Now there’s a catchy title.

Actually, this is one of the liveliest pieces of writing I’ve come across lately. The immediate argument is about copyright in the digital age, but the larger implications–for me, anyway–have to do with what the surging tides of culture look like from a particular vantage point that’s both in the ocean and out of it at the same time. In other words, Doctorow writes from an immanent position but draws the writing toward a transcendent understanding. I take it these are the two principal tasks of any thinker, though not necessarily in that order.

What’s especially interesting for me is that this speech, delivered to the Microsoft Research Group on June 17, 2004, has already appeared online in multiple versions and formats–in just over three weeks. There’s an MP3 audiobook, a Wiki that annotates the original piece, a couple of translations, a pretty HTML version, and more. This version is the “canonical” one, by which I think Doctorow means that it’s the version he has overseen and signed off on personally. That’s not exactly what “canonical” has meant to now. I’m not sure “canonical” is the best word for it. What we need is a word for an authentic link to an originating self. “Holograph manuscript” works for print culture, as (I suppose) does “authorized version.” But what’s the word in cyberculture for “the version that is authoratively connected to the originating self”?

In any event:

It’s a deeply interesting piece and quite provocative. Highly recommended.

What percentage of bloggers do daily blogs from the beginning and never look back? What percentage blog only sporadically? (Although I reckon “sporadic blog” is probably an oxymoron.) Is blogging a discipline, a compulsion, or both? (Neither for me, yet, but it’s early in the game.)

Now, Spiderman 2. Run, don’t walk, to go see this movie. Sam Raimi has made one of the gutsiest popcorn movies I have seen in a long time. The camera and the script linger to great and sometimes overwhelming effect on small details of character interaction that add up to action payoffs that matter. The movie is full of loving and witty homages to everything from Tobe Hooper to The War of the Worlds to Raiders of the Lost Ark to Young Frankenstein. For all the in-jokes, though, the movie never descends into camp. It’s almost never predictable. It’s almost always smart and honest. It’s not flawless, but it is always satisfying and regularly breathtaking. Most of all, Raimi and his team have the courage to tell a story and tell it well–not only in dialogue, but in pictures and sound. (The sound work on this film is exquisite.) From an opening credit sequence that pays loving tribute to Saul Bass to a conclusion that put a lump in my throat, this movie elated me as few popcorn movies do (though all promise to).

Go see it.