Dear Sir or Ma’am:
You in the lackluster ’92 Buick LeSabre who never seem to react when the longer-than-any-other-stoplight-in-the-city turns green … You sitting there motionless, oblivious to traffic, sparking my ire until I finally tap the horn (trying to be polite, trying to be patient, not wanting to be a jerk and really lay on it, fighting that urge, afraid you’ll panic at the noise and somehow back-up into me) … You who have the uncanny (and horribly annoying) tendency to finally hear the blaring and return to the land of the conscious at precisely the moment the light turns from green to yellow, at which point you gas it and squeak through the intersection while I somehow get trapped -- confused -- and curse my luck while I wait for cross traffic until the longer-than-any-other-stoplight-in-the-city can do its thing again…
After sitting behind you today, I just wanted to let you know, I don’t care who you voted for. I really, really, really don’t care.
Out of my own sense of morbid curiosity, could you, please, explain to me what it is that compels you to advertise your politics by plastering your rear end with a misaligned assortment of colorful political mottos?
Did you miss the green light because you are so powerfully engrossed by the ghastly internal political debate constantly playing in your head? Is it so intense it renders the events of your immediate environment meaningless? Have you honed your political dogma to the degree that it can be summed up succinctly by a sticker, and have you furthermore concluded that the best strategy to advance your agenda is to display them in a haphazard collage on the back of your car?
Why do you parade these around -- to prove it’s not your fault? Did your Gore sticker stop the war? Is your McCain sticker helping to ease the current economic implosion? I don’t blame you for the current state of the nation, so broadcasting excuses via your rear bumper isn’t necessary, really. Is that elephant silhouette going to lower my taxes? Has your “Vote for Change” badge changed anything?
In this day of hyper-advertisement, are you trying to sway me? Are you convinced I will sense your passion through your befouled vehicle, and the emphatic sticker display will help me see the light? The truth is, the only influence you’re having is tempting me to stomp the accelerator and crush all those cute little signs into your backseat in a mass of twisted steel and shattered glass, and maybe force you through the green light on the first cycle for a change.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Friday, February 27, 2009
No More News...
For the first time in 150 years, what is said to be the state of Colorado’s oldest continually operating business has ceased operation. The Rocky Mountain News, the granddad of Denver newspapers, is dead, leaving us -- like so many -- a one-newspaper town. I am of two very different minds today.
On the one hand, it is hard to dismiss the history that passed through those pages; 150 years of days of events, happenings, scoops, changes, revolutions, revelations, world wars, assassinations, victories and triumphs, tragedies and catastrophes, all recorded in black and white, all eloquently conveyed to the masses. Before radio, film, television, the Internet; before automobiles, airplanes, electricity, and most everything else that makes our modern life modern, an ever-evolving cycle of dedicated reporters, editors, and photographers documented it all for the people of Colorado. On a personal note, my birth announcement accompanied the less dramatic accounts of the moon landing on July 21, 1969; and my mother’s obituary appeared in 2004 ... both went mostly unnoticed in long ago editions of the Rocky Mountain News. Yet, there is something very personal about this.
On the other hand, this failure was as easy to predict as tomorrow’s sunrise. The News stubbornly set up camp between the rails of progress, hunkered down, and waited -- expectantly, I imagine -- for the engine of progress to run it down. No one is shocked when the 19-year-old family pooch, scraggly and matted, blind in one eye, hobbling on three legs, doesn’t wake up in the morning. Sad, yes, but far from unexpected.
The truth is, newspapers are dying. Even as a self-proclaimed technophobe I acknowledge and accept it. Certainly, I am awash in a melancholy wave of nostalgia … the loss of a newspaper leaves one less tactile experience to be replaced by one more cyber experience … physical paper and ink replaced by an ever more complex series of electric impulses lighting up our screens, but it was easy to foresee. The number of cities with two major newspapers has dwindled from about 300 in 1930, to less than 50 in the mid-80’s, to only a smattering today (off hand, I know of Boston, Chicago, Dallas/Ft. Worth, Detroit, Minneapolis/St. Paul, New York, Seattle, Tampa/St. Pete, and Washington -- with a bunch of those being “sister/twin-cities“). [I don’t claim those numbers to be precise, but for future reference, unless otherwise stated, you can consider any facts, figures, or statistics I present to be estimations and approximations, but accurately representative]
The problem, if it is a problem, is that technology has trumped newspapers. The journalists -- all media -- in Denver want us to care more than we do about the loss of what most see to be an archaic medium. Why am I going to invest my dollar and energy into a newspaper when I can more easily access the “news” via computer or PDA? Did anyone lament the loss of newsreels?
Had the News had some foresight, I would think it would embrace today’s technologies -- it is an industry that could truly be “cyber,” no ink, no paper, no film or film processing, automated layout, and no delivery overhead. Additionally, the product is continually fluid, “Dewey Wins” would have quickly been subbed with “Truman Carries Narrow Victory” in the wee hours of the night in 1948.
