Exploitive, invasive, insensitive, and perhaps worst of all, over-eager, like some 10th grader's first trip to second base beneath the Friday night bleachers, squirming blindly and hoping for something to suckle with little in the way of form, control or knowledge. The news media in this country has grown into an unruly teenager, become far too centered around personalities providing entertainment rather than reporters reporting the news. To make room for advertising, and to generate a targeted audience for that advertising, its product comes inherently watered and/or dumbed down, and openly, often unapologetically, biased.
Our Fourth Estate doesn't always cover what it should when it should, opts instead to provide uninterrupted live coverage of sensationalized stories, sometimes nothing more than the odd celebrity turd, whatever people are buzzing about on-line, what's trending. Geo-political machinations are going on the world over every single day (as in, it's always daytime somewhere...), and though they may not have a direct effect on American life, they impact us as a species, especially considering how 'global' everything has become in the last two decades.
This should be acknowledged, but normally isn't. The American media will only cover something if it directly affects our home soil or interests abroad, or if it becomes a situation that's gotten out of hand, reveals a gross violation of human rights, and even then usually as an afterthought. I am not some Continental snob by any means, I have my own store of abiding patriotism, very proud to be an American, but we are ever only part of the story. Watch any American news broadcast, then watch or listen to, for instance, the BBC, and note the marked difference. American news is far more American-centric than the BBC is Britain-centric.
And when it does throw its attention somewhere, it's all sorts of balls to the wall, and amidst the hysterical pursuit of a scoop (which is pretty much unattainable in this real-time world) it can't help but over-react or get things wrong. Ever since Katrina, the slightest atmospheric hiccup north of Cape Verde throws our collective media into immediate 'Hurricane Watch!' (and this, mind you, is intended more for viewers in Butte, Montana than it is for anyone watching along the Gulf or East coasts). They devote non-stop airtime to 'important' judicial verdicts, some of them relevant (like the Zimmerman trial), some not so (like Casey Anthony or Ariel Castro...tragic yes, but does anyone outside of plaintiffs, defendants and all attendant parties need to hear every word of these verdicts...?). At election time, forget it, the media's relentless 'calling' this state or 'calling' that state without fact-checking, leads to confusion, mistakes and retraction, time and time again. It happened in 2000, and in 2004 and '08, and numerous mid-term elections.
Overeager and sloppy.
Not to mention, and maybe this is just me, the anchors are getting dumber, less knowledgeable. I've seen more than a few unable to pronounce, on the air, an assortment of locales and names that should be standard knowledge. Words like Karachi, Caracas, Islamabad...Reykjavik. They're toughies for sure, and mistakes happen, but they seem to happening more frequently. Recently I saw one individual, on a local newscast, mispronounce Armistice (Ar-MISS-tiss) twice!
This might be a generational thing, a sign of the up-and-coming Generation Y taking the 'okay is good enough/everyone gets a trophy/there are no losers' philosophy with which it as raised into careers, but if so, that's a sorry state of affairs. I don't think I want to live in a world where we stop expecting something of the people to whom we turn for information.
In other words, in this complicated, frenetic, on-the-edge world, new organizations are not places for someone to do 'the best they can', to be rewarded for merely trying.
Friday, August 30, 2013
Friday, August 23, 2013
Friday, August 16, 2013
Reason #14 to Live Nebulously: The political process bores me to tears now...
Man, I used to be so plugged in to politics.
There was a time when I thrived on the electoral process in this country, believed that because I was following things, keeping track of the players and thus making informed choices at the ballot box, I was taking part in something grand, unprecedented (in a good way) in human history. Fortified by a daily diet of political banter and bluster, I indulged in the delight of designing a political edifice all my own, carefully chiseled out of what I heard, read, or watched, a careful consideration of the great American debate in uncertain times. Deciding who made sense, what made sense, what was logical, illogical, unlikely, offensive, not to be taken seriously, painfully obvious and/or the painful truth was an ever-evolving art, and I must say, there was a time I came up with some ornate detailing.
