Is It Really The End of the World or Just A Snowstorm?

Apologies, first of all, to those of you who are truly in a blizzard. Washington, Virginia, New Jersey, Long Island, I get it. This is some serious snow.

This is directed at the media.

Wolf Blitzer was so excited by the snow that he donned his hat and scarf and walked outside the CNN Washington studios to show us deserted streets. That's probably the best thing I've seen Wolf do in a long time. But the New York stations were downright ridiculous.

NBC dragged Chuck Scarborough into the studio and cancelled all their programming to yammer on and on about the fact that it was snowing.

"Better leave early for work," they warned at a time when you can be certain anyone who WAS going to go to work was already on the way.

"Leave your car behind." Ditto.

All day long they had video of kids sledding, people trudging through the snow, cars crawling along the road.

Isn't this New York? Doesn't it snow here in the winter? Do we really have to act as though this is a major disaster?

It seems to me that a storm that is likely to result in one snow day for the local schools just isn't much of a storm.

I see this as a symptom of the 24 hour news cycle. As soon as anything happens, anything at all, the newsrooms go into hysterical overdrive, covering and covering and covering it until it's absolutely smothered.

Excuse me, weren't we all just in a lather on Monday (sorry - you were, not me) about the governor's supposed scandalous behavior which the NY Times was going to publish? Wasn't he going to resign?

Not only did the governor not resign, he soundly thrashed the Times for spreading rumors without actually providing any facts, or even a story. There's still no story in the Times.

And by golly there was another rumor about the governor today, this time involving ethics. The news organizations pounced on it like starving wolverines.

They've got time to fill. They need stories. And we've apparently reached the point where we report rumors if we don't have fact.



I have no opinion on the governor but I'm disgusted by the press, my colleagues.
We're becoming Chicken Little, screaming the sky is falling every time a flake falls from the sky, every time someone whispers there might be a story that could bring down a public figure.

I've sometimes felt like being a reporter is not far different from being a professional gossip. It feels even worse now.

Now That's Journalism!

Found this in my inbox this morning. I love this idea! Finally, we're using all the technology that allows us to be heard all over the world to talk to each other!

http://www.groundreport.com

Dear GroundReporters,

A week ago we launched Talk To US, a groundbreaking citizen journalism segment on TV news program Worldfocus.



Every month Talk To US asks the global community a different question about the news, and citizen journalists like you upload video responses across the globe. The best video responses are aired live as part of Worldfocus.



The first question is "What's your advice for President Barack Obama?"



Respond now by uploading your video to GroundReport.com.

We know that this is an incredible opportunity: your message could be broadcast on air to television sets across America. But we also know that this kind of great, sophisticated video takes work.



That's why for this question, the first 100 video responses will each receive a $5 USD bounty for their hard work. To qualify, you must meet the following guidelines:



1. You must live outside the United States and be a non-US citizen.

2. Your video must be 1:00 (one minute) or less in length.

3. Your video resolution must be good enough for TV.

4. You may submit multiple entries, but we will only distribute one bounty per reporter.

5. You must submit by February 15, 2009.

6. All videos published through GroundReport are automatically entered.



The deadline is soon, so get going! Login and upload your video to GroundReport today.



At worst, you'll make $5, and at best, you'll be on TV. It's a pretty good deal.



GroundReport has a history of supporting compelling citizen journalism by compensating our reporters for their hard work. We hope to see more incredible stories come from this initiative.

What About The News?

The Trib is in trouble. The Times is preparing to mortgage its Manhattan offices. Newspapers are cutting staff, cutting corners and cutting their wrists.

It seems inevitable. The Upstart Internet, the blog, the online magazine all offer the news for free and right at our fingertips whenever we want it.

Take it from an insider - when the papers go, the news will suffer. As someone who's worked for an online paper, a television network affiliate and local and regional radio, I can say with authority that the papers are where most broadcast news get the stories they cover. The other media don't have the time, they don't have the staff - they've never been able to do the in-depth, investigative work that newspapers do with the same regularity that the papers offer.

It's not that broadcast journalists aren't capable. They just aren't given the time. How can you break a story when you've got two others to file that day while you're investigating it? Some broadcast journalists do more than two - I remember doing as many as five in one day when I was a young, energetic TV reporter.

Even now I try to break stories before they make the paper - but by the time I've spent two weeks squeezing in interviews between the daily stories, I'm generally reading about my story in the paper.

