Dispatches From the Front Lines of the Culture War
I don’t usually just post links without several paragraphs of background information (what, me long-winded?), but Tiffany’s got a pretty thoughtful examination of how the music industry’s killing itself by clinging desperately to a soon-to-be-obsolete business model.
On a related topic, there was an interesting article in yesterday’s Post about the ascendance of the “on-demand” consumer market, and the implications for over-the-air radio programming.
William R. Coughlan is one of the founders of Tohubohu Productions (so even on pictures he doesn’t direct, he can squeeze in an Executive Producer credit) and in-house video producer for The Advisory Board Company. He dabbles in screenwriting, acting, 3-D animation, and writing autobiographical comments in the third person. He is also a published illustrator, has provided schematic graphics for several HBS case studies, designed the acclaimed Protégé clay poker chip line, wrote for the (now-dormant) online literary magazine Inkblots, and acts as editor for the MotherReader weblog (which is not-so-coincidentally written by his wife). He currently resides at a secret compound in Burke, Virginia, with his wife Pam and their two daughters.
All content © 2002–2006 Bill Coughlan.
Unless otherwise explicitly stated, all original material created by Bill Coughlan — including, but not limited to, writing, illustration, audio, photography, video and digital composition — included in this weblog and any related pages, including the weblog’s archives, is licensed under a Creative Commons License. Some rights reserved.
The views expressed herein are strictly my own, and even that’s not a given all of the time. In any case, nobody in the remainder of the Coughlan family was even consulted on the content herein, so don’t even think about blaming any of them — they had nothing to do with this. (Especially not Pam. Seriously.) Come to think of it, neither did any of the folks you might hear mentioned, or any of the people at the other end of any links you may find here. You know, just to be safe, assume pretty much everything here is a load of crap. That’s probably safer for all concerned.
Anything posted here or e-mailed to me with regard to this weblog or its content is considered suitable for publication. That ain’t to say I’m gonna publish it. Just that if, in my sole opinion, I want to, I can. Don’t want to see your name in lights? Don’t talk to me. Most of you won’t have to worry about that — it’s basically a disclaimer warning the hate-mail folks that their comments are fair game.
Oh, and one more thing: The commenting function is here for everyone’s benefit, so play nice, or it’ll be taken away. And just so everybody’s clear: I accept no responsibility for what anyone may write there — I don’t monitor things 24/7, and even if I did, I figure it’s probably a dangerous precedent to set. Post and read at your own risk. Still, if I don’t like something, it’s gone. And keep in mind that your posting becomes my property, meaning I can republish, edit, delete, or modify it at will; doesn’t mean I can claim credit for your intellectual work, but it does mean that I have absolute editorial control if I choose to exercise it (which is not required). I’ll make a reasonable effort not to radically alter the meaning or tone of your work, but that’s my prerogative. Don’t like that policy? Get your own weblog and you can do whatever you want, but this is my house.
Privacy policy? Don’t have one. This site is not secure, and is available to the public at large. The whole “at your own risk” mantra applies across the board here.
Do not taunt Happy Fun Ball.
This site is intended for readers 18 and older. Death to spiders.
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