I was mostly conservative, but not completely. Folded into my starboard leanings was an assortment of determinedly liberal views, guaranteed to make me persona non grata at any Republican fundraiser. But that was okay; that was the point. Concession, compromise, bargaining for a common good...these were the primary ingredients in the road to prosperity as far as I was concerned, truths as self-evident to the Founders as any - and I proudly displayed 'See, I Told You So...' by Rush Limbaugh and 'Rush Limbaugh is a Big Fat Idiot' by (now Senator) Al Franken side by side on my book shelf because I had read them both, and others like them, and thought they were both right, and both wrong, at different times, on different issues.
All of this is still true of me. When I awake in the morning and look in the mirror I'm never sure what political face I'll see smiling back. It might be blood red one day, a deep baby blue the next. Sometimes my political complexion flickers like agitation rippling through the skin of a Humboldt squid. I watch O'Reilly on Fox, I miss Olbermann on MSNBC...Maddow makes a lot of sense once in a while, so does Schultz...Hannity's always a gentleman...John Stewart's a kind of hero, Stephen Colbert's funny as hell...and to this day I'm still a great, great admirer of Senator Bob Dole.
Problem is, politics was fun for me once. It's not anymore, and I no longer believe the great American debate is leading anywhere good. It has become rancorous and at the same time dumbed-down on both sides, worthy these days of only Comedy Central's satire, and this is reflected daily in the broadcasts of primary news organizations like MSNBC and Fox News. Each panders shamelessly to a pre-conceived viewership, forging entertainment first and foremost. Left or right, the hosts go to great lengths to build and perpetuate their 'personalities'. They lean forward in their seats, noses practically pressed up against my TV screen; they talk too loudly, as if not sure whether the mic is on; they widen their eyes and nod their heads to emphasize their indignation, flare their nostrils, veins bulging, or worse, worse...try to be cute, adorably snarky, smirk and role their eyes as they dish out their version of pigs in a blanket: news wrapped in opinion. They play race cards, they play class cards, presume the stereotypes of their viewers as they recite their political talking points, and it's impossible to tell a lot of the time what's been verified and what they've merely found to be 'trending' somewhere.
The sorry state of the Fourth Estate is perhaps a whole other post....suffice to say, when it comes to politics:
Conservatives are ignorant. Liberals are arrogant. Sometimes it's the other way around.
That's about as good as it gets.
My disillusionment has gotten so bad in recent years, I've started losing interest in voting, started believing what George Carlin once said might be true: voting is meaningless, because this country was bought and paid for around 1800. He said this under the auspices of a gag narrative, but if ever there were a comedian who made you think, it was Carlin...and yeah, right now...lately...it all seems pretty meaningless.
I don't think I'm ready to stop voting, but all in all I'd rather be driving along some Wyoming highway in the rain listening to Waylon Jennings than stuck pretending to care about politics.
Or letting the white sand sift through my fingers in Old Orchard Beach, Maine.
Or fly-fishing on the Chattahoochee.
Or lying in the grass in a park in Omaha, making shapes out of clouds.
Or standing beneath a California redwood.
Asleep would even be preferable.
There was a time when I thrived on the electoral process in this country, believed that because I was following things, keeping track of the players and thus making informed choices at the ballot box, I was taking part in something grand, unprecedented (in a good way) in human history. Fortified by a daily diet of political banter and bluster, I indulged in the delight of designing a political edifice all my own, carefully chiseled out of what I heard, read, or watched, a careful consideration of the great American debate in uncertain times. Deciding who made sense, what made sense, what was logical, illogical, unlikely, offensive, not to be taken seriously, painfully obvious and/or the painful truth was an ever-evolving art, and I must say, there was a time I came up with some ornate detailing.
I was mostly conservative, but not completely. Folded into my starboard leanings was an assortment of determinedly liberal views, guaranteed to make me persona non grata at any Republican fundraiser. But that was okay; that was the point. Concession, compromise, bargaining for a common good...these were the primary ingredients in the road to prosperity as far as I was concerned, truths as self-evident to the Founders as any - and I proudly displayed 'See, I Told You So...' by Rush Limbaugh and 'Rush Limbaugh is a Big Fat Idiot' by (now Senator) Al Franken side by side on my book shelf because I had read them both, and others like them, and thought they were both right, and both wrong, at different times, on different issues.
