It’s Not You, It’s Me: Dumping The 24-Hour News Networks

“Taking a break from news” seems to be 2009’s staycation of choice. After a while, watching screaming matches and listening to red herring, alarmist arguments becomes infuriating and depressing. No wonder people walk away. I can't accept that this is a matter of attention to current events, though, but the consumption of irresponsible news. I single out the 24-hour news networks as a main culprit.

Twenty-four hour cable news networks are a bad idea. Watching them is a worse one. The sure-fire way to keep eyeballs on screens is to promote fear and sensationalism; to gain broad viewership, issues become dumbed-down dichotomies of pro versus con that even the laziest viewers will grasp; to beat the competition, stories aren’t properly verified before the rush to air; to create famous “news personalities,” cleavage and bad behavior are rewarded with regular appearances (or sometimes even their own shows). These networks do offer good journalists like Zakaria and Amanpour, but they seem too few and far between. Twenty-four programming relies on quantity of words over quality of reporting. Although the American marketplace of ideas is one of the best ideas we’ve had, its success relies on responsible judgment. Most programs on the 24-hour news networks are at the 99-cent table at the marketplace of ideas, and it’s up to us to invest in something better. It seems that many people watch these channels not to learn about their world but to solidify their belief that they are smarter or more ethical than the people on screen, an easy feat against such competition.

The big issues are as tough as they are critical, and to respond wisely we must appreciate their complexities. Healthcare, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, immigration, free trade, alternative sources of energy, education quality and affordability: none of these provide an easy option free of unfortunate consequences, and (to quote Princess Bride) anyone who says differently is selling something.

Quality journalism is out there. We must choose it. If your means of gathering news makes the issues seem black and white or makes humanity seem either wise or stupid, then it’s not the right choice. If your means of gathering news propels you to mock more than you learn, it’s not the right choice. If your means of gathering news involves raised voices or name calling, again, it’s just not it. Although I cringe when I come across these methods and realize that committing any of them would have failed me out of my college journalism program, I blame the people who refuse to change the channel or turn off the TV more I blame those on the air. These networks are like the fast food of news: fine to consume every once in a while, but only alongside a steady diet of healthier fare.

As for me, I love settling into my reading chair with a big cup of coffee and my New York Times or Atlantic Monthly, to work with NPR in the background, to check in with NBC Nightly News with Dreamy Brian Williams most evenings, and to end my night with BBC World News. This is a good balance for me: these outlets are thorough, informative, and don't freak me out with apocalyptic predictions or crazy CGI. They don't pander to ego; I don’t want news to make me feel like the smartest person alive, and I don’t wish to believe that people I disagree with are simpletons or evil-doers. Instead I want my news to compel me to think, “Well crap, I didn’t think about it that way.”

The 24-hour networks are making us stupid, making us depressed, and at times, making us hate. How we process information affects the functioning of the brain, which needs exercise like any other muscle. Not much mind-flexing occurs while listening to yelling matches consisting of “I’m right, and you hate America!” coming from either side. Let’s not be in such a rush to consume news that we turn to the 24-hour networks. Let’s not be in such a rush to call someone an idiot that we forget to make ourselves intelligent.

Becoming Jaded

A disclaimer: I have not seen Becoming Jane, nor do I plan to. I know this puts my critique on very shaky ground, but I’ll stand on it. I’ve read many of the letters the following movie is based on, and they put the premise on far shakier ground than this.

From what we know about Jane Austen, she was not especially attractive nor was she lucky in love. She was, merely, a brilliant woman with a cunning wit and keen insight into the human psyche. Becoming Jane seeks to overcome this handicap.

The movie casts the beautiful Anne Hathaway as Jane and gives her a handsome leading man to introduce her to the world of books and her own introspection. Blech. In so doing, the movie credits her success to The Man Who Showed Her The Way; a man who, in reality, knew Jane all of a month. His character is the pseudo-bad boy who seemingly eschews societal norms while putting Jane in her proper role as the wide-eyed female under the instruction of a wise man. (Ohh, the romance of submissiveness! Swoon!) We are so uncomfortable with a woman choosing a life not built around a man! Why do we have to take Jane Austen, a woman who chose not to marry, and find a way to center her life on romance and to credit her inspiration to a guy? Miramax would portray her actual life as a tragedy, as Jane grips her Ben and Jerry’s in one hand while stroking her cats with the other, tears dripping down onto all that she’s got left in life: manuscripts that will become among the most beloved novels for centuries to come. ‘Tis pity.

