I dreamt of Neil Young and Bob Dylan

A series of ongoing celebrity encounters that occur, literally, in my dreams.

Last night I dreamed that I was in some summer camp hall and Neil Young was performing for a small gathering of people. I was on next, but I didn't have my guitar. I'd be playing on a piano, which I rarely practice and have scarcely performed on. When it came time to play, I went to check out the piano, a small baby grand with no top. I sat down and noticed the keys were not ivory, but spines of old books lined all up and down the keyboard. When I formed a chord with my fingers and pressed on the corresponding books, the piano would sound. Of course there were no white or black keys to tell notes by, just a bunch of book spines.

I improvised a little rag while my mind raced for songs I knew on piano. The books actually played okay. Bob Dylan was on next, so I thought I'd play a take on "Like A Rolling Stone," which has simple enough chords. At the other end of the room there was a perfectly normal piano, so I asked if we could switch the keys from the good piano for the books - the thought didn't occur to me that I could just play the good piano. The keys couldn't be switched. By now it was getting awkward with the audience.

We found an old Wurlitzer electric piano that had normal keys, and I settled on playing a piano interpretation of Metric's "Combat Baby." But one leg of the Wurlitzer was wonky so it kept falling over backwards.

FIN

See also: I dreamt of Chico Marx and Dave Chappelle

Jonathan Toth from Hoth's Blueberry Hill Birthday Bash

For all the party peoples in St. Louis, go celebrate my brother's eternal youth...

Breaking SAG news from LinkedIn Company Profiles

lol

I do not recommend downgrading from an iPhone

The most awful of circumstances led to me downgrading from an iPhone: I lost mine on a flight from Brussels to Cannes in May, and they would not let me back on the flight to look for it. This was followed by the most awful of announcements by Apple: the 3G iPhone would not be available until July. This resulted in the most awful of necessities: I had to use a Motorola Razr for one month. Aside from the functional retardation this induced, it also enabled AT&T to screw me on the upgrade pricing for the new iPhone.

For quick reference, here's what my old Razr looked like at the end of its productive life, about a year ago:

Admittedly, the shape it was in was purely my fault. I take pride in taking good care of my electronics, but I beat the Razr senseless out of frustration with its pathetic Verizon software, molasses-slow response, and DRM'ed restrictions. Then I tore it apart looking for the SIM card. There was no SIM card, and you had to subscribe to a paid service to transfer your data to a new phone. Want to use your own USB cable? You can't — the cable is "not approved" and you have to buy one from Verizon. Want to change the boot screen so you don't have to watch an ad for Verizon's Vcast service everytime you turn on your phone? You can't. Want to turn off the annoying low battery sound that beeps every two minutes if you need a charge? You can't — even if you set the phone to silent mode. Want to remove the cheesy default desktops and trashy gifs to save space on your phone? You can't. You can't, you can't, you can't. That's Verizon's idea of a customer's rights to the products they buy.

Having downgraded back to the Razr for a month, I must say: old phones seem positively Cro-Magnon after the iPhone. I was excited when I got a Razr in early 2005. I forgave its fumbly design flaws at first, liking the slim and sleek ideal, but eventually grew to hate fighting against it to accomplish basic tasks. Having now used the iPhone, where basic tasks are simple, complex tasks (like three-way calling and looking up a contact during a call) are logical and intuitive, and extended functionality like Google Maps and websurfing are just a touch away, downgrading to any other device is like regressing to Windows 1.0. It literally feels decades behind, where the simplest task like changing a ringtone, entering contact info or sending a text is a fight against a maze of menus and unlabeled buttons.

In downgrading to the dark ages, the unkindest cut of all came when I tried to return to 2008: AT&T refused to give me the upgrade pricing to my 3G iPhone. This pricing is guaranteed for anyone who bought the first iPhone, $199 for the 8GB and $299 for the 16GB. But because I had to use a loaner for a month, they said there was no iPhone on the account, and thus I had to pay $499 for the 3G. As the guy at the Apple Store said, "AT&T is screwing you." I spent about half an hour on the phone with support, looking for the intelligent person to make the exception. But they blamed "our contract with Apple." Apple, contrarily, said, we can't make any alterations to the price because AT&T controls all pricing.

