Today’s premise will require a degree of set-up and I can virtually guarantee that the pay-off will not be worth it. However, they do say that it is better to travel hopefully than to arrive: so why don’t we all strap-in and try and enjoy the journey despite our foreknowledge of its disappointing conclusion. In many ways, this post will be an allegory for life – sometimes, I wonder if this blog is too clever for its own good…
So, let’s start with the dark side. I refer not to the Force – fear may lead to suffering via anger and hate, but this need not trouble us here – but rather to the moon. The dark side of the moon is not, to the best of my knowledge, exposed to any less sunlight than its obverse: the name is just another aspect of our species’ tendency to anthropocentric thinking. As tidal locking means that our satellite constantly shows the same face to us, earth-bound humans, we have decided that the side we could not (historically) see must be “dark” (never having been illuminated by our hubristic regard, I presume).
My head is shaped not wholly unlike the moon and, as a result of limitations in my cervical vertebrae, use of a single reflective surface reveals only a single face (mine) to my gaze (were I an owl, it may be a rather different story – but I’d probably struggle to blog in quite the same style or quantity). As a result, the back of my head is somewhat analogous to the dark side of the moon – though has yet to be celebrated in album-form by Pink Floyd (or any other popular beat combo of the last half-century, for that matter). When my hair is cut, I am usually asked how I would like the dark side of my noggin to be coiffured. I have tended to allow my interrogator relatively free-rein on the basis that I will never see their work (except on the single occasion when the haircut is complete and a second reflective surface is deployed that I might admire their efforts) – however, I am starting to think that this may be a mistake.
Earlier today, I came to the realisation that the dark-side of my head has achieved a considerably greater degree of fame than the side where my features are located and on which I lavish the vast majority of my, admittedly limited, cosmetic attentions to tart up what nature has provided (and subsequently decayed). For the purposes of my current thesis, I am defining fame in terms of appearances on the internet: either as a still or in a moving image. How, you might ask, has this come to be?
Appearances, on the web, by the business-side of my head (as we might call it) are relatively rare. I have added few myself (I feel this blog is suffering enough for one man to inflict on the general public) and have generally managed to avoid having pieces of my soul captured in the photographs that have then been placed “on-line”. If you (or at least I) image search my name, you will see more pictures of John Finnemore and nearly as many of both my blog brother and Saint Rita of Cascia as you do of me. Only a single video of my visage seems to exist, created by the author for Metablog 6.
The back of my head, by contrast, is a regular star of both video and stills: three of each from last night alone. This arises through my regular attendance at music gigs in the Art House Café, here in Southampton. To enjoy greater legroom and obviate the need to use my glasses to correct my myopia, I tend to sit in the front row: audience participation is rarely required (though this has happened, but luckily I am a shameless show-off). For what I presume to be marketing purposes, fragments of these events are often captured on the digital equivalent of film and then released into the wild via the café’s Facebook page. Satisfactory visual capture of an event seems to benefit from a little distance from the action (unlike my ageing eyes) and so the back of the front row (and often more) of the audience is captured. After last night’s very enjoyable time spent with the musical stylings of Cat Eliza T and then Daisy Chapman, I happened to check Facebook to discover the back of my head appears in more of the uploaded content than either of the “talent”. Should I, perhaps, be selling advertising space on the dark side of my bonce? Does it need an agent?
Those with the desire to follow our every move (along with reading our every email et al) have invested significant money in facial recognition software. This is in line with our own human obsession with the business-side of the head – but why should we inflict this preoccupation on our software children? My own experience suggests that the dark-side of the head may be a far more valuable target for intelligence gathering. I await the call from MIn (for suitable n)…