My First B.M.

I know what people are going to think when they first see this blog. You are going to say “Really? Still with the blogs? Yet another blog bandwagoner who thinks we all want to read about how Caribou screwed up her coffee order this morning , what an un-be-live-able bargain she snagged at Nordstrom Rack or her marginally informed musings on American foreign policy. Blogs are so 2005. She’s a day late and a dollar short. In fact, as we speak, she is probably out getting the birth certificate for her Cabbage Patch Kid notarized, scheduling an appointment for a spiral perm and drinking Zimas while waxing her convertible LeBaron, filling out MadLibs and wondering when Mr. Mister will release a new record”.

By some accounts you would be correct. It’s late in the game. The blogosphere is littered with cyber junk: abandoned New Year’s resolution blogs, fudged food journals and lousy drunk poetry full of stanzas that all rhyme with fate. The world’s demand to know what a royal bitch that Janice from work can be or how much your friend Carolyn is like Miranda from Sex and the City and why Matt from your co-ed slow pitch intramural softball league doesn’t dump that bitch girlfriend of his already since everyone hates her with her giant Olsen twin sunglasses and ridiculous rhinestone iPhone case is no match for the supply. But don’t blame me. Blame the Facebook Man with his fascist creatively stifling limit of 424 characters per status. Verbose. I am. There, I said it. And so I must blog it out.

So that is what brought me to here. And now that I have made the commitment I’ve learned that there are responsibilities associated with creating a blog. We’ve gone past pithy updates clickety clacked from waiting rooms and traffic jams. There are background colors (and patterns!) to chose, font sizes, jpegs to upload, bios to write, banners, and font colors all coordinated in a way meant to adequately reflect my sitcom grandpa misanthropic side as well as highlight my whimsical aw shucks- hey look how I just threw this blog together nature. Heady decisions. Expect revisions.

So the other day after returning one of our Netlix rentals I decided to log on to our Netflix account to QC our ‘queue’ to make sure Cannonball Run 3 or ALF Season 2 (Disc 1) hadn’t snuck to the top of the list while we were enduring the ‘short wait’ for Inglorious Basterds. When I logged on and began browsing I noticed that Netflix had already created a list of recommendations for me. Normally this kind of presumption (I’m looking at you Amazon.com) would elicit a mild ‘harrumph’ from me and some grumbling about Big Brother and cookies and data mining and other scary sounding computer-y words. Data mining? Dangerous work. Best to take a canary with you.

But Netflix had taken it one step further. Not only had they come up with a general theme of recommendations, but they had reduced it to a very specific and somewhat unnerving sub-theme. According to Netflix authorities, my taste preferences indicate that I favor “violent and mind-bending” movies that feature “exciting revenge”. Really Netflix? What gave me away? My recent rental of “An Education” or was it “Thirtysomething Season 1? Exactly what kind of formula or algorithm does Netflix employ to create such sweeping character judgments? Because it sounds like something Homeland Security should know about. Or at a bare minimum local neighborhood watch groups. And what exactly characterizes ‘exciting revenge’? Does that mean they have ‘boring revenge’ genre full of Soupy Sales pie-in-the-face classics and videos of high school girls calling each other fat?

If Netflix is that keen an observer perhaps they should join forces with eHarmony or Match.com. MetFlix may haps? It could go something like this, “Dear Steve, based on your fondness for walks on the beach at sunset as well as your recent rental of the movie Marley and Me we think you will favor the following women”….Or they could join forces with Myers Briggs to help screen potential job candidates. “We are impressed with your qualifications and background Jenny but we see here that you rented three Steve Guttenberg movies over the past eighteen months and now aren’t quite sure you possess the appropriate judgment and decision making skills that we here at Vandalay Industries demand of our account executives. You may want to consider adding a few documentaries to your Netflix queue.”

And what kind of company am I keeping in the ‘exciting revenge’ category? A bunch of middle-aged guys with three names who wear big plastic framed glasses, still live with their mothers, work in creepy clerical government jobs no one really thought existed and peep on kids making out in cars at forest preserves. I feel like I should contact Netflix to correct this potential character assassination before I wind up on some TSA ‘no fly’ lists. Perhaps I should pad my queue with less vengeful titles. Animated films full of wise-cracking yet good natured animals or any movie featuring an oafish muscular male lead in an unlikely occupation. “What!? HE’S the nanny? How on earth will that work??” I guess it comes down to a matter of respect and reputation. Would I rather Netflix fear me (“she’s asking for ‘Carrie’… AGAIN!) or pity me (“sigh…again with the Curly Sue?) I’m sticking to my guns. My violent and mind-bending guns. And so if the next red envelope from Netflix also contains an order of protection requiring me to view the movie from no less than 100 feet at all times so be it.