The Google-generation are listmakers and listkeepers. Why have a collection of things? Why have things at all? Things need shelves, things need insurance, things need explanations and feeding and frames and boxes and refrigerators and bibliographies and nests and washing and gas and recharging. Some folk get freaky and buy a Palm Pilot or something. Another thing to keep track of things.

Artists are the worst. Aside from pure anonymous conceptual artists, like myself, artists are dedicated to collecting, trucking, stacking, packing, tiering, securing, scheduling materials from which to make art. Some get tricky. “Found Art” artists can get in trouble just walking home. You’d think poets might be manageable to live nearby, but you’ll find them squirreling stacks and stacks of their own crappy poems in every nook and cranny.

But Google is a transitional state. DC++ hasn’t improved anyone’s taste in music – by MySpace has. Why? Because having it all doesn’t give you good taste. You can have accumulated all the stuff in town and it can still all be crap. MySpace is a fury of teen peer power pushing pure pop pap down your daughter’s gullet as fast as she can download it. Wow. Infinite choice + potent dictum. The major labels are sunk!

Listkeepers secretly love other listkeepers. Poets hate other poets. Conceptual artists haven’t met other conceptual artists yet. Some of us can cross-pollinate, thank the gods.

And the reason I show you my list and you show me your list is exactly the earthy altruistic desperation which drives artists to make their things. I want to find someone who sees what I see, who likes what I like, who loves what I love. If our lists match, its like we have found our doppelganger, our needle in the haystack.

All this hubbub to say thank you to those listkeepers and other infinite jokers who keep their lists clean and tidy like Carolyn Zick and her nice list called here-there-everywhere. She has a neat blog too, Studio Notebook 2006.