All-Star Sunday Under the Table

Of all the takeaways from Jenkins' Convergence Culture, the idea that left the most lasting impression in my mind is that of the instant recognizability of our changing world. Jenkins' work was not simply philosophical musings and far-off theorization: what Jenkins was describing is happening around us, and the immediacy of his writings have struck me as most interesting in the wake of reading and responding to his book. One of the most fascinating examples of convergence that has captivated me throughout the semester is the role it has begun playing in sports. Sports are no longer isolated events; with the growing influence of Twitter and Facebook, as well as advancements in technology for in the home and online, sporting events have truly become events that take in a realm that expands far outside of the confines of a sporting events given venue. This has admittedly long been a theme in sports; some people listen to a game on the radio, some attend live, some watch on tv, and these practices have been going on for decades. But today, we have a way bigger sphere of influence that sporting events are reaching. No longer are we confined to the venue itself, the tv, and the radio: we have Twitter, Facebook, YouTube, iPhone apps, online streams, and even text messages, all telling us what's going on at the same time.

The NBA All-Star game represents this new model more than anything in recent memory. This past Sunday, the Staples Center in Los Angeles played host to basketball's finest players in one of the greatest All-Star games in recent memory, and potentially of all time. Kobe Bryant walked away with MVP honors after a staggering 37 point, 14 rebound performance, with his Western conference squad eeking out a win, while the Eastern conference team fell despite LeBron James' extremely rare All-Star Sunday triple-double – 29 points, 12 rebounds, 10 assists. Kobe Bryant failed to score in the last 7 minutes; Kevin Durant scored some huge baskets to preserve the Western conference lead; LeBron James lead the East back from 17 down to within 2 in the final minutes; the Eastern conference team featured a lineup containing four players from the same Celtics team at times. None of these tidbits necessarily matter: what does matter is that I know all of this... and I didn't watch the game.

This past Sunday also happened to be the date set for a dinner I was to have with my girlfriend's mother and my girlfriend's mother's best friend; I was meeting them for the first time. The night was pleasant and went very well – but I didn't get to see the game at all. What was billed as one of the best All-Star lineups in years seemed as though it was simply going to come and go for me while I was having dinner at Sushi Zushi in downtown Austin.

But, this is 2011. Not 2002. The All-Star game is not limited to an engaging television event any longer. With the NBA GameTime app on my iPhone, I received notifications of the score at the end of each quarter, along with the winner of the MVP trophy. Facebook statuses reflected the goings-on of the game. Hip hop blogs had the halftime show, which featured Rihanna, Drake and Kanye West, complete in the glory of his shiny red pants, available to watch before the game was even over. Tweets reduced the games most exciting moments into bite-sized pieces of information and under-a-minute long video links. Years ago I would have hoped that the VCR managed to record the game successfully, then come home to watch it, while avoiding any information about the game before doing so to not ruin the surprise. In our converging social experience, even though I wasn't going to be able to watch the game, I received the full experience of the game. I'm able to discuss the happenings of the game online and with friends in person – I've argued endlessly that Kobe Bryant didn't deserve the MVP award. Yet, outside of the combined 4 or 5 minutes of YouTube links I've watched with snippets of action, I shouldn't have an opinion on what happened because I didn't see it. And even though I didn't see it, I experienced it. This wealth of information that we have at our disposal, and the countless platforms with which it can reach us, leaves no event out of reach.

While this example may seem extremely trivial and unimportant, it's honestly really startling to reflect back on: I watched the game, without watching the game. I would have loved to sit down and spend 2 and a half hours watching the game's best players fly around, putting up nearly 300 combined points, but I know just as much about the game as I would've anyway without having seen it. This immediacy of information doesn't lessen the experience of watching the game, however, as I still plan on watching it when I get a chance this week since I have it recorded. But to be able to take in the entirety of the All-Star game – or any other important social or cultural event – without actively engaging in it is exceedingly interesting, slightly frightening, and endlessly question-raising. What does it mean to experience things anymore? I experienced everything about the NBA All-Star game from a phone sending me messages, and quick site glances all from under the table, or during bathroom breaks at a Sushi Zushi, as well as a quick scan of social networking sites upon getting home after dinner for more specifics on what it is that I just "experienced." Is this all an enhancement to the game? Or a replacement to the game? Or is the game itself a supplement to this cross-platform experience? It was a replacement for me, but it seems as though this social interactivity is positioned as a supplement to the game by the NBA. Even then, it could be argued that the game itself simply gives us a reason to convene in these spaces; we want to converse with others in this online space, but we need a reason to – on Sunday, the game and its halftime entertainment was that reason. Convergence culture is real. And I know this because I watched the All-Star game while I ate sushi with my girlfriend and her mom.