I adore Jane Austen as a hilariously brilliant and cynical writer with a keen ability to write characters. I adore that she was much more a smart ass than a romantic fool, using romance mostly as fodder for cynicism. What I do not adore is Miramax having Austen come into her own under the instruction of a man. I also do not adore that people find women more accessible when their lives are defined by relationships (romance is sweet; independent success, just sad and somewhat unnerving). The woman saw with her brain – we can’t owe that ability to a dreamy man in town for a month. Here are some quotes from Austen’s personal letters that show the snarky Austen I love, as represented by herself and not by Miramax.

“I do not want people to be very agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them a great deal."

[On the birth of a son to one of their sisters-in-law:]
"I give you joy of our new nephew, and hope if he ever comes to be hanged it will not be till we are too old to care about it."

[On another of their nephews, then about three years old:]
"I shall think with tenderness and delight on his beautiful and smiling countenance and interesting manner, until a few years have turned him into an ungovernable, ungracious fellow."

"I could no more write a [historical] romance than an epic poem. I could not sit seriously down to write a serious romance under any other motive than to save my life; and if it were indispensable for me to keep it up and never relax into laughing at myself or other people, I am sure I should be hung before I had finished the first chapter."

A Date with your Family

Omigosh, this still slays me...

There she is...

This week, American media achieved the newsworthiness trifecta. Timeliness, conflict, and prominence, you ask? No, silly. I’m talking about drugs, Donald Trump, and girl-on-girl action. Alert the cable networks! No need to bum everyone out with that whole Iraq business this week!

For those who have better things to do than follow entertainment news, Miss USA was nearly dethroned after her drunken nights in NY clubs kissing her fellow woman and testing positive for cocaine. People seem most unnerved by the underage drinking aspect, which should have all the shock factor as the revelation that the majority of Americans have premarital sex. Maybe we can use the leftoever grant money to discover that teenagers like the rock music and dentists suggest brushing after meals.

Anyhoo, as much as I’d like, I can’t feign disinterest. Much to Jimmy’s complete disgust/bewilderment/shame, I am fascinated by pageants. I must watch them. If you haven’t spent much time watching and comparing these spectacles, please allow me to break them down. There’s Miss America, the classiest of the pageant family, in which a drinking game could be devised around every utterance of “scholarship competition.” You’d be dancing on the table before Miss Alabama introduced herself. Miss USA, Miss America’s trashier younger cousin, is my personal favorite. A Miss USA contestant might not be especially sharp or beautiful, but she is willing to bend a few rules of propriety to garner attention. I do admire the lack of pretense – they’re only a few years of bad ratings away from the introduction of the pole-dancing competition. However, it is Miss Teen USA that brings tears to my eyes. If you’ve never seen Miss Teen USA, I beg of you to tune in for the question and answer round. They might be talking, but they’re not saying a damn thing -- yet the audience goes wild as if the secret for Israeli-Palestinian peace had just been revealed. This ties into the apparent goal of pageants: for a woman to speak without communicating and to appear sexually desirable without seeming sexual. Many people defend pageantry by stating how difficult it is. Let’s not confuse a difficult endeavor with a worthwhile one.

But yet, I watch.

Maybe the reason I watch pageants is because I insist that they must be a big inside joke that I’m not in on. It’s mind boggling to hear charges of sexism so breezily dismissed when we’re not exactly dealing with gray area here. Young women trot like circus poodles, seeking “scholarship money” while wearing bikinis and stilettos, rubbing hemorroid cream under their eyes and Vaseline on their teeth, and speaking without ideas. Talent is restricted to singing, playing an instrument, or some other talent revered in more Jane Austen-esque days (I don't mean to disparage the performing arts, but what about young women who prefer to play with a microscope than a microphone?). The “substance” of the show is about what these young women want to be... their aspirations in law, medicine, or advocacy sound as pretty as they are. Why are pageants restricted to the young and dreaming? Perhaps because the reality of women’s potential isn’t always quite as pretty?