And the bigger issue, as I see it, is the demise of Journalism. Obviously there have been lapses in what might be called “objective journalism,” but, I wholly believe at some ever-fading point in history, reporters had a devotion, an obsession, with discovering and reporting the “truth“ (“truth“ being up for debate, as true objectivism is obviously impossible, but, you know what I mean, at least they were trying).
I was in Journalism school at CU Boulder learning from some dedicated professors about the foundation and higher calling of journalistic ethics when a beautiful little girl name Jean Benoit Ramsey was murdered … I saw what was being preached contrasted with what was being practiced, and it soured me to the media … there has been no reconciliation. And it’s only gotten worse.
The line between journalism and entertainment has become unrecognizable. The Nightly News and Extra are almost one in the same … John Stewart is the supreme Anchor/Comedian. The right has Limbaugh, and the left has Franken, so everyone tunes in to the proponent representing their leanings to agree in earnest and hear what they already believe. Everyone with a computer has a forum -- facts and reality take a backseat. For better or worse, the “media” is no longer the man at the podium, it’s folks in the crowd nudging one another with sardonic smiles … and posting it all on blogs, some more reputable than mine.
Maybe that’s why I’m here…
On the one hand, it is hard to dismiss the history that passed through those pages; 150 years of days of events, happenings, scoops, changes, revolutions, revelations, world wars, assassinations, victories and triumphs, tragedies and catastrophes, all recorded in black and white, all eloquently conveyed to the masses. Before radio, film, television, the Internet; before automobiles, airplanes, electricity, and most everything else that makes our modern life modern, an ever-evolving cycle of dedicated reporters, editors, and photographers documented it all for the people of Colorado. On a personal note, my birth announcement accompanied the less dramatic accounts of the moon landing on July 21, 1969; and my mother’s obituary appeared in 2004 ... both went mostly unnoticed in long ago editions of the Rocky Mountain News. Yet, there is something very personal about this.
On the other hand, this failure was as easy to predict as tomorrow’s sunrise. The News stubbornly set up camp between the rails of progress, hunkered down, and waited -- expectantly, I imagine -- for the engine of progress to run it down. No one is shocked when the 19-year-old family pooch, scraggly and matted, blind in one eye, hobbling on three legs, doesn’t wake up in the morning. Sad, yes, but far from unexpected.
The truth is, newspapers are dying. Even as a self-proclaimed technophobe I acknowledge and accept it. Certainly, I am awash in a melancholy wave of nostalgia … the loss of a newspaper leaves one less tactile experience to be replaced by one more cyber experience … physical paper and ink replaced by an ever more complex series of electric impulses lighting up our screens, but it was easy to foresee. The number of cities with two major newspapers has dwindled from about 300 in 1930, to less than 50 in the mid-80’s, to only a smattering today (off hand, I know of Boston, Chicago, Dallas/Ft. Worth, Detroit, Minneapolis/St. Paul, New York, Seattle, Tampa/St. Pete, and Washington -- with a bunch of those being “sister/twin-cities“). [I don’t claim those numbers to be precise, but for future reference, unless otherwise stated, you can consider any facts, figures, or statistics I present to be estimations and approximations, but accurately representative]
The problem, if it is a problem, is that technology has trumped newspapers. The journalists -- all media -- in Denver want us to care more than we do about the loss of what most see to be an archaic medium. Why am I going to invest my dollar and energy into a newspaper when I can more easily access the “news” via computer or PDA? Did anyone lament the loss of newsreels?
Had the News had some foresight, I would think it would embrace today’s technologies -- it is an industry that could truly be “cyber,” no ink, no paper, no film or film processing, automated layout, and no delivery overhead. Additionally, the product is continually fluid, “Dewey Wins” would have quickly been subbed with “Truman Carries Narrow Victory” in the wee hours of the night in 1948.
And the bigger issue, as I see it, is the demise of Journalism. Obviously there have been lapses in what might be called “objective journalism,” but, I wholly believe at some ever-fading point in history, reporters had a devotion, an obsession, with discovering and reporting the “truth“ (“truth“ being up for debate, as true objectivism is obviously impossible, but, you know what I mean, at least they were trying).
I was in Journalism school at CU Boulder learning from some dedicated professors about the foundation and higher calling of journalistic ethics when a beautiful little girl name Jean Benoit Ramsey was murdered … I saw what was being preached contrasted with what was being practiced, and it soured me to the media … there has been no reconciliation. And it’s only gotten worse.
The line between journalism and entertainment has become unrecognizable. The Nightly News and Extra are almost one in the same … John Stewart is the supreme Anchor/Comedian. The right has Limbaugh, and the left has Franken, so everyone tunes in to the proponent representing their leanings to agree in earnest and hear what they already believe. Everyone with a computer has a forum -- facts and reality take a backseat. For better or worse, the “media” is no longer the man at the podium, it’s folks in the crowd nudging one another with sardonic smiles … and posting it all on blogs, some more reputable than mine.