All of this is still true of me. When I awake in the morning and look in the mirror I'm never sure what political face I'll see smiling back. It might be blood red one day, a deep baby blue the next. Sometimes my political complexion flickers like agitation rippling through the skin of a Humboldt squid. I watch O'Reilly on Fox, I miss Olbermann on MSNBC...Maddow makes a lot of sense once in a while, so does Schultz...Hannity's always a gentleman...John Stewart's a kind of hero, Stephen Colbert's funny as hell...and to this day I'm still a great, great admirer of Senator Bob Dole.
Problem is, politics was fun for me once. It's not anymore, and I no longer believe the great American debate is leading anywhere good. It has become rancorous and at the same time dumbed-down on both sides, worthy these days of only Comedy Central's satire, and this is reflected daily in the broadcasts of primary news organizations like MSNBC and Fox News. Each panders shamelessly to a pre-conceived viewership, forging entertainment first and foremost. Left or right, the hosts go to great lengths to build and perpetuate their 'personalities'. They lean forward in their seats, noses practically pressed up against my TV screen; they talk too loudly, as if not sure whether the mic is on; they widen their eyes and nod their heads to emphasize their indignation, flare their nostrils, veins bulging, or worse, worse...try to be cute, adorably snarky, smirk and role their eyes as they dish out their version of pigs in a blanket: news wrapped in opinion. They play race cards, they play class cards, presume the stereotypes of their viewers as they recite their political talking points, and it's impossible to tell a lot of the time what's been verified and what they've merely found to be 'trending' somewhere.
The sorry state of the Fourth Estate is perhaps a whole other post....suffice to say, when it comes to politics:
Conservatives are ignorant. Liberals are arrogant. Sometimes it's the other way around.
That's about as good as it gets.
My disillusionment has gotten so bad in recent years, I've started losing interest in voting, started believing what George Carlin once said might be true: voting is meaningless, because this country was bought and paid for around 1800. He said this under the auspices of a gag narrative, but if ever there were a comedian who made you think, it was Carlin...and yeah, right now...lately...it all seems pretty meaningless.
I don't think I'm ready to stop voting, but all in all I'd rather be driving along some Wyoming highway in the rain listening to Waylon Jennings than stuck pretending to care about politics.
Or letting the white sand sift through my fingers in Old Orchard Beach, Maine.
Or fly-fishing on the Chattahoochee.
Or lying in the grass in a park in Omaha, making shapes out of clouds.
Or standing beneath a California redwood.
Asleep would even be preferable.
Friday, August 9, 2013
Reason #13 to Live Nebulously: I've had too many different types of jobs and am tired of having one at all
To paraphrase Forrest Gump, I've worn lots of hats.
On one hand, it's made for an interesting life. Over the years, I’ve been a carwash attendant, a meat cutter’s apprentice, a convenience store clerk, a gas jockey and a disc jockey. I’ve washed dishes, flipped burgers, fried chicken, delivered pizzas and delivered newspapers. I've unloaded palettes of shrink-wrapped electronics off of trucks in pouring rain, loaded cases of ice cream bars onto trucks in a 30 below freezer, and faced items on store shelves for what seemed like 40 days and 40 nights at a time. I’ve worked in telemarketing, print publishing and website design...dabbling just enough to legitimize being paid or once in a while starting my own concern.
I wouldn't change the spastic nature, nor the entrepreneurial bent, of my work history for anything. Sounds cheesy, I know, but it really has made me who I am, colored my outlook, in a good way, as I make this crazy transition into mid-life. But on the other hand, all that varied experience, all those different types of jobs, has left me a little jaded, with an unhealthy (as in disheartening) knowledge of behind the scenes everything that interferes with my ability to take things - anything - at face value.
Because I used to publish books, I can't pick one up anymore without casting a critical eye. I judge the cover, spine and interior pages on their functional and artistic merits rather than the story they're supposed to be enhancing. I scrutinize the placement of the author's name as it appears in relation to the title, wonder about the use of a wrap-around image, proofread the back cover blurb (itself the most important aspect of the publishing process), more or less unable to process, or accept, the book as an aggregate piece of entertainment.