Hosts gush that all girls watching pageants dream about their chance, and I admit I’m among them. I’ve had the plan for some time: I’d work my way up the pageantry system, advocating such original platforms as anti-crime or pro-education legislation. I’d show off my mediocre ballet. I’d push up my boobs, cinch my waist, then lick my lips and speak of abstinence. And then when the dream was realized, when I’d stand on that glorious Atlantic City stage, state sash draped across my sparkly gown and lips slipping off my Vaselined teeth, Regis Philbin would ask about my vision for the world.

“I dream of a world in which women control their reproductive health, where men worry as much as women do about balancing parental and professional responsibilities, where Congress and the Fortune 500 don't consist nearly exclusively of white men, where all adults are free to marry whom they choose, and where PACs no longer find tax exemptions as religious organizations. Thank you.” (This is when I’d curtsy and do the cute little wave to the section of North Carolinians, who by this time were taking their state cut-out with them as they walked out of the door.)

Of all the Charlie Browns in the world, you are the Charlie Browniest.

Finals, papers, and such mean no real blogging, but here's a Christmas favorite of mine until I get around to stringing some words together.

And on a lighter note...

Zach Braff is so adorable it hurts. If you haven’t already, check out the Garden State soundtrack as well as the new The Last Kiss soundtrack. His adorable-ness is paired with a killer taste in music.

He’s soooo allowed in my living room.

But that’s just me.

CNN and I don’t have a great relationship. There were the good early years while I was a young coed, when John King dreamily gave me the latest on the Lewinsky scandal (presidential scandals were so adorable then). But then I noticed that CNN was “that” kind of relationship – the one that makes a huge deal of nothing for hours at a time, while still ignoring red flags popping up faster than a Whack-a-Mole. CNN and I broke up a while back, after I became older and wiser, turning from the young flashy cable news networks to the trustier NY Times, Wash Post and BBC. They're still pretty in the morning without their make-up.

Today, in the midst of international chaos, I checked in to see what CNN chose to run on its front page. Amid some timid reporting in the Middle East, was this:

Publicist: Hasselhoff was sick, not drunk

Ohhh, CNN. You never fail to disappoint. Some stories that I might have chosen to run on the front page, that CNN buries under the Hoff, or doesn’t report at all:

N. Korea-Iran Ties Seem to Be Growing Stronger
SEOUL — North Korea and Iran, two fiercely anti-American regimes, appear to be bolstering their military and diplomatic cooperation, including the possible sale of missiles to the Tehran government, intelligence sources said.

U.S. Says It Knew of Pakistani Reactor Plan
The Bush administration acknowledged yesterday that it had long known about Pakistan's plans to build a large plutonium-production reactor, but it said the White House was working to dissuade Pakistan from using the plant to expand its nuclear arsenal. The reactor, which reportedly will be capable of producing enough plutonium for as many as 50 bombs each year, was brought to light on Sunday

(And coincidentally...)

House, 359-68, Approves U.S.-India Nuclear Deal
The House voted overwhelmingly yesterday to allow U.S. shipments of civilian nuclear fuel and technology to India, handing President Bush a victory on one of his top foreign policy initiatives. Rep. Tom Lantos said the proposal, which reverses decades of U.S. anti-proliferation policy, is "a tidal shift in relations between India and the United States."

(And how do we treat one of our few international allies? Oh well, at least we still have Israel. --smacks forehead-- )

US rejects weapon flight concerns
The White House has dismissed UK concerns about the use of Prestwick Airport, in Scotland, by US planes carrying bombs to Israel. … UK Foreign Secretary Margaret Beckett protested to US Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice, claiming procedures were ignored. Mrs Beckett said: "We have already let the United States know that this is an issue that appears to be seriously at fault, and we will be making a formal protest if it appears that that is what has happened."

