Wednesday, December 29, 2004

Those Fuckers Know



YALA NATIONAL PARK, Sri Lanka - Wildlife officials in Sri Lanka expressed surprise Wednesday that they found no evidence of large-scale animal deaths from the weekend's massive tsunami — indicating that animals may have sensed the wave coming and fled to higher ground.

An Associated Press photographer who flew over Sri Lanka's Yala National Park in an air force helicopter saw abundant wildlife, including elephants, buffalo, deer, and not a single animal corpse.

Floodwaters from the tsunami swept into the park, uprooting trees and toppling cars onto their roofs — one red car even ended up on top of a huge tree — but the animals apparently were not harmed and may have sought out high ground, said Gehan de Silva Wijeyeratne, whose Jetwing Eco Holidays ran a hotel in the park.

"This is very interesting. I am finding bodies of humans, but I have yet to see a dead animal," said Wijeyeratne, whose hotel in the park was totally destroyed in Sunday's tidal surge.

"Maybe what we think is true, that animals have a sixth sense," Wijeyeratne said.

Yala, Sri Lanka's largest wildlife reserve, is home to 200 Asian Elephants, crocodile, wild boar, water buffalo and gray langur monkeys. The park also has Asia's highest concentration of leopards. The Yala reserve covers an area of 391 square miles, but only 56 square miles are open to tourists.

The human death toll in Sri Lanka surpassed 21,000. Forty foreigners were among 200 people in Yala who were killed.

Monday, December 27, 2004

Fuck 2005

Work in Progress: Regular readers of this space know well my penchant for criticism: of the world, of people, of things in general. This, of course, immediately leads people to believe that I must hold an overwhelmingly positive view of myself, that I find the average person far inferior to myself. But that’s just not true. If anything, my self-criticism is far more stinging than the variety I dispense to the general public. In fact, most of my generalized assaults on the public are merely watered down versions of things I hate about myself. Thus, being that time of the year, I figured it was time for the annual self-help exercise that is the making of New Year’s resolutions. Not that I plan on actually keeping any. But at least then I’ll (and I guess you’ll) know better exactly what it is about me that’s fucked up. And like G.I. Joe said, “knowing is half the battle.”

I Will Try New Shit: For someone who is supposedly supposed to be onto all the new shit, I seem to be usually bound to all my old musical, stylistic and lifestyle habits. I mean, I get plenty of opportunity to listen to all sorts of new music; more or less any new album that comes out gets sent to the Synthesis office for our perusal. But look in the CD case I keep in my car and almost everything is shit that was cool in like 2000 or ever ‘98 (OMFG!). And even the new shit I do end up listening to is just shit that sounds like bands who were cool back then. Even when it comes to really stupid things, like going out to eat, I always do the same shit. I always go to the same three or four restaurants and the same two bars, and always order the same things. Basically I’m in dire need of spicing my shit up. If you work in one of the aforementioned bars or restaurants, please force me, at all costs, to change my routine. Even better, if you’re someone else, take me somewhere new and buy me something so I have to try it purely out of politeness. Unlike the proverbial horse, lead me to water and I will drink. Promise.

I Will Never Again Spend More Than $100 on Jeans or Shoes: Though I’m certainly someone who prides myself on procuring fashion on the cheap with my ample thrift-store skills, as I’ve grown older I’ve found myself occasionally falling prey to female voiced demons (both real and imaginary), who magically compel me to spend more than third-world factory workers make in a year on haphazardly assembled pieces of denim or leather. I guess its not so bad when you’re some fundian, but when it’s a matter of “Should I eat this month or buy this pair of Guess jeans?” food is probably a better idea nine times out of 10.

I Will No Longer Be Afraid of Irrational Things: The thing that probably sucks worst about me is the fact that I live life in a constant state of fear, and not even fear of anything decent, just fear of stupid shit, like choking on bread, or of bad people stabbing me for no reason, or of driving my car off of a bridge and not being able to roll the windows down and swim out. Maybe you’re thinking, “man just take some pills and talk to some dude and you’re over it.” But I already tried that one, and though it worked to some extent, I still find myself fraught over silly things while simultaneously nonchalant about things that actually matter; like being deathly (and I mean deathly) afraid of flying, but being totally okay with driving 100 MPH on the backroads in Willows with no seatbelt on in the fog without my glasses after two Mad Dogs. I think I just need a good old fashioned kick in the ass, or maybe just a good hard spanking.