This is a fight I plan to take to customer service ferociously until I get a rebate. That's right, I bought the 16GB at the inflated price, because I can't go on using a cell in the time of cholera. But for AT&T to penalize me $200 for losing my phone illustrates their basic inclination to screw the loyal customer.

Stealth Burger Reviews, International Edition: Scanburger

It's always a pleasure to sample international fare, particularly when it aspires to the complex chemistry of American fast food. Recently Stealth Burger Reviews reveled in Scandinavia's answer to the cultural hegemony of American hamburger chains: Scanburger.

It certainly was Scan-tastic to find a fast food drive-thru on Finland's scenic byways, though we stumbled on it quite by accident when pulling over for a rest stop. By the looks of the parking lot, the Scanburger phenomenon has yet to catch on over there. That's our Land Rover, and we were indeed the only party partaking of the Scan. I told myself it must've been packed at lunchtime.

The Scanburger menu is a delightful ramble of cultural variations on standard hamburgery. Some highlights include the Ruisburger (hamburger on dark rye), Kebabburger (kebab meat fashioned into a hamburger), and the Kasvisburger (a large onion-ring in place of meat). In addition, it seems Finns like eggs on their burgers, though we didn't venture to try any. Consider the Kerrosburger (kerros meaning floor or story, layer), which appears to be a Big Mac with eggs:

We ordered the American Classic burger, but oddly enough, they were sold out. Apparently they really are crazy for American culture over there. We settled on the XXL-ateria (ateria meaning meal), since Americans need everything bigger. What we got was a Big Mac, but in the dimensions of a Whopper. It was huge — as the sign notes, "2x90g patties". And the fries come in an excellent cubical box, meaning more room for more fries.

While the patties were clearly pre-fab and frozen, the pickles were thicker than American fast food, the lettuce was fresh and the flavors were good. The main challenge was managing the delicate principle of patty alignment, by which one patty of a Big Mac is pushed further and further out the back with each bite if not aligned perfectly with the other. By the end of the XXL, the top patty was totally gone with a few bites of the bottom patty left. But other than that, the Scanateria was money. Perhaps it tasted better because we'd eaten liverwurst and Karelian pasties all weekend, but I'd venture to say Scanburger could hold it's own against the big American chains. For a regional variation on the mass culture of fast food, Scanburger might even be considered an improvement.

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Apparently I misbehaved on Facebook...

...because I got this message today:

So something I did violated their terms of use. I'd love to know what it was, because I'm generally not hateful or threatening, nor have I attacked an individual or group. And I certainly don't spam my friends or post obscene content on Facebook. Everybody knows that's what MySpace is for. When I went looking for some explanation, I learned this from Facebook's Warning FAQ:

Can I see the removed content?
Unfortunately, for technical and security reasons, users cannot view the removed content ... Please go through your profile and make sure to take down any other offensive or objectionable material that violates our Terms of Use.

Hmmm. So I can't know what I did, but I have to know that it was wrong, and I need to check the "I acknowledge that I have read this information" box to prove my repentance. I wish I knew what I was repenting of. Another FAQ told me this:

Wall/Discussion Board Posts that are not permitted include:

• Posts that advertise a product, service, website, or commercial event

Just this bullet marks a huge demarcation between the Facebook and the MySpaces, as the latter's free use of HTML in comment fields was one of the primary things that a) drove adoption, and b) turned it into spamtown. Clearly there's a balance between the two—I have no idea what I did to trigger a report from Facebook, and I should at least be pointed to some sort of indicator as to what was inappropriate. If I post a link to a Daily Show clip, is that advertising a product, or sharing content in the way social media championed? Even if I post links to my own blog, video feed or Flickr stream, it's sharing content, though I rarely do this on Facebook. The more I think about it, the more I'm baffled at what I could've done. I half expect them to follow up with an apology that says this message went out to everyone.

