Paul Raven @ 01-05-2008
There’s an older guy who drinks in the same pub as a number of people in my social circle. He’s well known for his, er, colourful and lively opinions, which tend to emerge incoherently at the end of the evening to the great amusement of everyone else. This unintentionally hilarious character is immortalised and discussed in a Facebook group, where the occasional picture or transcribed rant will be posted, and notable encounters good-naturedly reminisced upon.
I probably shouldn’t be at all surprised to find out that this phenomenon is far from unique; the exponential splurge of social media has created maybe hundreds of these minor geo-locative celebrities. Most of them, we can assume, are people who do not use the web themselves, and who remain unaware that they are the subject of scrutiny and discussion and (in some cases) a kind of hero-worship.
But is this a form of exploitation? Are we unwittingly mocking someone who is less connected to modern media than ourselves, or simply performing an enhanced version of the urban legend-telling that is probably as old as urban life itself?
And as the number of non-users decreases, will the perceived celebrity of those still not connected to the web increase as a function of their rarity? Will every town have a digital shrine to the last person without broadband?
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Jeremy Lyon @ 01-02-2007
February’s story is now available; Chris Nakashima-Brown spins us a near-future post-mediapocalyptic mind-bender about celebrity, freedom, America and meaning in “R.P.M.”.
R.P.M.
by Chris Nakashima-Brown
The 1994 Chevrolet Monte Carlo SS hurtles south down Cahuenga after midnight, jury-rigged engine exhaling the throaty rasp of an emphysemic Olympian. Urban interceptor, an abandoned rental reclaimed as instrument of revolution.
Or at least that’s what 0z0 said the night before as he drilled holes in the muffler to amplify the effect.
“We’re gonna free the monster,” he smiled, lighting the welding torch. Continue reading “R.P.M. by Chris Nakashima-Brown”
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Jeremy Lyon @ 28-02-2006
“The Jiminy Device” from Lisa Mantchev is a delightfully snarky satire of celebrity taken to its logical (and entourage-encrusted) extreme.
The Jiminy Device
by Lisa Mantchev
“What do you mean you’re leaving?”
Shock and disbelief clouded London’s brow (despite the neurotoxin injections) as she stared at her lover. Marcel only shrugged. When one of his people scribbled a note and handed it to him, he read it cold.
“We’re drifting apart. It’s not you, it’s me.” He took the cigarette out of his mouth and glared at the hapless scriptwriter. She withered visibly behind her cheap haircut. “This is what I pay you for?” He shook his head and his stylist adjusted the tousled locks with a comb.
London sniffed, trying to muster some tears. Her special effects guy produced a squirt bottle of saline when she couldn’t quite manage it on her own. Her personal trainer (Tony… or was it Toby?) glared at Marcel. “You can’t leave me. I’m an heiress for god’s sake. I’m leaving you.”
Neil and Susanna, their respective PR generals, glowered at each other. Index fingers hovered over cell phones, ready to speed-dial the Associated Press. Continue reading “THE JIMINY DEVICE by Lisa Mantchev”
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