I’m Too Old for This Shit: I’m fully aware that 24 is by no means middle age and that calling myself “old” is an insult to neurotic thirtysomethings everywhere. However, the fact still remains that at 24, my parents were already making me, buying houses, setting up their retirement, buying life insurance and all that important life shit; while I, at 24, am still calling people the next day to ask what stupid shit I did at the bars the night before, still cashing in change at that change robot at Safeway (which robs a motherfucker of 8 percent) so I can pay for parking tickets, still posting bulletins on MySpace at 3 AM on a Tuesday and just generally acting like I’m 14. And I guess that’s cool for having shit to write about or whatever, but when it comes to actually living a real life, Peter Pan-ing shit doesn’t really cut it. It’s finally time to clean up my act. I’m really gonna turn it around this year. Things are gonna change. I can feel it.

I Will Never Change No Matter What: Although all the shit I just said sounds good and all, when it comes down to it, I’d rather be a piece of shit and be myself than be all awesome and spectacular. People are always trying to get better, but I say why not get worse? Then at least you can feel good about who you were, instead of always waiting to become something better. Fuck butterflies. Caterpillars FOR LIFE.

Tuesday, December 21, 2004

Pitchfork Media Can Suck My Cock

Pitchfork Media can lick my ass crack; how is it that the only rock music that qualifies as decent has to be on some spock ass Canadian indie label, yet any fucking major-label hip hop drivel has some immense cultural significance? I know it's super ironic in that Urban Outfitters kind of way to listen to the Arcade Fire then turn around and listen to Snoop Dog, but is it really making you "a respected and reliable part of the independent music community," as you purport to be? I know Kanye West is the new Chuck D or whatever but fuck if I wanted to hear about how "crunk" fucking T.I. is I'd turn on fucking MTV. FUCK YOU PITCHFORK AND YOUR FUCKING 3,000 WORD REVIEWS. What's even cooler are how all the dudes who write the reviews for pitchfork assume this air of superior awareness of musical nuance. IF YOU KNOW SO MUCH ABOUT THAT SHIT WHY ARE YOU WRITING FOR FREE FOR SOME WACK ASS SPOCK SITE WHOSE TOP 10 SINGLES OF THE YEAR INCLUDE BRITNEY SPEARS AND JAY-Z? I guess trust funders and lawyers and whoever else has the time to write massive tomes on the new Fiery Furnaces record are in fact the ones most aware of the pulse of independent rock music. Maybe that's why indie rock sucks fat ass cocks right now.

Monday, December 20, 2004

Zen and the Art of Gettling Googled

So doing donkey work for shitty bands is finally starting to payoff; I got hired to write the new bio for one of my favorite bands of all time Reggie and The Full Effect. So, being that they sent me the new album (which rocks dicks) and whatever, snd since no one else on the internet has that shit posted I ficgured I'd throw up the tracklisting and bring my boy some traffic. YOU READ THIS SHIT BRIAN BROPHY?SEE THE SHIT I DO FOR THE CAUSE MANNNG? If you are someone who gets to this entry for whatever reason immediately go out and buy every Reggie and the Full Effect record on the fucking shelf. Don't download that shit; a brother's got to eat and the Get Up Kids probably ain't selling these days. If you are someone from Vagrant Records whos searches this shit, I hope you don't get pissed or anything. JUST TRYING TO HYPE YOUR SHIT BRO! Building the buzz, viral marketing, KNOW WHAT I'M SAYING, NINJA?



Reggie and the Full Effect
Songs Not To Get Married To

1.What the Hell is Contempt
2.Get Well Soon
3.What the Hell is Stipulation
4.Caving (this song is on some serious shit)
5.The Trooth
6.Guess Who's Back
7.Take me Home Please
8.Thanks For The Misery
9.The Fuck Stops Here
10.Love Reality
11.Laura's Australian Dance Party
12.Dethnortronic
13.Playing Dead

Friday, December 17, 2004

XmasX

All I Want for Christmas: Since I already have more than my fair share of two front teeth (as anyone who’s seen my beaver-toothed grill can attest) the things I desire this Christmas are a bit more on the idealistic side, meaning they aren’t really even things so much as requests. You see, as I slowly become an old man, I find myself valuing less the material things in life, and more the subtle aspects of existence. But unlike material things — which can be protected by vigilance and force if necessary — these whimsical pleasures are hard to shield from the collective dumbness of humanity. Thus, I present my humble Christmas requests, in the hope that they will be fulfilled and my life will be all the more pleasant for it...