Where the hell is my spirit of adventure?

If I watch this thing one more time, I'm selling it all for plane tickets and comfy shoes...

Who's Allowed in my Living Room?

On workdays when we simply do not care to be at work, a coworker devised a procrastination technique called “Who’s allowed in my living room?” It’s a simple concept, only naming random people and then deciding whether they're allowed in your living room, but it’s one that unites or divides a group. There are the Oprah moments of unity, when we all decide we want Oprah in our living rooms; then there the Rosie O’Donnell moments of discord, which descend into questioning a person's entire belief system and eventually “yo momma” jokes. Such is the singular power of “Who’s allowed in my living room?”

The judgment calls are split-second; one just knows. It’s not as easy as liking or disliking a person -- the living-room kind of person will grab you a beer on their way back from the kitchen, will play with the dogs, can sustain conversations on current events as well as the merits of the SpongeBob movie. And for examples, random people I would or would not want in my living room:

Allowed in my living room Jon Stewart Steve Martin Howard Dean Sarah Vowell Zach Braff Drew Barrymore Fareed Zakaria Hillary and Bill Conan O’Brien George Clooney (also allowed in bedroom) Brian Williams Sandra Bullock Steve Carrell

Not allowed in my living room Sharon Stone Joan Rivers Bill O’Reilly John Kerry TomKat Dick Cheney Meg Ryan Condi Rice Madonna Kevin Costner Ann Coulter Cameron Diaz Michael Douglas

Favorite Christmas Movies

At the behest of good friend Joey Gro, here’s my list of favorite Christmas movies. My sole criteria for this list is a movie that makes me feel Christmas. And from this list, you’ll see there are quite a few ways to feel Christmas:

5. Meet Me in St. Louis
If you lak-a-me lak I lak-a-you, and we lak-a-both the same…

I grew up on old musicals the way my friends grew up on Star Wars and John Hughes, and I’m still a sucker for them. And this is my super-guilty-pleasure musical choice. I think it’s physically impossible not to sing along to “Clang-clang-clang went the trolley!" Even though it’s not a Christmas movie per se, Judy Garland singing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” to Tootie is more than enough to place it in the holiday movie category. It’s heartwrenching, but in that sweet holiday kind of heartwrenching.

4. Elf
I just like to smile, smiling's my favorite.

This movie is pure sweetness, and I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard at a movie that I would also recommend to my friend’s seven-year-old daughter.

3. National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation
Where do you think you're going? Nobody's leaving. Nobody's walking out on this fun, old-fashioned family Christmas. No, no. We're all in this together. This is a full-blown, four-alarm holiday emergency here. We're gonna press on, and we're gonna have the hap, hap, happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap-danced with Danny f’ing Kaye.

I’m sure that 99% of us don’t have the functional families capable of pulling off big happy holidays together, and this is the movie for us. I love that point when you know that the holiday is wrecked and bound for disaster, but you’re determined to push on anyway. God Bless the Griswolds. And Cousin Eddie is the best cinematic character ever (solid proof I'll never be a film snob). The scene when he wears the green dickie under the thin white sweater puts me in hysterics every time.

2. Christmas Story
Scut Farkus! What a rotten name! There he stood, between us and the alley. Scut Farkus staring out at us with his yellow eyes. He had yellow eyes! So, help me, God! Yellow eyes!

Once we leave childhood, it’s nearly impossible to remember how it really felt to be a kid. Christmas movies love to attempt to conjure those old feelings, but only A Christmas Story succeeds. While other movies focus on the magic of our younger days, this movie also reminds us of the sheer agony of them as well. The scene of Ralphie fantasizing about turning in the A+++++ paper only to wake up to classroom embarrassment makes me wince every time. I was that kind of dork.

1. It’s a Wonderful Life
No man is a failure who has friends.

Most sentimental movies involve turning off some part of your brain to buy it all. Not this one. Every time, I feel George Bailey’s desperation turn into gratitude. Every time, my usual rampant cynicism is gone when they sing “Auld Lang Syne” and the end credits begin. Best Christmas movie ever. Hands down.