Because I published a weekly newspaper for a number of years, I can't just sit down with a cup of coffee and read one. I try, for God's sake, I try...but every page winds up getting sized up to how I would do things, or once did things, or how they're supposed to be done. There are certain tenets regarding the 'building' of a newspaper page, and websites for that matter, and I cannot help gauging those I view on the sum of their parts, rather than the whole.
I worked in radio for six years, and same goes. I can no longer absorb the chattering DJ and the prattling commercials as part of a media package. All the little facets of the industry that I know exist behind the scenes (behind the mic, as it were) - tension between office staff and on-air talent, tension amidst the on-air talent (oh yes, egos run amok, no matter how small the market) - play out in my head, even while listening to something as simple as the weather forecast being rattled off. For a significant part of my life, I was the one rattling off the weather forecast.
When a telemarketer calls, memories of my year locked in a boiler room cubicle making the very same type of calls ignite in bright flashes. I can't help but wonder what the individual calling me now does to help pass the time when sales are sluggish, which I know from experience they usually are. I remember all too well that heavy, heavy boiler room pressure to make quotas, get through as many calls as possible. I would juggle (seriously...three rubber balls) as I slathered my voice with the finest used car salesman lacquer I could find in order to hock substandard electronics, angel and animal porcelain tchotchkes, and ratty bath towels.
Going through a drive-thru for a hamburger, I empathize heartily with the worker who appears in the window to confirm my order and take my money. I know full well, in painful detail, what goes on there, what that noise is all about.
I was once the gas jockey sweating balls on a summer afternoon, having to rappel up the side of a Hummer to clean the bug-slicked windshield in hopes of being tipped a dollar. And what's worse, I did that job in my hometown; meaning, I cleaned bug-slicked windows for people I went to high school with.
I published my own newspaper and pumped gas...and all that that implies. Not only have I worn lots of hats, but I've held lots of positions with those hats on. I've been the grinning lackey, the chairman of the board, and everything in between, and thus been privy to all levels of workplace drama. I'm well trained in identifying the stereotypes - the corporate tool, the kiss-ass, the slut, the dunce, the joker, the horrible worker, the crap talker, the whiner, the gossip - and interpreting the depressingly predictable machinations of each.
Yes, it's been a real tapestry for me over the years. But I'm not down with any of it anymore. It's all mind numbing, and at my age (perhaps the point I'm really trying to make), uninspiring and uninteresting. Money and security keep me at it, we all have to keep at it, keep moving, but I am not one of those who 'wouldn't know what to do with myself' if I didn't work. There aren't enough hours in the frigging day to do all the stuff I could do with myself if I didn't have to work. I'd strongly prefer not to be part of any work force at this point, and being 'in charge', as I am currently (thank God) isn't enough. I'm actually a good manager of people; it's one of my stronger skill sets. I excel as a motivator and a mediator, knowing when to crack the whip, when to practice diplomacy, and when to leave well enough alone. But in the end, it doesn't really matter. Being the 'boss', as The Office's Michael Scott once said, just makes you the jerk in charge.
Never before have I so needed my days off, my free time, my 'weekends', to decompress, re-set and feel wonder again, to not feel jaded, and more importantly, not let the jadedness turn into frustration, or worse, anger.
14,000 nebulous miles really will be a kind of escape, from work before anything else.
On one hand, it's made for an interesting life. Over the years, I’ve been a carwash attendant, a meat cutter’s apprentice, a convenience store clerk, a gas jockey and a disc jockey. I’ve washed dishes, flipped burgers, fried chicken, delivered pizzas and delivered newspapers. I've unloaded palettes of shrink-wrapped electronics off of trucks in pouring rain, loaded cases of ice cream bars onto trucks in a 30 below freezer, and faced items on store shelves for what seemed like 40 days and 40 nights at a time. I’ve worked in telemarketing, print publishing and website design...dabbling just enough to legitimize being paid or once in a while starting my own concern.