Uggs Aint Crunk: It’s like this: I know that you watched Pocahontas hella times and I know that Paris Hilton is your hero, but Uggs are not cool anymore, if they ever were in the first place. It’s not even worth explaining: if you genuinely think that wearing knee-high moccasins is fashion, then you definitely should consult an expert. Uggs are bad enough on the girls who roll to Starbucks in their pajamas and LV bags for their breakfast frappachino or whatever but even worse are the girls who get all spiffed up for a day on campus—do their hair, put on their ass skirts— then slap on their fucking Uggs like they’re about to get on the Oregon Trail. Lame.

Louder is Not Better: Once upon a time, when our ape-like ancestors were wandering the plains of Africa, hollering, banging sticks and making loud noises of any sort was probably a potent method of asserting oneself as being a man not to be fucked with. “Look at me! I make loud fucking noises! Cower in fear of my loud-ass noises!” Unfortunately, mankind has failed to evolve in this area. Even more unfortunate is that our increasing mastery of technology and machinery has allowed meathead dudes to create even louder and more frequent loud-ass noises than ever before, with little or no actual physical exertion. By far the most conspicuous culprit these days is the seemingly misnamed “muffler” on automobiles. Once upon a time, a muffler was meant to quell the mechanical noise of a car’s engine, and even in the recent past, a quieter car was deemed superior in quality to a louder one. Somewhere along the line, however, someone decided that it’s be really awesome to make their car as loud as possible, to make their presence felt on the road, to make sure that eyes were turned in their direction and the instinctual fear reflex was momentarily ignited within people within earshot of their beastly machine. But its gotten out of hand. Now every little fucker in his mom’s old Honda goes straight to Neüspeed-knockoff store and slaps a fucking bullhorn on their primered, Pep Boys rims rice-rocket. Even worse are the dudes who supposedly represent “the cowboy way,” with their jacked-up pick-ups and flowmasters tearing through town before heading home to Gridley or wherever, turning my Sunday stroll through downtown into a vulgarity filled hellride. Because of course that’s the first thing you think of when you think cowboy, is a loud fucking machine belching out noise. Get a fucking horse.

Not the ‘80s: Despite what MTV and the Urban Outfitters catalog want you to think, the ‘80s are not “back,” they aren’t “hot,” they ain’t shit except played out. Sure, it was cute at first, the whole “Haha, look I’m totally wearing ‘80s clothes! Look, my band has keyboards!’ but now shit has gotten out of control. The ‘80s weren’t even cool the first time, and they are far less cool the second time. If you’re gonna jock some retro shit, at least do something creative, like the 1870s. Considering that we’re voting ourselves back to moral fascism anyway, we might as dress like Victorians.

Know Your Limits: The thing about trying to be all fashionable is, that some people can wear certain things and some people can’t. But these days no one seems to know the limits. I mean, on some girls, a short skirt, though still somewhat tasteless, can look decent. But the problem is the girls who try to put the proverbial square peg in the round hole. Sometimes ass cheeks are not a welcome site. Ladies, please do not let your friends embarrass themselves. There is nothing wrong with being a thicker woman. However, you can’t dress like Twiggy and let your topography show. Same goes for dudes. Sure all the scrawny dudes in all the sweet XemoX bands are wearing like totally tight black shirts and painted on jeans, and your anorexic friend Johnny from your church youth group looked totally awesome last week in his tight-ass Scars of Tomorrow shirt and eBay Diesels. But if you’re a chubby fucker, don’t make a fool out of yourself. I can sympathize. Being a fat white dude with no ass sucks. But it a truth better lived with than concealed. Fat dudes have more fun ( and more importantly, girls have more fun with fat dudes).

Thou Shalt Not Worship False Idols: Its hurts to even have to say it but I will: Paris Hilton is not a role model. Neither is any dude who raps or plays in a band, anyone in the Bible or anyone with 1000 friends on MySpace. Likewise, just because your parents/older/brother/teacher/friend on AIM says some shit is cool, doesn’t mean it is. Figure shit out for yourself and maybe one day you will reach enlightenment. Like me.


