Here Is Your American Culture: Unboxing videos

A man shows himself showing a camera a box with a picture of a phone on it.

Despite my inordinate concern with various esoteric phenomena thereof, I am totally disconnected from American culture. Like your grandpa accidentally watching I Heart Huckabees, I occasionally run across some expression of the national zeitgeist that seems all the more disturbing for having been going on this whole time without me. Such was my reaction to the existence of unboxing videos. They seem disgustingly alien yet also inevitable in retrospect, like when the dog gets a boner. I became familiar with the form through this video calling for its end, which does a nice job identifying the hallmarks of the genre.* A reviewer or civilian has just purchased an item of consumer electronics. He narrates the experience of opening the box, describing the packaging in minute detail. Then he observes the physical form of the product itself, suggesting the connection between that form and its socio-semiological significance—also known as its function. Then everyone lapses into the silence of despair. That last part is implied, but it’s the ultimate destination of pretty much every variation on the form.

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David Brooks: Come on, son

Okay, who wants to hear one more page from my book?

In a column he describes as “a great luscious orgy of optimism,” David Brooks suggests today that we all stop worrying about the state of American governance, political discourse, finance and world influence, because the country is going to be saved by—ready?—population growth. Props to alert reader/muay thai enthusiast Mike Sebba for the link. We’ve discussed the vexing phenomenon that is Mr. Brooks before (as well as the vexing phenomenon that is Mr. Brooks.) He’s either the most insightful commentator who’s still frequently wrong or the most frequently wrong commentator who still manages a lot of insights. Either way, it’s as hard to get on board with him as it is to jump off into the lake. If he weren’t a conservative, or if he were not so consistently juxtaposed with the mind-warpingly boring Thomas Friedman, we at Combat! blog probably wouldn’t be pulling for him so much. As it is, though, he’s like your friend with the stutter who wants to be a stand-up comedian: you hope the world will suddenly start to work in such a way as to make David Brooks right. Usually, that is. Today, David Brooks has written a column whose fundamental assumptions are so bafflingly stupid as to merit a big old Come On, Son.

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