Maybe that’s why I’m here…
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
What's in a Name?
Since the probability of anyone reading this is miniscule, and lower still after my initial post (especially for you thin-skinned pukes who can't take an insult), it is up to me to ask myself the question, "What the deal with the title?"
"The Beast that Shouted Love at the Heart of the World" is a super-creepy, if somewhat unintelligible story by Harlan Ellison, first published in Galaxy Magazine in 1968 ... I like to think the story's oppressive violence offended the hippies of the time ... and hippies down through the decades for that matter. However, please don't confuse me with, or assume I am some sort of sci-fi-phile ... outside of Robert Heinlein's "Stranger in a Strange Land", which is epic, I find the genre inaccessible, and it's proponents -- in general -- socially maladjusted.
So, why steal the title? Just as Jules Winnfield's scocio-biblical diatribe in "Pulp Fiction" was admitted to be, "... Some cold blooded shit that I'd say before I pop a cap in some motherfucker's ass ... " the truth is simple; I like the way it sounds. (See the way I dropped you a nice, relatable pop-culture reference, there?)
Good question, next.
"The Beast that Shouted Love at the Heart of the World" is a super-creepy, if somewhat unintelligible story by Harlan Ellison, first published in Galaxy Magazine in 1968 ... I like to think the story's oppressive violence offended the hippies of the time ... and hippies down through the decades for that matter. However, please don't confuse me with, or assume I am some sort of sci-fi-phile ... outside of Robert Heinlein's "Stranger in a Strange Land", which is epic, I find the genre inaccessible, and it's proponents -- in general -- socially maladjusted.
So, why steal the title? Just as Jules Winnfield's scocio-biblical diatribe in "Pulp Fiction" was admitted to be, "... Some cold blooded shit that I'd say before I pop a cap in some motherfucker's ass ... " the truth is simple; I like the way it sounds. (See the way I dropped you a nice, relatable pop-culture reference, there?)
Good question, next.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Quit Wasting Your Time...
To blog, or not to blog, what is the point?
Frankly, it is wildly egotistic and naive (read: asinine) to expect members of the public -- strangers -- to give a tweak about what I write ... so why would you feel differently ... or anticipate my feeling any differently toward your posts? Having never touched a computer (outside the Atari 2600) before college, it may just be me projecting my take on this grand new Facebooky-world, and my distrust of it. I'm not generally interested in investing time pursuing the likes, dislikes, opinions, and daily goings-on of random individuals, so blogging wildly into the echo of cyberspace confounds me ... it is everything humanity should be moving away from, not toward ... face-to-face, physical interaction is becoming the exception, and yet, here I am tapping away. In the present, we are all entitled to our own little mental hen house tucked away on the back acres of the vast cyber-plane of the Internet, and we are all free to whisper or shout our "real" feelings about artificial realities and our own philosophical paradigms, but the question begs; why? Is the anticipation of a response a rational justification? Are we expected to poke around these text gardens seeking a seed, no matter how irrelevant, in order to feel some sense of social satisfaction? "This fella likes Huey Lewis and John Grisham, he's just like me!" Is that what we're looking for, some sort of reassurance that our actions are valid? I can understand the value of sharing practical information (investment advice, consumer goods reviews), but even then, why trust a stranger, a member of the general public? Action Movies, Budweiser, Paris Hilton, and Reality TV are all a result of the opinions of the general public. Just because it's published doesn't give it substance. And then, is every word I'm typing a hypocrisy?
Frankly, it is wildly egotistic and naive (read: asinine) to expect members of the public -- strangers -- to give a tweak about what I write ... so why would you feel differently ... or anticipate my feeling any differently toward your posts? Having never touched a computer (outside the Atari 2600) before college, it may just be me projecting my take on this grand new Facebooky-world, and my distrust of it. I'm not generally interested in investing time pursuing the likes, dislikes, opinions, and daily goings-on of random individuals, so blogging wildly into the echo of cyberspace confounds me ... it is everything humanity should be moving away from, not toward ... face-to-face, physical interaction is becoming the exception, and yet, here I am tapping away. In the present, we are all entitled to our own little mental hen house tucked away on the back acres of the vast cyber-plane of the Internet, and we are all free to whisper or shout our "real" feelings about artificial realities and our own philosophical paradigms, but the question begs; why? Is the anticipation of a response a rational justification? Are we expected to poke around these text gardens seeking a seed, no matter how irrelevant, in order to feel some sense of social satisfaction? "This fella likes Huey Lewis and John Grisham, he's just like me!" Is that what we're looking for, some sort of reassurance that our actions are valid? I can understand the value of sharing practical information (investment advice, consumer goods reviews), but even then, why trust a stranger, a member of the general public? Action Movies, Budweiser, Paris Hilton, and Reality TV are all a result of the opinions of the general public. Just because it's published doesn't give it substance. And then, is every word I'm typing a hypocrisy?
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