Evil Bert Laden Takes On Gangsta Rap

Brown's essay on Evil Bert Laden is centered on the notion that interpretation as we know it needs to go through a major overhaul. Our current interpretive impulses are simply insufficient: in trying to extrapolate meaning out of the unlikely pairing of Sesame Street's Bert and Osama bin Laden, we miss out on the concept of true significance. What Brown sees as important is not the basis upon which Bert and bin Laden happened to meet on the Bangladeshi posters. It is the fact that the two can share and have shared a space – that two wildly different and ultimately opposing symbols or ideas can conceivably meet. The possibilities of previously concretely divided cultural artifacts and concepts colliding, for Brown, are most intriguing. What Brown suggests may result is an ultimate bridging of gaps and a movement towards peace; by eliminating the contrasting "us" vs. "them" element of differing culture and presenting this distinction instead as a coinciding – albeit not unified – "we," a mutual understanding and shared experience can develop, which can be nurtured into peaceful and productive coexistence.

Let's take a step back, though. Brown's ideas are definitely novel and just barely plausible in the right climate. But they are by no means practical. In my reading of Brown's essay, I was struck by two important points. First is the practicality of Brown's lofty implications of this cultural mashup. In our Youtube era, with an increasing amount of media consumers becoming proficient enough to produce content attractive to other viewers, the novelty of the bin Laden and Bert unification is lost. In a culture where we autotune the news, bizarre juxtapositions of seemingly disparate elements of national or international culture happen far more regularly than Brown leads us to believe. A prime example of this juxtaposition recycles Brown's fascination with Sesame Street, presenting us instead with Bert and Ernie meeting purveyors of gangsta rap, Mash Out Posse (M.O.P.)'s Ante Up.



Brown effectively reduced Bert and bin Laden into metonym's for Western and Eastern culture; in my example, our puppet friends represent children's entertainment, and the M.O.P. song Ante Up represents gangsta rap. The creator of this video spent an afternoon splicing episodes of Sesame Street and syncing them perfectly with one of rap's most mindnumbingly vulgar, violent, and frankly awesome hits – it's fair to say, as it was in the West-meets-East clash of Bert and bin Laden, that these two pieces of culture couldn't possibly mix in a reasonable setting. However, with the creation of this video, upwards of 6 million and counting viewers has taken in the deliriously weird and funny sights and sounds of Bert and Ernie playing the parts of Lil Fame and Billy Danze in Ante Up. This viewership doesn't even include the viewers – and creators – of the endless numbers of slightly unfortunate copycat videos featuring other puppets or childhood cartoon characters taking on hip hop staples. Yet still, even with the astounding popularity of these cultural appropriations, Brown's suggested results – both his lofty hypotheticals regarding unification, and his nervous suggestion about our desire to undress content for meaning – failed to surface. There was and still is no bridge between hardcore rap culture and educational children's entertainment; there was and still is no critique of the American culture that houses both the extremely abrasive and the predictably tame; there was and still is no discussion of a middleground that comfortably acknowledges the presence of both pieces of our national culture. Instead there are just laughs at the novelty of it all. Perhaps it is rather fascinating that the person that created video has an extensive library of Sesame Street videos, extensive video editing skills, and an ear for gangsta rap – but this will not ever be the center of the conversation around this video.

