Unlike the written word, an image can be instantly provocative. Usually, this effect takes advantage of our social relationship to certain images. Design often requires this.

For example, the image above relies on the viewer’s familiarity with the classic image of Che Guevara (seen on t-shirts all over NYC). The image has been coopted (at this point) as a symbol of rebellion, tied in loosely to left-leaning social or political views.

Osama Bin Laden embodies the idea of rebellion as much as Che. However, because his biography is more well-known than that of Che and his crimes against the U.S. government and its people more recent, the idea of imagining Bin Laden in a heroic way is offensive to all but a few Americans.

Still Bin Laden’s photo is hung up in homes all over the world, like a hero. The image makes sense.

I’m not arguing politics. I am only pointing out the power of images. Surrounded by so much of them and often unconscious of them, I think we forget how much they can matter.

But, if I did upload it, I bet people would watch it. What does that say about people? YouTube puzzles media critics, the kind that started off going to book parties in the 19702; they say it appeals to the lowest common denominator but also personally recognize that it’s also just cool. It seems humans have always needed ridiculousness. After all, Shakespeare always had a jester. We need to make light of our existence somehow. Often, the jester in Shakespearian plays delivered the much-needed wisdom.

Most people on YouTube haven’t read Malcolm McLaren, and don’t care about its social implications. They’re just there for a good time. Meanwhile, video uploads continue, and YouTube’s audience is democratizing the production of content.

Depending, of course, on who you read, our “Shakespeare” was probably a composite of multiple people. In recent history, at least in Western society, we’ve enjoyed the idea of genius attributed to a single person. Perhaps, YouTube and the digital revolution will change that.

I’m sure there are multiple Shakespeares filming in their bedrooms right now. I just hope that somehow I can find their videos.

Much of the crowd was in suits – although they left off the ties. Beer was available, and appetizers were passed throughout by young waiters in black. The main event consisted of a stage show showcasing various illuminaries lauding YouTube, including the site’s founders (in suits), marketers from General Mills and American Express, and Anderson Cooper. Towards the end, various YouTube stars appeared on stage, looking nervous and very far away from Kentucky.

It honestly couldn’t have felt more corporate.

In my opinion (& actually, that of my coworkers), the event completely missed the spirit of YouTube, its creative, free-for-all, do-your-own-thing, you-can-always-post-another-one-tomorrow spirit. The entire event was staged, so that spontaneity was absent. Even the appearances of the YouTube stars felt stale. One young lady acting as the MC for the “entertainment” part of the evening, mentioned that the sports channel was the best “content” to put advertising against (really? when you filmed that first video in your bedroom two years ago before your post to YouTube, is that what mattered to you?)

It would have been easy enough to incorporate elements that were YouTube-inspired. Why not make videos of audience members entering the event, and put those videos on screen? Or, even bring an audience member on stage and film her, then put the video on YouTube in real time? Why not give audience members video cameras to film each other, and encourage them to take the video files home to upload onto YouTube themselves?

Marketers are reluctant to spend money for advertising on User-Generated-Content (UCG) sites, exactly because they don’t like losing control; they fear their brand will brush up against something unsavory. How ironic. Even Google won’t put on an event that incorporates spontaneity these days.

Elizabeth arrived prematurely while my friends were attending a book conference. Amy was whisked away to the hospital by ambulance, and the next day, Elizabeth made her entrance into the world. News of her arrival circulated quickly amongst the writers at the conference – and into related blogs.

Now, imagine Elizabeth at four, typing her name into a search engine to find these spontaneous announcements of her birth! And, as she ages, imagine her first crush typing her name into Google (perhaps?) and reading about her birth. Or, later, imagine her children finding her birth announcement. Of course, not just her birth announcement will be available online, but all kinds of stuff related to her life – baby photos, teenage yearbook entries, opinion essays from college … all of it publicly accessible.

If we can view Elizabeth’s experience as a microcosm of that of our entire society, questions arise: how will access to so much information about us in such a public way throughout our lives, change us? change our relationships? change our collective memories? If history can be viewed as a product of authorship, even change our history?