Wednesday, December 15, 2004

One More Reason White Dudes Wish they Could Be Black



Gangster shit

I'm Addicted to Meth

I'm also addicted to meth now. But it's pseudo-meth or at least that's what it says on the package next to where it says all the reasons why you shouldn't take it. I LOVE MEDICINE



Rail a filthy vulgarity hell ride at me
Shoot my harmony joyride music down
Turn me away so I can't catch any Pace joy bus routes
Keep me stuck in the pain chamber of Chico, California

Make sure I'm out screwing up
Make sure I'm out screwing up
Make sure I'm out screwing up
Make sure I'm out screwing up

Torment me with lies in front of my friends
Call me a fucking bum like I'm a con man
Call me a fucking jerk like I'm a rapist
Call me a fucking asshole like I'm an arsonist
Take me on a series of war hell rides with every CTA bus ride

Make sure I'm out screwing up
Make sure I'm out screwing up
Make sure I'm out screwing up
Make sure I'm out screwing up

Rough me up so I can holler like a damn fool
Get me arrested and taken to jail by the Chico police
Make me bust my portable CD player to smithereens
Kill all my good time music
Turn my Sunday sightseeing bus tour into a nerve-shattering hell ride

Make sure I'm out screwing up
Make sure I'm out screwing up
Make sure I'm out screwing up
Make sure I'm out screwing up

Mad World

So I'm officially mentally insane. 5 nights of fever hellride have shattered what little piece of mind I have left. In other news, there is this disease called Treacher Collins Syndrome where people are born with no face bones, or sometimes no face at all




more





How does that make you feel?

Wednesday, December 08, 2004

It's Raining Now



And I'm walking around in it with a phone with a camera on it taking pictures of myself. VAN GOGH AINT GOT SHIT ON ME.

In other news I'm going to write a 1001 page book. RESERVE YOUR COPY TODAY.

I've also found that writing a little bit, then emphasizing the end of what you're saying with all caps WORKS REALLY WELL.

It's 1 in the morning and I still a few hours at least of editing stories about wedding planning and persimmon recipes and my life is completely devoid of really any meaning except that tomorrow I can drink more coffee because right now STARBUCKS IS CLOSED. We've been drinking some coffee lately.



If you want to teach me how to hack let me know. I'm tired of living the straight life. I want to be like Jack Kerouac only without all the hitchhiking and whatever. I want to be like Herman Mellville without all the boats and shit. I want to see world without looking.

Monday, December 06, 2004

CRED


Pinback, The Album Leaf & The Advantage
Harlow’s, Sacramento
Monday, November 29th

The eternal variable in live entertainment, the fact that it is unfolding live at that very moment, can be both a blessing and a curse. The latter was certainly the case for perennial indie rock heroes Pinback at Monday’s show, as frontman Rob Crow coughed his way through a nasty cold, valiantly struggling to meet the expectations of the assembled masses and match the lofty standard set by the show’s spectacular openers, Sacramento spocks The Advantage and the instrumental destroyers The Album Leaf.
The Advantage enjoyed a rather large hometown following for their opening set, and for good reason; though the fact that their repertoire consists only of theme songs for old Nintendo games may sound like a gimmick, the band powers through the songs with prog-like wizardry and has an astounding knack for authentically rendering both the sound and feel of the originals. The best part of the whole thing is that the band never breaks stride, never tries to throw any original bullshit in the mix, never tries to add any vocals to the cuts. The Advantage merely blow through their set — from the theme to Double Dragon 2, to a medley of songs from Castlevania — with gangster intensity. After a guest appearance by Pinback’s Crow, The Advantage played a cut from one or another of the Zelda games and ceded the stage to The Album Leaf.
Similar to their predecessors, The Album Leaf eschewed vocals for sheer instrumental power, though their approach was vastly more serious and in-depth. Only four members strong, The Album Leaf packed the stage with enough gear — two laptops, a Fender Rhodes, assorted Moogs and other synths, two guitars, a violin and a drum set — for a band four times their size, and their sound certainly corresponded. Initially the solo-studio project of Jimmy LaValle (The Locust, GoGoGo Airheart, Tristeza), the Album Leaf’s brand of Sigur Rós-ish ambient indie wash definitely translates well to the live band setting. Playing in front of a projected backdrop of random video images, the band flawlessly segued one song into the next and seemed in complete command of their musical robots. But soon their time passed, and they began the Herculean task of dismantling their gear.
After a while, the dynamic duo of Rob Crow and Zach Smith, otherwise known as Pinback, took the stage with an assembled band of backing musicians, including a drummer and a couple keyboard donkeys. At the outset the band seemed ill at ease, with Crow apologizing profusely — sometimes in the middle of songs — for his cold, and the rest of the band having an equally hard time: Smith breaking a bass string in the middle of a song and trying desperately to replace it while the band repeated the chord changes ad nauseum; various gear malfunctions befalling the aforementioned keyboardists; Crow stomping the wrong pedal during the buildup of “Offline PK.” But the crowd seemed more than forgiving, and as the band’s set progressed, the kinks began to work themselves out, much to the delight of the dedicated faithful in assembly. And as the band played on, into the wee hours of the night, those who had come to revel in the spectacle could leave, satiated with the knowledge that what they had just witnessed — good, or otherwise — was indeed spontaneous, visceral, being broadcast directly at the time of production into their ears and hearts.
– Daniel Taylor
– Photo by Melissa Welliver

