My First Triggering

If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who aren't here yet) — the Stickies — to haunt them after they become grups and/or I'm dead.

[Blogaramians: Blogarama renders the links in my columns useless. Please click on View Original to solve this problem and access lotsa columns.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse and back scratcher 

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader

"I am quite sure now that often, very often, in matters concerning religion and politics a man's reasoning powers are not above the monkey's" -Mark Twain


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

When I was but a wee lad... No, actually till I was at least in my late twenties, it was possible to engage in heated political discussions, as much for the fun of it as anything else, without feeling that civil war was inevitable.

Not that it was possible to do so with everyone. There's a reason many people recommend against discussing politics (and religion) at the dinner table and elsewhere.

However, with certain relatives and friends, particularly with a bunch of individuals I didn't go to college with, late night political debates, that were often as not fueled by alcohol, were a thing.

Lines had to be drawn and observed but it was the intellectual equivalent of a friendly sports rivalry. No need to take it particularly seriously.


I married in my early thirties after a couple of years managing a fleet of someone else's ice cream trucks in Texas. As to Texas, there was much in way of partying, little in the way of debate, intellectual or otherwise. Hello Tom and Kitty, wherever you are.

Once married the endless party ended. My bride came pre-equipped with a kid and marriage, serious partying, and kids don't mix very well in my semi-humble opinion.

Late night passionate debates didn't make a comeback either. I married a sick chick (I'm talking physically sick, but a veritable force of nature...) and betwixt helping to keep her alive, supporting my daughter (your mother or grandmother) and my gift for working my ass off while avoiding the burdens of financial success -- I usually went to bed early.


Then I blinked three times and I was a widower and a grandfather. One evening I found myself having dinner with a friend and a couple in their mid-twenties early on in the new millennium.

This was my first encounter with triggering someone and triggering wasn't even a thing yet. I've always been a man ahead of my time.

After dinner, and over coffee and pie, a debate broke out over I remember not what. Although there's a slight chance that I may not be entirely correct, I have a vivid memory of intellectually dominating. It was me v. my friend and the male half of the young couple. I confess I neglected to monitor the emotional weather manifesting on the face of the female half. Hooge mistake.


In my defense, her participation in the discussion was virtually nil. However, I still might have been convicted had she charged me with political incorrectness which was, and remains, in vogue. Is political correctness subject to a statute of limitations?

Fortunately, Facebook's user base was composed of students at a small group of upper-crust institutions of higher learning at the time. Trolls were merely malevolent mythological monstrosities. And for that matter, Trigger was the answer to a trivia question. What was the name of Roy Rogers horse?

[Roy who?]

Never mind, Iggy.


Anyways, at some point, while I was not paying the attention that I -- a man who had been successfully married for 21 years and who had learned many lessons the hard way -- should have been paying, there was an explosion and I and my dining companions were riddled with psychic shrapnel.

"She leaped to her feet and stormed out of the restaurant in a huff." That's not a quote from a selection of mediocre fiction, that's exactly what happened. Really.

Although he was young and, relatively speaking, they had not been married very long he knew the rules. He leaped to his feet and followed.

"I think you just pissed her off," said my remaining companion, reacting to the no doubt baffled look on my face.

"Did we just get stuck with the check?" I replied.


My young friends returned to the table as my older friend and I were in the process of splitting the check, calculating the tip, and discussing which one of us, if either, was going to act as a collection agent to recover the cost of their food.

She, said nothing. Although the storm had apparently passed, ominous dark clouds lingered.

He, politely and diplomatically... well, long story short, it was explained to me that she passionately disagreed with me. Although she lacked the rhetorical skill -- and most importantly in my semi-humble opinion a command of the relevant facts to contest whatever it was I was on about -- she knew she was right, and she knew I was a bully.

That's not exactly how he put it but that's exactly what he said.

Although I confess my heart wasn't in it, I apologized for being a boor and fled the scene of the drama ASAP. Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day.


[P.S. Gentlereaders, for 25¢ a week, no, seriously, for 25¢ a week you can become a Patron of this weekly column and help to prevent an old crank from running the streets at night in search of cheap thrills and ill-gotten gains.

If there are some readers out there that think my shtuff is worth a buck or three a month, color me honored, and grateful. Regardless, if you like it, could you please share it? There are buttons at the end of every column.]


©2018 Mark Mehlmauer   (The Flyoverland Crank)

If you're reading this on my website (where there are tons of older columns, a glossary, and other goodies) and if you wish to comment — or react (way cooler than liking, and Facebook doesn't keep track) — please scroll down. 

Journalism (Part 3)

If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who aren't here yet) — the Stickies — to haunt them after they become grups and/or I'm dead.

