The book’s complete title will be Generation whY: Plumbing the Enigmas, Pathologies and Catastrophies of Millennial Sociopolitical, Socioeconomic and Mental Retardation. Much of it will be penned in a deliberately inane, outraged, beleaguered, ultimately fatuous manner to ensure that I can juice some of those succulent, residual Boomerbux scooped from dwindling 401(k)s by provoking smug satisfaction (the graying cohort’s summum bonum), as though they didn’t literally and figuratively beget this country’s worst generational joke.
IMDb serves four functions, below ordered in prominence and priority:
- Documentation of productional data pertaining to motion pictures
- Aggregation of cinematic and televisional trivia
Those latter two functions, now distant in significance from the first, are in their neglected ulteriority often poorly performed, usually in deference to the first’s primacy. In no few pages where trivia for popular features is itemized, one may encounter one or both of the following blurbs:
These certainly are trivia, especially for their negligibility, but no less so than they are advertisements. Either Ebert and Schneider (in the mold of all popular hacks) or their publicists clearly hired someone to interpolate them among the trivia of every flick detailed or listed in their respective products. Whenever I skim these in passing, I still roll my eyes. That so many users of IMDb vote these items interesting is as much evidence of widespread dysgenics that plague the Anglosphere as is their presence of the site’s almost impossibly low standards.
If any site’s content was ever so desperate to be readapted, it’s that of IMDb — preferably for a resource as swift, spare and substantial as the private Japanese Movie Database, an exemplar for all such online databases. Shouldn’t we ask not whether this is possible, but why it’s not inevitably impendent?
A comprehensive reference of popular music featuring orchestration titled Orchestral Pop! is published as a trade paperback, boasting a cover wherein a conductor turned to his orchestra is irreverently habilitated in Converse sneakers and grinning smugly at us over his shoulder. Maybe he’s flanked by guitarists in regalia conformable to that of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. A chapter therein dedicated to progressive rock spans no fewer than 300 pages. Within its first month of publication, over 200,000 boomers (nearly half of whom are still subscribed to Rolling Stone in 1988) purchase copies of the book. It was compiled by some asshole named Lifschitz who shaves his back every week.