Not being stuck in the stupid newspaper anymore, the column's boundaries would expand. Nothing would be out of bounds.
I would act as more of a critic since I would not be constrained by editors worried about reaching this or that audience demographic with a particular mix of coverage. I would not have to compromise my judgment to ride management's hobby horses.
For the most part, all of that has happened, and it's been a kick.
A little play-acting for my friends
Kicks aside, though, I had made a commitment with the web site that became a struggle to keep in the last quarter of 1997. I thought I could update the site once a week, adding to the online clips file, pointing out upcoming events and, highest on my list, writing this column.
That wasn't to be. When I checked in to do a little "housecleaning" today, I realized I hadn't visited the site since November. As anyone can see, as of today, 57 visitors have been to this site since September.
Obviously, I'm doing a little play-acting when writing for a site with so few readers.
At the newspaper, I had the luxury of knowing that 600,000 newspapers were in people's hands on any given Sunday when the column appeared. In the weird math of circulation departments, that translated to maybe 2 million people potentially taking a look at my words.
I knew that a very small percentage of those readers turned to the Arts Plus pages to read my column, but I also knew it was more than 57 readers per quarter.
Be it resolved that ...
So I'm making a New Year's resolution to market this web site more aggressively, and to keep up with it on a weekly basis once again.
As media conglomerates become increasingly greedy and conformist (Hey! Your bottom line might go down if you don't feed people the farina they want!) -- the emergence of the web as a vehicle for independent criticism seems wonderful. Yet, it's clear that even here the muscle belongs to those whose mouths are full of the mush of marketing for marketing's sake -- the people whose subservience to profit daily grinds meaning out of existence.
It's windmill-tilting time. You ain't seen nothin' yet.
Copyright © 1998, Salvatore
Caputo