That said, I kind of enjoy having sinned against Facebook. On MySpace, the sins are scarlett, like a semi-porn profile pic against glitter gif wallpaper. But on Facebook, the sins are white as snow, amorphous, mysterious. It makes me wonder how bad I really was...

I dreamt of Chico Marx and Dave Chappelle

In a new series here robgetzschman.com, I'll catalog an ongoing series of celebrity encounters that occur, literally, in my dreams. 

Last night I dreamed that I was explaining the racial humor of Dave Chappelle to Chico Marx. Chico said, "I no like-a the 'n' word." I tried to put it in perspective for Chico, telling him about Chappelle's show and career as a black comedian in a white world.

But then Chico turned into Chappelle, and we were just hanging out at a club.

FIN

My Cannes coverage has become the summer fashion

Due to a favorable review in the LA Times, my video coverage on the Cannes lifestyle has garnered the attention of 937 people everywhere! At least, that's the YouTube count after a day. The video, which premiered at LinkedIn headquarters in Mountain View yesterday, was seen by Times blogger Jessica Guynn, who had this to say:

"We think Jon Stewart should give this guy a Palme d’Or. Getzschman is a natural Rob Riggle."

We here at robgetzschman.com laud Jessica's eye for talent and good taste. Clearly she's got a sixth sense about these things. We'll be keeping an eye on her work. See the video below, followed by links to the review and my original post on LinkedIn's company blog.

Link to LA Times tech blog / Link to original post on the LinkedIn company blog.

UPDATE: ValleyWag hails the video as "cheesy", showing that they comprehend the underlying premise of humor. Kudos! And also that Yahoo could take a lesson from LinkedIn's marketing. 

UPDATE: Since YouTube doesn't rep the hi-res, download an mp4 of the video:

320x240 (10.3 MB) or 480x360 (48.9 MB)

Special thanks to Rose Chamberlain for her camerawork and Marcio with Telemetrik for use of the song "Nova"!

I saw Bono stalk Woody Allen at Cannes

I've been an avid conference goer over the last few months, as my job has me going to many of them representin' and whatnot. So I've become very familiar with the post-panel stalk. Conferencegoers want to talk to the famous guy on the panel, they move to the front of the stage, they wait patiently for the appropriate moment to corner them and move in for the kill. I've seen it done to LinkedIn founder Reid Hoffman, to Toto's David Paitch, to Bob Lefsetz. I know the stalk well, though I generally eschew it. I did it to Steve "guitar" Miller in April, just to tell him I was amazed how fresh he kept his catalog, and that he was a good sport hanging around to be stalked. He said he lives out in the country, so it's nice to see people.

Another guy did it to me, feeling me out to see if I was famous. When he realized I wasn't, he asked me to take a photo of him with Natasha Beddingfield.

But in Cannes, I saw something remarkable: I saw Bono stalk Woody Allen.

Bono is about as big as you can get. If Bono can get a lunch with Africa, I'm pretty sure he can get Woody Allen on the phone. But in Cannes, I saw Bono stalk Woody Allen after the screening of Vicki Christina Barcelona like a hopeful sales rep dogging Steve Ballmer. In fact, I got a photo of it:



There, see him? That's Rebecca Hall in front of Woody, and behind them both is Bono. Let's look closer.



See Woody to the left of Rebecca? And Bono behind, clapping his rhythm-gifted rock star hands to mask the post-panel stalk. I was there. I saw it. See Fig. 1:



Bono is the leader of the free world. Why is he stalking Woody Allen? Woody is an auteur, and certainly celebrated in France, but can't Bono just have his people call Woody's people? Does Bono need to bust the Cannes post-premiere screening stalk on Woody?



He moves in mysterious ways. With mysterious orange safety glasses.



They say it's in the eyes. Bono's fathomless eyes, that have beheld other worlds than these. They seem to be saying, "If I can get between him and Rebecca Hall..."



There are some things mere men may never know. But Bono knows.

Bono Knows.