Author: Karel Kerezman

  • The Marconi Debacle

    I wasn’t going to chime in on this, but our little Portland radio drama is national news now and how many chances am I going to get to ride the coattails of a hot news topic? Call me a mercenary if you must, but at least hear me out first.

    The show in question, the particular event that got Marconi, Tiny and Nik booted off the airwaves, is a prime example of what happens when you try to make money off of pushing the envelope of tastefulness. Had it not been the beheading thing, it would have been something else eventually. (For the record: No, I didn’t hear the bit. I also haven’t watched the video. I intend to avoid doing either for as long as possible, thanks.)

    This isn’t to say I think these guys are inherently bad or evil in and of themselves. Actually, generally speaking, I’ve had good rapport with them when they’re not on-air. But look at what their mandate is: To draw in listeners by being as outrageous as they can get away with.

    Problem is, you’re looking at an audience that’s increasingly difficult to shock or surprise. KNRK has traditionally (and I use that word advisedly) been all about the young turks, the ones who pierce and tatt and get rowdy every chance they get. These are the people who made Jackass a sensation. How do you keep their attention? It’s simple, but not easy: You have to ratchet up the shock factor, and keep trying new, crazier things… and you get in trouble. The core audience for this kind of radio station admires people who get into trouble, especially if they do it while offending the “normal” people, the uptight masses. I’m not making a judgement call, here, I’m simply stating a fact.

    They crossed a line, a big fat neon red line, and there’s no question that the Powers That Be took the only action they could take. That’s how the game is played. Any corporation in the country would be hard pressed to justify or gloss over what happened, so if you think it’s somehow a travesty that Marconi & Co are off the air… well, I can’t help you. If you decide to boycott the station or the company’s roster of stations, that’s your decision. I can virtually guarantee, though, that for every person who dials away because they’re gone, there’s someone dialing back in for precisely the same reason.

    That’s just the way of the world, folks. That’s the biz.

  • Another compatibility quiz…

    Because Lilith and Dawn did it…

    I’m a generally unf***witted, liberal, not-too-generous, not-too-selfish, pathetically simple-minded, dribbling child!
    See how compatible you are with me!
    Brought to you by Rum and Monkey

    For the record, I was 95% compatible with Lil’ and 83% compatible with Dawn. Make of this what you will…

  • Clearing out the memory backlog a bit.

    (Aren’t you all glad I’ve taken to jotting down little reminders in my phone to jog my memory? Yes, I’m sure you are. Heh.)

    The TriMet bus (and light rail) system is, all things being equal, a tremendous asset to the Portland metropolitan area. It is also, from time to time, a source of amusement.

    The #14 line runs along Hawthorne Street in southeast Portland, and so is known as the “#14 Hawthorne,” which is displayed on the electronic signboards on the front and side of the bus itself. But what happens when the rightmost half of the sign is malfunctioning?

    Well, it makes the bus Hawt, apparently. 14 Hawt, to be precise.

    *cough*

    Okay. Moving right along am I the only Portland resident to notice that cast-off couches are virtually everywhere, even in places you wouldn’t think a couch could migrate to? You sort of expect to see on one a curbside from time to time, but in the middle of a berry thicket? In a gully? I swear, there are couches (and I’m lumping loveseats into the “couch” category, if you must know, you pedantic person you) everywhere in this city. I’ve never particularly thought of a couch as an outdoor accessory, but clearly a fair number of people have.

    I was discussing this phenomenon with Lilith recently, prompted (of course) by yet another curbside couch sighting. She, too, had noticed the proliferation of couches, but hadn’t assigned to it quite the same level of fascination (or obsession, if you prefer) that I have. If nothing else, this clearly establishes which one of us is crazier. Useful, that.

    Her joking comment was that perhaps instead of calling Portland “Stumptown” we should call this place “Couchtown.” But then, of course, we’d have to pronounce it like we pronounce Couch Street

    Oh, wait. “Cooch Town.” Scratch that idea, folks

  • Bring out your dead (pool)!

    The recent migration of the Amish Tech Support Dead Pool (2004 edition) seems as good an excuse as any to list the picks I’d made last December for this year’s run. (Last year, for what it’s worth, I managed one measley death out of my entire roster. This proves, yet again, my complete lack of precognitive power.)

    So here are my 2004 picks, in alphabetical order:

    Astin, John
    Brando, Marlon
    Dawson, Richard
    Falwell, Jerry
    Garner, James
    Gorbachev, Mikhail
    Hefner, Hugh
    Ioccoca, Lee
    Kasem, Casey
    Lee, Stan
    McCullough, David
    Palmer, Arnold
    Stevens, Cat
    Taylor, James
    Thatcher, Margaret

    DISCLAIMER: Yes, yes, this is sick and wrong and reprehensible and God will probably punish me, yadda yadda yadda. He was going to do that anyway, so I doubt that my participation in the Dead Pool will matter that much in the final reckoning.

    Oh wait, I’m agnostic, so I don’t really believe in that crap anyway. Alright then, bring on the falling celebrities!

    ATS Dead Pool 2004

  • Oh deer.

    Found via Jack Bog’s Blog, this gem:

    “Deer, to some, are nice and pretty and such, but to me they’re nothing more than long-legged rodents with good PR. In that regard, they’re not that different from Kate Moss.”

    If you really want a good laugh, go read the complete original post

  • Little favors for the ex-missus.

    As part of my overall push to become the premier hostmaster for Monaural Jerk-based blogs, I finally managed to upgrade Wendi’s site today. The only hitch in the process was on account of a category name change at some point in the history of her site. The rest was fairly straightforward, and the results are rather spiffy if I do say so myself.

    Ball and Chain