I’m Not a Cat Lady

Oldsters Not Going Loco For Geo Loco, For Obvious Reasons

Today the New York Times has a report on how "the mainstream" has been slow to latch onto the booming new geolocation trend flaunted by the likes of Google, Foursquare, Gowalla, Shopkick and, most recently, Facebook. As reporters Claire Cain Miller and Jenna Wortham explain, GeoLoco is the Next Big Thing that's sputtering a little at takeoff:

Venture capitalists have poured $115 million into location start-ups since last year, according to the National Venture Capital Association, and companies like Starbucks and Gap have offered special deals to users of such services who visited their stores.

But for all the attention and money these apps and Web sites are getting, adoption has so far been largely confined to pockets of young, technically adept urbanites. Just 4 percent of Americans have tried location-based services, and 1 percent use them weekly, according to Forrester Research. Eighty percent of those who have tried them are men, and 70 percent are between 19 and 35.

I just have to wonder why anyone would think that this technology would appeal to anyone but a younger demo. Interviews with a couple of thirtysomethings reveal a general reluctance to broadcast where they are at all times stemming from common-sense concerns about safety and security that come with the aging-out-of-early-adulthood process. Some over-30s are drawn to the Shopkick model, which offers discounts when shoppers check into certain retail outlets, but as for the rest of it, why would anyone want to share the personal stuff? As one mother admits, “We go to playtime, the park and the grocery store. My life isn’t exciting enough to broadcast where I am and what I do.” 

It's that simple, really. When you're in your teens and your twenties, your social calendar is full. You're running around with loads of friends, hopping from one party/bar/restaurant/club/concert/dodgeball game/what-have-you to the next. The male-to-female ratio I can't explain—maybe girls are less nerdy about this stuff? More concerned about stalkers? More partial to text?—but as for the age disparity, come on already! Once you get to a certain point in your life, you have other things to worry about besides appointing yourself the Mayor of your local Dew Drop Inn. Like, if you're lucky, a job. And, luckier still, a significant other. And then there are kids. Even if you don't have them, your friends—the same ones you used to run around with, bar- and club- and party-hopping every night of the week when you were in your late teens and early twenties—definitely do. You now have to book these friends weeks in advance just to commit to a babysitter and meet you for an early-bird special. It's sad but true: Your social circle dwindles as you leave your twenties. You don't need to check in to find out where all your friends are—you're not hanging out together like you used to, you are all no longer so spontaneous, and when you do get together, it's usually the result of a plan.

But of course the Times has to turn this into yet another piece about how Old People Just Don't Get Newfangled Technology. "Location services are catching on more quickly with young people, who have grown up posting personal information online," they state. And then they quote some idiot who says, "The magic age is people born after 1981. That’s the cut-off for us where we see a big change in privacy settings and user acceptance.”

No, fella. People born after 1981 are under 30. They're the only ones a location service like Foursquare or Gowalla would appeal to. Has nothing to do with growing up with both thumbs glued to a glassy iPhone screen. Does anyone honestly think that once today's under-30s grow up, get married and start having kids that they'll still obsessively check in to see if any of their friends are at the day care center dropping off the  little'uns, or at the Home Depot? My guess is that by the time today's Geo-Loco enthusiasts have reached that point, Geo-Loco as we know it now will be as hot as Friendster.

I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here: The Heidi-Spencer Hoax Continues

This is getting way out of hand. On Saturday, Us magazine had an "exclusive" report that Heidi had been rushed to hospital "with an undisclosed medical emergency." Apparently, Spencer twittered it. Or his witless sister, Stephanie. Or both.

On Sunday, TMZ reported that Miss Heidi had a gastric ulcer as a result of being "tortured" in the Chamber of Horrors, where she and her wastrel husband Spencer were being held hostage, in the dark, fed only water, rice and beans—just like in Guantanamo Bay!—for one day and one night. Or for three whole days, according to E! Online, which also ran the following statement from NBC's head of alternative programming Paul Telegdy:

"... the 'insincere, lazy, entitled" Pratts required a stint in "isolation" before producers would decide the twosome's fate on this Monday's show, vowing that the Pratts "really are going to bare their souls."

But then: Gawker's Defamer wing subsequently reported that Telegdy, under orders from his boss Ben Silverman, had flown to Costa Rica to throw more money at the Pratts after they tried to quit the show and beg them not to leave. (Told ya!) They also pointed to subsequent updates on TMZ throughout yesterday and today that (1) IACGMOH producers were pissed at Spencer's torture claims, insisting the whole situation was safe and supervised and, most important, on film, so we can see for ourselves; and then (2) that the Pratts were, in actual fact, lounging in a hotel for three days; and then (3) that Spencer says that's all bullshit and is planning on suing NBC; and (4) omg, the Pratts are trying to get out of Costa Rica but doctors won' t give Heidi clearance to fly; and (5) look! Here are photos of the Lost Chamber, which may or may not have involved real torture.

And as for the latest, as of right now, back to E!: All the reports are inaccurate, everybody's fine, Heidi was never tortured, she was just feeling unwell and needs more tests, they're both still in Costa Rica, tune in tonight and the truth will out.

All this publicity-seeking sturm und drang, and for what?  The gossip blog community may be all over this, but will that really translate into bigger numbers tonight? I guess we'll find out soon enough, but I will say this: All this manufactured drama and cheap manipulation have completely corrupted the show. The whole premise was doomed to fail from the start.

