system exists. Nor of the vilified “media” who must cover these major events. It’s the lack of other venues for the discussion and promotion of books that closes down the options. There were, in the nineties, several Canadian television programs on the arts. There were even whole TV shows about books alone. Not one of these remains. There were radio shows that novel-readers listened to. There were budgets for book tours; there were hotel rooms in Waterloo and Moncton. In every year that I myself have published a book there have been fewer invitations and less travel. Now, winning a prize is really one’s only shot at reaching a national level of awareness.



So again, what is to be done? What does any artist do in the age of the blockbuster? Nothing, absolutely nothing, except keep on doing what you like to do. Global economic changes are not your problem (and are nothing you can change with a despairing tweet). Think instead, as you always have, about whether or not you like semicolons and how to describe the black winter sky. There is something romantic about being underground, no?

Look on the bright side: Poverty can be good for art. At least it won’t inspire you to write Fifty Shades of Grey.


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