Newspapers break the stories. Broadcast news follows up and expands the scope. That's how it's been forever. And once the newspapers are gone, the base of the news foundation will be gone, too. The other news media will adjust, but it'll take time. And the news will be pretty pitiful stuff for awhile. They'll all be cannibalizing each other's stories and fighting for exclusives while news is breaking just a mile down the road. There won't be the staff to cover it.

The trouble isn't just hitting newspapers. NPR announced it's cancelling two programs and laying off 64 employees. Watch the cuts continue in the broadcast world. Good thing Wolf and John re-upped with CNN. They're going to be needed if the rest of the staff ends up with pink slips. Perhaps the CNN i-Report idea is going to be the newsroom of the future. Grab your iPhone, get some pictures and send it to the news. Voila. You're a journalist.

Just remember - it's who, what, when, where, why and how. And never say somebody did the deed until they're convicted. We don't want our citizen journalists to get sued for libel.

What I Learned From the Election

Now that the dust has nearly settled (we still don't know about that filibuster-proof Senate yet, do we?) I've realized I've gotten a lot of lessons from the election of 2008. And I'm a big believer in taking note of lessons learned, since if you ignore them they tend to come up over and over.

1. People are easily scared: Hillary's three ayem phone ad was, according to polls, actually effective. Obama was seen as the less-steady hand, the shaking newby who would crack under pressure. Seems pretty silly now, doesn't it? The man's proving to be a rock - and a confident one.

2. Scared people get angry: Once the fear of Obama was spread around thickly enough, people reacted with anger. Who can forget the Republican crowds screaming "terrorist!" "Kill him!" And that anger turned against John McCain when he tried to reassure them they had nothing to fear from an Obama presidency. And these were his supporters!

3. Scared people will latch onto things that make them feel safer. Conservatives clutched Just Sarah From Wausilla to their hearts. She was young, she was pretty and she was absolutely certain everything was going to be okay. Progressives held Obama equally tight. Ditto. Luckily for Just Sarah, she's not going to be held accountable for this poop soup that used to be our economy. Our president-elect, you must admit, is a brave soul. I wouldn't want to take this job on.

4. Even scared people can be won over. I have some very conservative relatives. One of them will also freely admit to being a racist. So imagine my surprise when, in a recent conversation, he told me he "didn't think too badly of Obama" anymore. "He's certainly smart," he told me, "and he seems to be sincerely trying to fix things. I wish him well and hope he can do it." Score one for the Obama Team.

5. The people in charge don't necessarily know more than I do. It's a holdover from childhood - this assumption that if you're in charge, you must know more than me. You'd think that eight years of George W. Bush would have beaten that out of me. But it took Hank Paulson to do it once and for all. The poor man is clearly in way over his head - he's trying to come up with a rescue plan without a firm handle on what might work and a mandate to take care of old pals....but don't forget to not totally alienate public opinion! Remember that old Star Trek episode where Kirk used logic to short out the bad robot? "You say you are lying, but you tell the truth..." Paulson's conflicting imperatives are forcing a series of epic flip flops and I am expecting to soon see steam coming from his ears as his circuits overheat. I believe this problem is going to take a committee - a bunch of smart people bouncing it around until they come up with a plan...not a unilateral fix that is politically expedient. Score another for the Obama Transition - the team's gelling.

6. The media is ridiculous. Yes, I know. I'm one of them. But really. It's downright embarrassing. Because cable and satellite have created a 24 hour news cycle, the news shows most resemble a bunch of old people sitting around a table hashing and rehashing the same topic as they play canasta. "Is this change or just more of the same?" "Should Obama be keeping a lower profile?" "Is Obama taking charge too soon?" "Which dog will the Obama's get?"
It's the same stuff over and over and over and there's rarely anything new. When there is, everyone pounces on it like a pack of dogs in an alley. Pretty soon it's so mangled there's nothing left but a little bone.

7. Rachel Maddow and Jon Stewart rock. Jon Stewart is my favorite media watchdog. He's smart, he's willing to take on the people he likes as well as the ones he disagrees with, and he's essentially good hearted. This man brought on the tightly wound Bill O'Reilly and offered him not a tongue lashing, but a cup of cocoa and a teddy bear. It was a dig, but there was an element of sincerity. Stewart's essential warmth (remember him after 9-11) and obvious idealism make him the critic with a heart. And man, does the media need to be watched. Opinion masquerades as news everywhere now.
Maddow has a similar warmth. She may be progressive, she may be snarky, but she's human. When she says she's been waiting years for infrastructure to get sexy, you know she means it - and she's thrilled that it's happening. She's not standing on the sidelines jeering, she's emotionally in the middle of things and talking about things that she believes matter. I can't watch the news much now - it makes me twitch. But Stewart and Maddow still tell me what they're thinking most nights.