The reason IACGMOOH is popular in the UK is partly the fascination with the social experiment angle: putting disparate personalities together in a harsh, unfamiliar environment and seeing how they cope. There is also a vicarious, slightly sadistic thrill in having a hand in the fate of the cast by voting them into those hideous trials, and finding out who cracks under the pressure while cheering on those who flourish and triumph. Those three weeks in the jungle are life-transforming for the people who've participated in IACGMOOH-UK over the last eight years—that's what drives them to do the show in the first place—and that's also compelling to watch.

And it's funny! It doesn't take itself half as seriously as IACGMOOH-US. All this Pratt nonsense has been so distracting that even after one full week, there's no traction at all. The show's still in limbo, entirely dependent on the Heidi-Spencer arc. We should be well into the interactive element by now, with our votes impacting the campmates' fates and, with any luck, their sanity. But as it is, it's impossible to understand  what this show is supposed to be—a competition? a popularity contest? a soap opera?—and any initial good will towards it has run dry.

Of course, I'll watch tonight's bloated two-hour episode. Depending on how it plays out, it may be the last time.

photo courtesy of NBC

I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here, Day 2: So Long, Pratts!

Janice Dickinson said it best: “I didn’t know I was signing up for I’m a Holy Roller, Get Me Out of Here.” Neither did I. Three quarters of last night’s episode was wasted on the cretinous born-again Christians Heidi and Spencer and their narcissistic “will we stay or will we go” games. It’s way past obvious now that NBC was banking on them to drive up the numbers, but it didn’t work: According to TV by the Numbers, viewership among the 18 to 49s, that Holy Grail of demo groups, was down by 19 percent. That’s too bad, because once these two asshats quit for the third time—seemingly for good, although today rumors persist that they’ll be back, again—the last 10 minutes of the episode finally got down to what this show is supposed to be all about.

Here’s how it played out. Damien and Myleene dimple charmingly as they welcome us back and try to convince us how “incredible” the show's been so far. To the recap: We left off with the players, minus lame sitter-outers Spendi (because they have completely spent my nerves… and by the way, why were they allowed to sit out the live challenge? That is not supposed to be an option!), strapped onto stretchers and suspended headfirst into a pit as different groups of heinous critters are released one by one. Each has the option, of course, to bail at any time. First up is roaches. Frangelica are outta there before it’s even started. Salley springs up like a jack-in-the-box next. Janice bails and seems a little traumatized by it, shrieking “No! No! No! No!” even after she's freed from the pit. I really hope J-Dick doesn’t get voted off. It’s fun watching her freak out.

Tarantulas are released next, then snakes and then worms. Salley the arachnophobe decides to psyche out the remaining women, Mrs. Blago and Torrie, by announcing where all the critters are on their bodies. Torrie has a snake on her face! The girls are out. LouDi's out. Only Sanjaya and Stephen Baldwin remain. Water starts to rise in the pit, threatening to drown them, as the critters crawl and slither all over. Baldwin’s out. Sanjaya wins. Sanjaya! Who knew he was such a badass? Then he interviews in his little-girl lilt, “Winnninggggg was amaaaazinggggg” and flaps his hands at the memory of it all. He’s a fierce little mohawked badass sprite. 

Back to camp: LouDi gets a bed just for being The Leader and Spencer puts on an incredulous “I’ve been robbed” face. Tool. And then, suddenly, a confessional from the Angelica half of Frangelica. Sad reality-show sob-story violins accompany her as she describes a traumatizing potty trip in the middle of the night, and then she shares, just between her and us, that she’s had “a lot of mini-breakdowns.” We cut to one of them. Poor Ange is talking to herself, then telling herself off for talking to herself and slapping herself in the face. What the…? “I’m jungle upset,” she explains. Even though I feel bad for her, well, this is more like the I’m a Celebrity I know and love. Stuff happens to these people when they’re camping out in the jungle like that. It’s a crucial part of the game.

Only in America: Layoff Survivors

I was listening to NPR today—All Things Considered or Talk of the Nation or one of those programs—and heard a new expression: "layoff survivor."

It was bandied about several times during a discussion about a Time article about "survivor's guilt," which examines all the boo-hooing going on in offices across the land by the poor workers who remain employed while their fellow cubicle-dwellers are shown the door. I'm sorry, but the use of "survivor" in this context is worse than inappropriate: it's criminal. A survivor of war or a concentration camp, okay. Of a serious fire, flood or famine, yes. A potentially fatal accident by air, land or sea, definitely. Any kind of cancer whatsoever, you got it. Sexual abuse? This is where it gets fuzzy for me. The last time the trials of those (allegedly) pedophilic priests from Massachusetts was being discussed, I heard the victims describe themselves as survivors. That gave me pause. I know that nobody wants to be seen as a victim, but I'm not sure if they can really describe their admittedly heinous experiences as being on a par with getting out of Hurricane Katrina alive.

And now, this. It's horrible losing your job. It's happened to me, more than once. Two different magazines I was working for folded abruptly due to the recession in the early 90s. I was flat-out fired by one boss because, well, he was a prick with a reputation for sacking people who didn't kiss up to him, so I'm proud about that one. And I was laid off again along with several other people three years ago, just as I was about to embark on family medical leave to spend time with my father, who lived in another country and was dying. (That one I still have nightmares about.) And I lost a cushy little freelance online gig last October, along with hundreds, nay thousands, of other media folk who have been losing jobs faster than the Dow can plummet.

Sure, I suffered, and I survived. But please. Unless getting laid off includes taking a bullet to the head or a bit of mandatory water torture, a person who has loses their job does not qualify as being a survivor. I think "sad sack" is the appropriate term, let's be honest.

photo courtesy of mediabistro.