The reason that Brown's suggested hypothetical and assumed results failed to surface lies in the second point that struck me while understanding Brown's essay. He says our interpretive impulse should be shifted to seek out the implications of cultural appropriations, rather than the subtextual meaning of it all. However, as seen with the Ante Up vs. Bert and Ernie example, neither of these interpretive perspectives prove to be fruitful. What seems to be a much more reasonable interpretive impulse is to seek out an understanding of the source of the juxtaposition. In understanding the source of the juxtaposition, we can understand the intended meaning. This would discourage the truly beneficial aspects of Brown's hypothetical peace-building operation that is birthed by cultural appropriation; by accepting the intentions of the creator and not deconstructing the media in front of us, we are limited to the singular purpose the author offers. However, a dissection of authorship and its context delivers a learning experience free from the unnecessary meandering of publications like the NY Times, or irrational paranoia as shown by the owners of the Sesame Street brand. By first understanding the fact that the posters were the results of hasty, opportunistic printers, the entire narrative surrounding the Bert Laden controversy would have been radically different from the start. Perhaps the reason behind the very limited dialogue that was produced by Bert and Ernie indulging in their fake gangsta rap alter-egos, the video creator explicitly states the sheerly recreational nature of the video. Reality dispels manufactured experience. If our interpretive impulse was to understand the foundation of the information we receive, we may become more rational and reasonable as a society. Bert and Ernie may be the puppets, but we are the ones who need to take control of our own experiences and actions. Ante up.

Cybersubculture Comparison Choices

The online communities I have chosen to join are SoundCloud, a social music uploading, sharing, and interacting site, and the okayplayer. messageboards, which supplement the blog, which focuses largely on music discussion, especially hip-hop.

S/R 1

Henry Jenkins' Convergence Culture offers a look into our rapidly shifting social experience. Jenkins is very distinct about his definition of convergence; dismissed is the concept of the oft-talked about "Black Box," a convergence of our popular gadgets and appliances into one general tool that serves as our television, computer, entertainment systems, communication devices, among countless other things. Instead, Jenkins ushers in a look at the "cultural shift as consumers are encouraged to seek out new information and make connections among dispersed media content" (3). What Jenkins argues is that we are in the midst of a dramatic change in our cultural landscape. In order to emphasize his observations, Jenkins offers several case studies. A foray into the world of Survivor spoiling offers a glimpse into knowledge communities, and the power of collective intelligence that occurs when people – especially in an online environment – "harness their individual expertise toward shared goals and objectives" (26) including discovery and exposition. The other side of this startlingly hyperinvolved set of consumers is the large entertainment and media groups who deliberately set out to create media that encourage active engagement and participation from its consumers. Jenkins focuses extensively on the top-down model of corporate entities engaging consumers and the simultaneous bottom-up grassroots engagement bred by communal interest in order to paint a picture of convergence in our cultural and entertainment sphere. One case study that effectively defines and describes much of what Jenkins refers to with convergence culture is that of The Matrix and its transmedia-based franchise. Diving into the world that the Wachowski brothers manufactured, Jenkins reveals a vast network of "interconnections between the various Matrix" (116) that all work together to deliver a larger narrative than can be consumed in any one medium. This example, as well as the example of Harry Potter, or Star Wars, synthesizes Jenkins' observation on the direction our culture is taking, citing a push from the top to reach outward to extend the impact a specific franchise might have on consumers, as well as a decided effort by consumers to reach out and take in as much information on as many platforms as possible – or necessary – to satisfy complex consumption habits. The culmination of Jenkins examination of culture occurs when Jenkins delivers an overview of the political landscape and the role convergence culture will have on its development in the future. Citing most notably the Internet rise of Howard Dean and his television-based downfall in 2004, Jenkins almost prophetically details the possibilities for our increasingly digital culture to raise participation and foster a more active, aware, and apt body of citizens with the power to one day take control of the political process the way it has of its entertainment as new and old media converge.

While Jenkins offers well-researched and intriguing examples of convergence at work in our culture, it seems as though one aspect of convergence culture goes largely unacknowledged throughout the book. With top-down and bottom-up convergence of media occurring simultaneously, Jenkins fails to assess the resulting quality of media that results from such convergence. While ultimately subjective, the quality of shows like Survivor and American Idol must be examined in order to completely understand the cultural narrative Jenkins is building around us. An examination of Survivor that reaches below the surface seems to expose some of the worst – and yet entertaining – aspects of human nature; American Idol represents the triumph of theatrics and superficiality over artistic value in its commodification of the vocalist; the intricacy, span, and staggering scope of the world that the Wachowski brothers deliver does not inherently result in good quality media or entertainment. While Jenkins does do a good job of bringing these examples to light, his failure to examine the actual quality of the media leaves does not do the examples justice. At the same time, given the examples Jenkins offers and their debatable merit, the question of convergence culture resulting in simply bad media is a frighteningly real possiblity. With primary emphasis being placed on the interaction a consumer has with the media at several different points and on multiple levels in order to expand the power and influence of the brand, quality of any specific aspect of the media can absolutely be sacrificed for any given consumer. By having contestants simply revisit exisiting classics in their performances, American Idol sacrifices artistic integrity for the sake of consumer engagement; The Matrix, with its countless entrypoints, fails to deliver any one medium to its greatest potential. Jenkins is remarkably observant and synthesizes his observations extremely convincingly: convergence culture is happening. But do we really want this?

