• by Jack Feuer , July 23, 2008

Anybody know where I can buy a shotgun? I'm going to need it the next time I see, hear or read a story about marketing, technology, pop culture or politics that uses the word "kerfuffle."

I don't know where this word came from or why anybody thinks it's more powerful than "commotion" or "outburst," but it's pathetic.

This is no small thing, because it's really hard to keep up with the inanities of contemporary business and media argot, which fittingly, originally meant "company of beggars" in medieval France.

I'm still struggling to understand what "telescoping" actually means, why "addressability" is not the same as "targeting" and that when tech jerks talk about "Ajax," they aren't referring to the Greek hero who sailed with Jason on the Argo.

I've only just resigned myself to the fact that "monetize" is probably here to stay. At least that word has pizzazz. And "ideation" is relatively easy to translate into, you know, English. Even the now ubiquitous and completely ridiculous use of the word "space" as a substitute for "industry," or "field" or "marketplace" has a certain silly charm.

But "kerfuffle?" It sounds like a Viennese pastry.

Apparently, our ability to create has sunk so low that even our buzzwords are lame. And our standards, even for our heroes, are even lower. For example, as I write this, news is coming in that Batman beat up his mother and sister and is cooling his bat-heels in a London gaol.

I'm scratching at an overworked itch, I know, but something didn't happen on Sunday that should have, and it threw the contrast between what we used to be and what we've become into unusually stark relief.

What didn't happen was a holiday that should be celebrated by every human being on the planet. A story that appeared almost nowhere, as far as I can tell. A date that should live in glory, but was relegated, near as I can figure, to shtick on the XM radio channel that plays Sixties songs.

On July 20, 1969, Neil Armstrong landed on the moon. And I bet not even 1 out of 1,000 of us pampered, precious, Blackberrying bastards even know that last Sunday was the anniversary of that unbelievable achievement.

When they dreamed back then, they dreamed big. Even advertising, analog and mass as it was, dreamed big, and produced unforgettable work for mundane things like a small, ugly German car or ordinary dress shirts.

Those ad guys had imagination. They had flair. They knew their markets, and they understood marketing.

They didn't need buzzwords.

What you got for us now, folks, huh? Generic commercials for mindless videogames? Frenetic, confusing Web sites for pay television channels?

Back then, when they created technology, they rode rockets to the stars.

What's the apex of achievement in this oh-so-superior digital age of ours?

A picture phone.

What a waste of "space."

This was a great country once. And it had marketing to match. Now? Now we have kerfuffles.

You know what, forget the shotgun. Make it a machine gun. And bring lots of extra ammunition.