[Blogaramians: Blogarama renders the links in my columns useless. Please click on View Original to solve this problem and access lotsa columns.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse and back scratcher 

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader

"Purple journalism is not a new form of journalism, it's just a name for journalism as it's actually practiced nowadays." -me


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

[Before I forget, King Crank's impending law that will require all news media outlets of a certain size to make a declaration of honesty, will also be expanded to cover the entertainment industry (primarily Hollywood) as well. Details will be worked out by my Privy Council.]

There wasn't supposed to be a part three but a licensed practitioner of the purple press helpfully/recently supplied a perfect example of exactly what I've been on about. Leigh Ann Caldwell, a reporter for NBC News, tweeted out a song that was horribly off key.

["Twitter is the marriage of full-tilt narcissism and full tilt voyeurism that has finally collided in 140 characters." -Adam Goldberg (prior to the 280 update)]

Ms. Caldwell informed the world that the Donald's choice for the newest Supreme, according to the ubiquitous unnamed source, was the result of a secret deal between the Donald and retiring justice Antney Kennedy. (Antney (ant-knee) was how I learned to pronounce Anthony when I was a kid living on the sou'side a Pittsburgh, with an h.)

See, Kennedy agreed to retire while the Donald was in power if he would hire Brett Kavanaugh, one of his former law clerks. She deleted the tweet in short order and then, via yet another tweet, explained how she screwed up, sort of -- without bothering to apologize. Deep purple journalism.

Hoo-boy.

I know it's hard to believe, but the original claim spread like wildfire. Then, of course, the phony/false/mistaken? tweet became a news story unto itself because purveyors of purple journalism delight in attacking other purveyors of purple journalism.

And...

All sorts of kids who hang out on the left side of the playground, who posted the now deleted tweet as factual, didn't risk injuring themselves by running to their keyboards to correct what turned out to be pure bonkercockie.

And then...

An obscure group of kids that call themselves Ultraviolet put out a six-page memo requesting that Senate Democrats investigate the fact that Mr. Kavanaugh once clerked for a Judge Alex Kominski who recently retired after being accused of being a serial groper.

Mr. Kavanaugh clerked for Judge Kominski... for about a year... about two decades ago. So hey, he's probably guilty of something. Let the investigation begin!

That kind of story is the sort of story that would've been perfect for a News That You Can Use Letter. It wound up here because the McClatchy News Service (allegedly professional, objective journalism) reported on the somewhat less than well known Ultraviolets six pages of mudslinging (bright yellow journalism) as if it was an actual news story.

Geez, if I didn't know better I'd think McClatchy was trying to sling mud at Mr. Kavanaugh without getting their hands dirty. That's practicing purple journalism with (semi)plausible deniability. For the record, I read about all this on the PJ Media website.  I'm merely passing along the good work of one Debra Heine. 


Now, given that we're treading water in the Dizzinformation Ocean and that any news that floats by is potentially bogus, the media (and Hollywood) would be performing a public service by declaring their bias up front. 

They could then openly practice advocacy journalism (and entertainment) and commence/continue saving the unenlightened from themselves without the added burden of pretending to be objective. Or, in Hollywood's case, pretending to tell the truth.  

If they were honest and clear about where they are coming from and where they think we should be headed, and why, and admit they're as motivated by profit/regular paychecks as we mere mortals their credibility would improve. Of course when you've got nowhere to go but up... 

[Sorry, sometimes the obvious joke is worth telling.]   


Two more thoughts. First, once the gloves come off they can attack each other, as well as whichever politician/celebrity/freak from the fringes they currently regard as Satan (which they like to do anyway) with unmitigated savagery. No shortage of Citizens of the Republic seem to be able to get enough of this sort of thing. Keep the mob happy and perhaps save a newspaper or two. Win/win. 

Also, just for the fun of it, to make the game more interesting, let's make it illegal to quote unnamed sources of any sort while simultaneously permitting the release of any sort of document -- as long as the H. sapien that leaked it is identified -- while enforcing any and all laws concerning the release of classified information.

Wouldn't that make things interesting... Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day.


[P.S. Gentlereaders, for 25¢ a week, no, seriously, for 25¢ a week you can become a Patron of this weekly column and help to prevent an old crank from running the streets at night in search of cheap thrills and ill-gotten gains.

If there are some readers out there that think my shtuff is worth a buck or three a month, color me honored, and grateful. Regardless, if you like it, could you please share it? There are buttons at the end of every column.]


©2018 Mark Mehlmauer   (The Flyoverland Crank)

If you're reading this on my website (where there are tons of older columns, a glossary, and other goodies) and if you wish to comment — or react (way cooler than liking, and Facebook doesn't keep track) — please scroll down. 
    


 

Journalism (Part 2)

If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who aren't here yet) — the Stickies — to haunt them after they become grups and/or I'm dead.