Saturday, December 04, 2004

The Nascar Nightly News: Anchorman Get Your Gun

READ THIS:


By FRANK RICH
The New York Times

IF Democrats want to run around like fools trying to persuade voters in red America that they are kissing cousins to Billy Graham, Minnie Pearl and Li'l Abner, that's their problem. Pandering, after all, is what politicians do, especially politicians as desperate as the Democrats. But when TV news organizations start repositioning themselves to pander to Nascar dads and "moral values" voters, it's a problem for everyone.

There's a war on. TV remains by far the most prevalent source of news for Americans. We need honest information to help us navigate, not bunkum skewed to flatter one segment of the country, whatever that segment might be. Yet here's how Jeff Zucker, the NBC president, summed up the attributes of Brian Williams, Tom Brokaw's successor, to Peter Johnson of USA Today: "No one understands this Nascar nation more than Brian." Mr. Zucker was in sync with his boss, Bob Wright, the NBC Universal chairman, who described America as a "red state world" on the eve of Mr. Brokaw's retirement. Though it may come as news to those running NBC, we actually live in a red-and-blue-state country, in a world that increasingly hates all our states without regard to our provincial obsession with their hues. Nonetheless, Mr. Williams, who officially took over as anchor on Dec. 2, is seeking a very specific mandate. "The New York-Washington axis can be a journalist's worst enemy," he told Mr. Johnson, promising to spend his nights in the field in "Dayton and Toledo and Cincinnati and Denver and the middle of Kansas." (So much for San Francisco - or Baghdad.)

I don't mean to single out Mr. Williams, who is prone to making such statements while wearing suits that reek of "New York-Washington axis" money and affectation. But when he talks in a promotional interview of how he found the pulse of the nation in Cabela's, a popular hunting-and-fishing outfitter in Dundee, Mich., and boasts of owning both an air rifle and part interest in a dirt-track stock-car team, he is declaring himself the poster boy for a larger shift in our news culture. He is eager to hunt down an audience, not a story.

He's not an isolated case. You know red is de rigueur when ABC undertakes the lunatic task of trying to repackage the last surviving evening news anchor, the heretofore aggressively urbane Peter Jennings, as a sentimental populist. In a new spot for "World News Tonight," Mr. Jennings tells us that "this is a really hopeful nation, and I think there's a great beauty in that." This homily is not only factually inaccurate - most Americans continue to tell pollsters that the nation is on the wrong track - but is also accompanied by a tinkling music-box piano and a montage leaning on such Kodak tableaus as a fishing cove, a small-town front porch and a weather-beaten man driving a car with a flag decal. Mr. Jennings is a smart newsman, but his just-folks incarnation is about as persuasive as Teresa Heinz Kerry's chow-down photo op at Wendy's.

If the Nascarization of news were only about merchandising, it would be a source of laughter more than concern. But the insidious leak of the branding into the product itself has already begun. Last Sunday morning both NBC's "Meet the Press" and ABC's "This Week" had roundtable discussions about - what else? - the "moral values" fallout of the election. Each show assembled a bevy of religious and quasi-religious leaders and each included a liberal or two. But though much of the "values" debate centered on abortion and gay marriage, neither panel contained a woman, let alone an openly gay cleric. Allowing such ostentatiously blue interlopers into the "values" club might frighten the horses - or at least the hunting dogs.

