the DUmpster as a small-town grocery store. A friend of mine on Skins’s island reported that the primitives are alleging the DUmpster “picks on†certain primitives. The friend is an authentic long-time primitive, but as we know each other in real life, friendship trumps his primitivity.
To which I replied of course we do, but it’s not personal; it’s just good business.
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Imagine the DUmpster as a small-town grocery store.
The grocer, when contemplating inventory, has to decide whether to stock Del Monte string beans or Hunt’s string beans. Which one is more likely to sell? Or will string beans not sell at all, in which case the grocer has to consider and compare Libbey’s pineapple juice with Roberts’ pineapple juice. Or Meadow Gold sour cream with Hy-Vee sour cream.
And there’s old well-established products versus risky new products.
And there’s seasonal products and all-year-round products.
Which products, and brands, are most likely to sell?
The same goes with the primitives—which one’s most likely to appeal, to sell? The can of kidney beans that’s the sparkling old dude, or the can of kidney beans that’s Pedro Picasso? The canned cabbage that’s the fecund grasswire primitive, or the canned cabbage that’s the defrocked warped primitive? The toilet paper that’s the
Die alte Sau, or the toilet paper that’s Ms. Ed, the unappellated eohippus?
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franksolich showed up on conservativecave five days after this site was created, and barely had I registered and logged on for the first time, then there was a personal message from Rebel, asking if I’d be a moderator for the DUmpster.
I was shocked, taken aback. No one had ever trusted franksolich with such a responsibility before, mostly because of my reputation as a loose cannon (well, true, I may be a loose cannon, but not
that loose).
I replied, “Yeah, sure, but I’ll give you a week to consider it, and if you decide no, it’s copacetic, it’s cool.â€
Barely had I refreshed the page when I found myself a moderator.
(Rebel later confessed he was drunk that night.)
When Rebel first spelled out the rules for moderators on conservativecave, he made it clear we were not to merely sit around and baby-sit; we were to participate, with posting topics and comments. And we were charged with contriving ways and means to attract traffic to our forums.
Now, this was something right up my alley, as I used to fantasize about being an advertising man, a publicist, a Madison Avenue sales executive. But alas, since deaf people tend to not be influenced much by advertising, deaf people aren’t hired in the advertising business.
And so I became franksolich instead.
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How does one attract traffic?
By giving the market—in this case, the audience of the DUmpster—what the market wants.
If the market demands poor stupid Beth instead of some obscure
lumpenunterprimitiven, then the market gets poor stupid Beth. It’s nothing personal about poor stupid Beth; it’s just that poor stupid Beth sells well.
Ah, how wonderful, the free-market system, where the consumers dictate what’s available.
Right now, the Great White Whale has been dominating the market—a consumer-driven market, remember—for about a year and a half. When the market gets bored with her, then she’ll disappear from the inventory.
And there’s the big guy, who’s obviously a “seasonal good;†probably after May 15, he’ll disappear.
Imagine the DUmpster as a small-town grocery store, the door in between two large show-windows.
As it is right now, Easter Eve 2012, one show-window is dominated by the Great White Whale, and the other show-window is dominated by the big guy. But the big guy’s also the large sales-display right inside the door, the first thing buyers see when they walk in. And he’s selling like hot-cakes, one’s hard-pressed to keep him in stock.
When the big guy starts to fizzle, probably after May 15, then the store has to be re-arranged, with other products being featured. Ditto for the Great White Whale, whenever it is she fizzles out.
Determining inventory’s a hit-and-miss thing, but the longer one works at it, the more successful one is. For example, one already knows the Bostonian Drunkard any more sells like 8-track tapes or leisure suits, and so it’s not a good idea to put him on the shelves.
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Well, here it is, four and a half years later, and the DUmpster’s grown from a dark dusty corner in the back of a general store, to a full-service grocery store sprawling over several acres.
It’s because the DUmpster is dedicated to giving the market—the public—what the market wants.
Ah, how wonderful, the free-market system, where the consumers dictate what’s available.
So franksolich wishes to assure primitives who think they’re being “picked on†that it’s nothing personal; it’s strictly business. The “picked on†primitive is nothing more than just another can of beans to us.