I wouldn't change the spastic nature, nor the entrepreneurial bent, of my work history for anything. Sounds cheesy, I know, but it really has made me who I am, colored my outlook, in a good way, as I make this crazy transition into mid-life. But on the other hand, all that varied experience, all those different types of jobs, has left me a little jaded, with an unhealthy (as in disheartening) knowledge of behind the scenes everything that interferes with my ability to take things - anything - at face value.
Because I used to publish books, I can't pick one up anymore without casting a critical eye. I judge the cover, spine and interior pages on their functional and artistic merits rather than the story they're supposed to be enhancing. I scrutinize the placement of the author's name as it appears in relation to the title, wonder about the use of a wrap-around image, proofread the back cover blurb (itself the most important aspect of the publishing process), more or less unable to process, or accept, the book as an aggregate piece of entertainment.
Because I published a weekly newspaper for a number of years, I can't just sit down with a cup of coffee and read one. I try, for God's sake, I try...but every page winds up getting sized up to how I would do things, or once did things, or how they're supposed to be done. There are certain tenets regarding the 'building' of a newspaper page, and websites for that matter, and I cannot help gauging those I view on the sum of their parts, rather than the whole.
I worked in radio for six years, and same goes. I can no longer absorb the chattering DJ and the prattling commercials as part of a media package. All the little facets of the industry that I know exist behind the scenes (behind the mic, as it were) - tension between office staff and on-air talent, tension amidst the on-air talent (oh yes, egos run amok, no matter how small the market) - play out in my head, even while listening to something as simple as the weather forecast being rattled off. For a significant part of my life, I was the one rattling off the weather forecast.
When a telemarketer calls, memories of my year locked in a boiler room cubicle making the very same type of calls ignite in bright flashes. I can't help but wonder what the individual calling me now does to help pass the time when sales are sluggish, which I know from experience they usually are. I remember all too well that heavy, heavy boiler room pressure to make quotas, get through as many calls as possible. I would juggle (seriously...three rubber balls) as I slathered my voice with the finest used car salesman lacquer I could find in order to hock substandard electronics, angel and animal porcelain tchotchkes, and ratty bath towels.
Going through a drive-thru for a hamburger, I empathize heartily with the worker who appears in the window to confirm my order and take my money. I know full well, in painful detail, what goes on there, what that noise is all about.
I was once the gas jockey sweating balls on a summer afternoon, having to rappel up the side of a Hummer to clean the bug-slicked windshield in hopes of being tipped a dollar. And what's worse, I did that job in my hometown; meaning, I cleaned bug-slicked windows for people I went to high school with.
I published my own newspaper and pumped gas...and all that that implies. Not only have I worn lots of hats, but I've held lots of positions with those hats on. I've been the grinning lackey, the chairman of the board, and everything in between, and thus been privy to all levels of workplace drama. I'm well trained in identifying the stereotypes - the corporate tool, the kiss-ass, the slut, the dunce, the joker, the horrible worker, the crap talker, the whiner, the gossip - and interpreting the depressingly predictable machinations of each.
Yes, it's been a real tapestry for me over the years. But I'm not down with any of it anymore. It's all mind numbing, and at my age (perhaps the point I'm really trying to make), uninspiring and uninteresting. Money and security keep me at it, we all have to keep at it, keep moving, but I am not one of those who 'wouldn't know what to do with myself' if I didn't work. There aren't enough hours in the frigging day to do all the stuff I could do with myself if I didn't have to work. I'd strongly prefer not to be part of any work force at this point, and being 'in charge', as I am currently (thank God) isn't enough. I'm actually a good manager of people; it's one of my stronger skill sets. I excel as a motivator and a mediator, knowing when to crack the whip, when to practice diplomacy, and when to leave well enough alone. But in the end, it doesn't really matter. Being the 'boss', as The Office's Michael Scott once said, just makes you the jerk in charge.
Never before have I so needed my days off, my free time, my 'weekends', to decompress, re-set and feel wonder again, to not feel jaded, and more importantly, not let the jadedness turn into frustration, or worse, anger.
14,000 nebulous miles really will be a kind of escape, from work before anything else.
Friday, August 2, 2013
Reason #12 to Live Nebulously: Bratz Dolls
Bratz Dolls and the message they - and we - send little girls. That I should be thankful not to have had a daughter.
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