A creepier example of the shift toward red news could also be found last weekend when ABC's prime-time magazine show "20/20" aired an hourlong "investigation" into the brutal 1998 murder of Matthew Shepard in the red state of Wyoming. "20/20" added little except hyperventilation to previous revisionist accounts of the story, most notably JoAnn Wypijewski's 1999 Harper's article filling in the role crystal meth might have played in driving the crime. But ABC had obtained the first TV interviews with the killers and seemed determined to rehabilitate their images along the way. The reporter, Elizabeth Vargas, told us that while the pair had been "variously portrayed in press reports as 'rednecks' and 'trailer trash,' " they were actually just all-American everymen with "steady jobs, steady girlfriends and classically troubled backgrounds." Aaron McKinney, the killer who beat Shepard into an unrecognizable pulp, wasn't even challenged on camera when he said he had "gay friends" (none of whom were produced or persuavely vouched for by ABC) and that he had only invoked a homophobic "gay panic" defense in his trial because that's what the lawyers told him to do. What's not to like about the guy?

As chance would have it, this episode of "20/20" ran opposite the special "Dateline NBC" farewell to Mr. Brokaw. There could hardly be a more dramatic illustration of the changing of the tone, as well as of the guard, in network news.

Though the retrospective paid tribute, as Mr. Brokaw often has, to his roots in deeply red South Dakota, the career highlights that unfurled were not tied to any agenda but the stories the anchor reported. The newsmakers who made freshly shot guest appearances in the program to augment Mr. Brokaw's own accounts included not just George H. W. Bush and Norman Schwarzkopf but also Betty Friedan (who talked of how women of the 1950's "were supposed to have orgasms waxing the kitchen floor"), the AIDS activist Larry Kramer (whom Mr. Brokaw identified as his friend), Tom Hayden and, for the Watergate recap, a "former impeachment committee staffer" who happened to be Hillary Clinton. If Mr. Brokaw were arriving as anchor instead of leaving, this genuinely fair-and-balanced account of his career would have been vilified by the right-wing press and blogosphere 24/7 - assuming the red-state-besotted suits at NBC would have allowed him anywhere near the anchor chair in the first place.

That both Mr. Brokaw and Dan Rather are going into retirement in the aftermath of the election is a coincidence of timing but widely seen as a fateful one. It's been a cue to roll out once more the funeral rites for network news. We know the litany. The evening newscasts' ratings have been sinking for years, their budgets slashed, their audience forever slipping into the pharmaceutical demographic. The investigation into Mr. Rather's apparent reliance on forged documents in a "60 Minutes" exposé of President Bush's National Guard record is an added embarrassment, perhaps rivaling Rupert Murdoch's publication of the "authenticated" Hitler diaries two decades ago. But the perennial demise of network news has been the slowest final curtain in the history of show business, and is likely to continue indefinitely. All three network newscasts, not to mention the morning-news franchises led by "Today," draw exponentially more viewers than even Fox News's top-rated hits and make tons of money. Though more and more Americans use the Web as a news source, even there they often turn to the sites run by TV news. In the real world of 2004, it's still a TV culture - just look at the flat-screen set breaking some relative's bank this Christmas.

And so network news still counts. The idea, largely but not exclusively fomented by the right, that TV news might somehow soon be supplanted by blogging as a mass medium may remain a populist fantasy until Americans are able to receive blogs by iPod. (At which point they become talk radio.) The dense text in the best blogs often requires as much of a reader's time and concentration as high-end print journalism, itself facing declining circulation. Since blogging doesn't generate big (if any) profits, there's no budget for its "citizen reporters" to reliably blanket catastrophic and far-flung breaking news. (There are no bloggers among the 36 journalists thus far killed in the Iraq war.) Bloggers can fact-check documents (as in the Rather case), opine, organize, talk back, leak early exit polls and publish multimedia outings of the seemingly endless supply of closeted gay Republican officials. But if bloggers are actually doing front-line reporting rather than commenting upon the news in a danger zone like Falluja, chances are that they are underwritten by a day job on the payroll of a major news organization.