Cultural Degradation Experts

On page 257 of his Convergence Culture book, Jenkins introduces the opposing viewpoint to the "realizable utopia" he and Pierre Lévy introduce throughout the book, Calling it "critical pessimism" and allegedly lead by scholars like Michael Crispin Miller and Noam Chomsky, this opposition stresses the same things, such as participatory culture, but on a different basis: "victimization" instead of "empowerment." Jenkins criticizes this thought by attacking its lack of faith in the engaged and active consumer of culture, but also by attacking the stranglehold that critical pessimists claim big media corporations have on the cultural landscape.

In the conclusion of Convergence Culture, where Jenkins presents the notion of these "critical pessimists" on pages 258-259, he rather quickly dismisses critical pessimists' merit and moves on from their opinions as soon as he introduces them. But is this fair? Does he give their point of view enough thought? Is Jenkins so different from them throughout the book?

In short, no, no, and actually yes. Based on Jenkins' very rough and unique explanation of their viewpoints (critical pessimism exists nowhere in cultural scholarship outside of that paragraph in Convergence Culture's conclusion), one may gather a very limited view of scholars like Chomsky, McChesney, and Miller. Chomsky is a monumental name in modern thought, linguistics, philosophy, activism, and culture in general; it is true that his writing has villainized large media, but he has done so in order to paint a portrait that connects the large media corporations to the filtered information that we receive. Thus, he does as Jenkins proposes use victimization as a basis for participatory culture, but he also suggests empowerment. To rely solely on victimization in order to spark any sort of progress would be counterproductive, and Chomsky recognizes this: it was the power of (corrupt) people that set up the media climate, but it is also average people that have the power to have a profound change on the role of the media in our lives. Miller is another example of a misrepresented scholar when describing critical pessimism. Much of Miller's writings present case studies that effectively lay out the abilities of large conglomerations to affect our media and culture in frighteningly powerful ways. Miller works in the concrete while Chomsky works largely in the abstract and theoretical, but they are arguing the same idea in principle. However, to simply state that Miller too presents the current media climate as impossibly oppressive is inconsistent with the direction of his writings. He has just been straightforward with the scenarios in which powers above us have had a profound impact on general culture without our ability to exert influence. It is true that Miller uses these scenarios he lays out as reasons for us to participate more heavily in culture, but Miller writes for the purpose of exposing our missteps in hopes of us later on being able to reign in these large media and cultural organizations that we've let grow without any real restraint or attention from the public – not to present victimization and use impending doom as a valid basis for out participation.

As far as Jenkins' perspective is concerned, there is little doubt at a superficial level that he presents a theory that is different from that of Chomsky or Miller: Jenkins presents empowerment and they present victimization. But they don't present irrational victimization; instead they present metered prose and reasonable, well-developed examples of situations where cultural machines out of our current reach have been able to have an impact on our life without our influence. So, a second look might suggest that these critical pessimists only provide a more realistic view of the fight we are up against. However, a third and final analysis of what is going on brings us to a final conclusion – Jenkins truly does have a different point and perspective. What Miller and Chomsky and McChesney lack in their writing is example of people having overcome that barrier and beginning to truly participate in culture in new ways that they hadn't before. Jenkins presents mostly encouraging information and toys with wonderful possibilities with measured expectations throughout Convergence Culture. He does acknowledge what critical pessimists spend much of their scholarship on, but he presents the solution as well. Thus, critical pessimism is a bit of a misleading term. Chomsky and Miller and McChesney are not pessimistic in their outlook: they are just more thorough in their evaluation of the negative.

Perhaps they need a new name: cultural degradation experts.