[Blogaramians: Blogarama renders the links in my columns useless. Please click on View Original to solve this problem and access lotsa columns.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse and back scratcher 

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader

"The secret of life is honesty and fair dealing. If you can fake that, you've got it made." -Groucho Marx

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

Last week's letter ended thusly:

"When I become king I'm going to require that all news media of a certain size or larger (metrics to be determined) must declare that they are partisan, in what way, and provide a simple, short, clear statement explaining their approach to the news. If they're about lurid pictures/video, lurid stories, and making as much money as possible that's fine -- as long as they acknowledge it." -me

Since Journalism is both an institution and a profession with deep historical roots, and I've taken it upon myself to drag it into the new millennium (kings can do stuff like that), I thought I'd explore the who/what/when/where and whys of...

[Can I ask a question, Poppa? What exactly is purple journalism? Ain't that what you called it?]

I'm flattered and honored you were paying attention, Iggmeister. I credit Marie-Louise for purple; the word popped into my psyche unbidden and I knew instantly it was what I wanted.


Purple journalism is not a new form of journalism, it's just a name for journalism as it's actually practiced nowadays. Take the New York Times. It claims to practice objective journalism but they have an obvious left-wing ethos that bleeds through on every page (traditional, partisan journalism).

However, they're hardly a tabloid. One can also find much in the way of good writing and quality coverage in any given edition (objective, professional journalism).

However, they're not above sensationalism and publishing obvious hit pieces about their ideological enemies. For example, anyone truly familiar with Jordan Peterson, fan or foe, could spot the obvious hatchet job written by Nellie Bowles and published on 5/18/18, that as best I can tell, is about Dr. Peterson's evil twin, it's clearly not about him. The article is pure, bright yellow journalism.

Clang! Fox News, fair and balanced  

No, it ain't, and everyone knows it. It's by conservatives and for conservatives. Rupert Murdoch identified a wildly underserved segment of the TV news market, conservatives, and gave 'em a news network of their own. They're happy and he made another gazillion bucks. Win-win.

Discussion panels with one liberal and multiple conservatives aren't fair and balanced. Ironically, all he did was reverse the ratios that CNN and PBS use. They claim to be fair and balanced as well.

Inviting political hacks, one (R)epublicrat and one (D)epublican, to throw bonkercockie at each other, preferably while behaving like Jerry Springer guests, isn't fair and balanced news, it's showbiz.


Now,

Given that it's widely acknowledged H. sapiens can and do strive for objectivity when it's called for (well, sometimes), but by nature are biased creatures, and

Given that most of the mainstream media are obviously partisan in nature, and

Given that what mainstream actually means is a relatively large audience and content that's not considered too far out there and

Given that, because of the internet, there's no shortage of content that is indeed far out there and much that's even farther out there than that...

Let's label this the era of purple journalism. Let's abandon hypocrisy (fair and balanced) and declare that honesty is the ideal of purple journalism. Not necessarily honest content, honesty about what sort of content.

"While we don't usually publish outright lies, we're not above it if we think we won't get caught, or even if we do that it won't actually matter. We're in it for the money and it sure beats having to get a real job."


While King Crank's Declaration of Honesty will be required for mainstream media outlets, my hope is that any outlet that offers content that it claims to be journalism will do so voluntarily.

For example, imagine The Drudge Report admitting declaring that "We're politically conservative but thrive on sensationalism. Many of the headline links you find on our site will turn out to be nearly as deceptive as clickbait links. We like to sex things up to get you here, keep you here, and keep you clicking."

I'll betcha a bottle-a-pop that Facebook's declaration would be as convoluted, confusing, and deceptive as their explanations of how to use their privacy settings.

[Whatever... but how would you enforce this law? Who or what determines what should be included in a Declaration of Honesty?]

Thanks, Dana, this is the best part. It doesn't matter what's in the statement.

The public, and a given outlets competition, will be the judge of that. If it's been determined that an outlet is large enough to be required to make the declaration, failure to do so will result in the CEO spending an hour in the royal pillory. Media coverage will be encouraged and facilitated.

A useful law that doesn't require bureauons or some sort of police to enforce, if I do say so myself, is a very cool law. Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day.


[P.S. Gentlereaders, for 25¢ a week, no, seriously, for 25¢ a week you can become a Patron of this weekly column and help to prevent an old crank from running the streets at night in search of cheap thrills and ill-gotten gains.

If there are some readers out there that think my shtuff is worth a buck or three a month, color me honored, and grateful. Regardless, if you like it, could you please share it? There are buttons at the end of every column.]


©2018 Mark Mehlmauer   (The Flyoverland Crank)

If you're reading this on my website (where there are tons of older columns, a glossary, and other goodies) and if you wish to comment — or react (way cooler than liking, and Facebook doesn't keep track) — please scroll down.