Kevin Sites, the freelance TV cameraman who caught a marine shooting an apparently unarmed Iraqi prisoner in a mosque, is one such blogger. Mr. Sites is an embedded journalist currently in the employ of NBC News. To NBC's credit, it ran Mr. Sites's mid-November report, on a newscast in which Mr. Williams was then subbing for Mr. Brokaw, and handled it in exemplary fashion. Mr. Sites avoided any snap judgment pending the Marines' own investigation of the shooting, cautioning that a war zone is "rife with uncertainty and confusion." But loud voices in red America, especially on blogs, wanted him silenced anyway. On right-wing sites like freerepublic.com Mr. Sites was branded an "anti-war activist" (which he is not), a traitor and an "enemy combatant." Mr. Sites's own blog, touted by Mr. Williams on the air, was full of messages from the relatives of marines profusely thanking the cameraman for bringing them news of their sons in Iraq. That communal message board has since been shut down because of the death threats by other Americans against Mr. Sites.

The attempt to demonize and censor Mr. Sites simply for doing his job is not an anomaly. Last spring The New York Post smeared Associated Press television cameramen as having "a mutually beneficial relationship with the insurgents in Falluja" simply because their cameras captured the horrific images of the four American contract workers slaughtered there. Well before the National Guard fiasco at CBS, red-state news-hounds tried to discredit Mr. Rather's scoop on the photos of Abu Ghraib as overblown if not treasonous. This hysterical rage at the networks is a testament to their continued power - specifically the power of pictures in each of these cases.

Such examples notwithstanding, the networks were often cautious about challenging government propaganda even before the election. (Follow-ups to the original Abu Ghraib story quickly fell off TV's radar screen.) As far back as last spring Ted Koppel's roll-call of the American dead on "Nightline," in which the only images were beatific headshots, was condemned as a shocking breach of decorum by the mostly red-state ABC affiliates that refused to broadcast it. If full-scale Nascarization is what's coming next, there will soon be no pictures but those promising a mission accomplished, no news but good news. And that's good news only if you believe America has something to gain by fighting a war in the dark.

Thursday, December 02, 2004

BREAKING NEWS: KEITH RICHARDS USED DRUGS



So the thing that sucks about people in general, is that they read USA Today or whatever and watch the 10'o'clock News and feel like they know what’s going on in the world. For example, one of last week’s big stories were that large retailers such as Target, Costco, and a whole litany of big-ass stores were implementing a ban on those annually annoying Salvation Army bell-ringers. And every fucking newspaper, news show and bland Web news warehouse were running it like it was some huge, tragic story. I mean who would have ever guessed giant corporations don’t give a shit about poor people?! What a compelling human interest story! They had the obligatory tales of woe from dudes bored enough to volunteer to stand and ring a bell all day, that they wouldn’t be able to raise as much money without their pots in front of Target and so forth. What a shocker! Who would have thought that Americans have to have some fucker ringing a bell in their face to actually give any sort of money to charity? The other big story, splashed across the entire front page of the San Francisco Chronicle in the font usually reserved for “Crazy Fuckers Crash Planes Into World Trade Center” or “OJ Set Free,” was the stunning revelation that former Oakland As star Jason Giambi had admitted to taking steroids. OMG! What’s next? Keith Richards admitting to drug use? How is even news that a Herculean-biceped baseball player who went from nobody to MVP with a few stealthy ass injections finally admitted what any rational person knew anyone, let alone worthy of the entire front page of a world-distributed daily newspaper. I guess what’s sad about the whole thing is that while people immerse themselves in pleasantly trivial bullshit “news,” things that actually matter get put on the back burner, if they even get reported at all. Like a report last week from California Congressman Henry Waxman detailing how 11 of the 13 most prevalent federally funded abstinence education programs blatantly “underestimate the effectiveness of condoms in preventing pregnancy and the spread of disease, exaggerate the prevalence of emotional and physical distress following abortion, blur science and religion or get fundamental scientific facts wrong.” These programs—funded to the tune of $170 million dollars this year—taught, as fact, shit like a 43-day-old foetus was a "thinking person", that condoms fail to prevent HIV transmission in heterosexual intercourse up to 31 percent of the time, and that HIV can be spread through sweat or tears. AHH, EDUCATION! We of course know how well it works when we teach children about how dangerous things are. Just look at how we’ve eliminated juvenile drug and alcohol abuse! The moral of the story, I guess, would be stop reading this piece of shit blog and seek out actual news somewhere, if you can find it. Or not. Whatever.