8. I Don't Know Much. I never thought I knew much...lots of people had more information and lots more opinions. I've come to realize I know very little - and any opinions I hold are subject to change as more information becomes available. I think the good thing is once you know you don't know much, you're willing to listen and learn. I'm listening.

Perception is Everything

We don't just watch presidential debates anymore. We watch, we watch other people watch, we watch a graph show us how independent voters react, we watch news people tell us how they did and how we think it went.

I watched the last debate. It was a tough choice, as our inattentiveness apparently torpedoed Joe Torre's chances to go to the World Series with his Dodgers. I feel bad about that.

But it felt important to know how John McCain and Barack Obama would handle this last face to face meeting. And I know what I thought, but I was amazed how much more information I got thanks to the voracious appetite of the 24 hour news cycle.

CNN's roundtable of experts, many of whom I enjoy thoroughly, were unanimous - this was McCain's best debate yet. Obama, they said, was 'flat' and 'professorial.'

But as the polls of viewers came in, the tone changed. Yes, McCain had some good moments and started off strong, but polls (in their infinitely important way) clearly showed that voters walked away perceiving Obama as the stronger candidate. His numbers improved, while McCain's fell yet again. And then the talk began about why that might be.

"Those reaction shots killed him," I heard.

That's my opinion, too. McCain has the unfortunate habit of looking angry even when he's trying to smile. His 'fighter' persona comes across as hostile. He widened his eyes in mock shock on a few occasions, and it triggered memories of every angry, closed-minded discussion I ever had with my father. I loved my dad, but I didn't enjoy those discussions and I instinctively cringe from that body language.

Obama's 'professorial' demeanor was fine with me. He appears steady and deliberate and very, very difficult to rattle. His temper flared briefly just for a moment or two, but I've said before that I like that - I want to know he CAN get angry, I just want him to have it under control. He did.

And what about those stupid graphs we watched as the debate went on? Women clearly were happier with what they were hearing from the Democrat. And men? What were they doing? Those lines were all over the place on several occasions...like they were grabbing for a snack and hit the button by accident, or maybe playing with the knob to watch the lines move. It seemed to have no relation to what was being said. What those lines did was distract me from what the candidates were saying. I don't need another source to tell me what people are thinking. This isn't politics by committee - when we go in that voting booth we'll each be totally alone.

Today we'll see what the pundits say. Their initial enthusiasm for McCain will be tempered by the fact that voters apparently didn't agree with them. I think McCain did a fine job, as good as he's capable of doing. He made some points that I agreed with, or at least understood his point of view. But his barely repressed anger, his dogged refusal to give up a point when it's been answered time and time again and his insistence that he knows what to do...when I'm convinced this situation is so complex that right now NO ONE knows exactly what will work, made the difference between the candidates clear.

Disaster as Spectator Sport

I'm amazed by the media coverage of Hurricane Ike.

I sat, eyes glued to the television, and watched reporters being pummeled by high winds and roaring surf as satellite connections blinked out and they told us about the danger to people who hadn't evacuated Galveston yet.

One thought kept going through my mind, and after an hour or so I was actually yelling at the reporters.

"GET OUT!"

Geraldo Rivera, bless him, had the most dramatic moments that I'm aware of. Of course he did. Geraldo has made a career of dramatic moments, starting back when he was a cub reporter in NYC breaking into Willowbrook to show the world how the poor patients there were being neglected.

Today the Internet is full of video of Geraldo getting knocked on his keister by Hurricane Ike. I tuned in later in the evening, but he was still getting blown sideways and soaked as the anchors back in the warm, cozy studio asked him for the latest conditions.

"The nearby hotel," I heard him say, "has already taken a hit from Ike. Bricks have blown off the building."

Bricks blowing off buildings should be a pretty clear indication that it's time to get indoors and find shelter. But no, the American public needs to know what's going on. We need to see the hurricane as it happens. It's gripping video. And that gets ratings.

This is what the media has come to. A natural disaster can be covered as it happens, reporters who want to make a name for themselves can risk their lives to be in the thick of it, and we can all sit at home and tut-tut over the tragedy. And some can laugh as they watch Geraldo blow over again and again.

I saw the movie "Twister." What I watched felt a lot like that, only it was real. So the line between news and entertainment has grown that much blurrier.

Have we become a nation, perhaps even a world, of voyeurs? Do we need to be able to see everything as it happens because it gives us a visceral punch, makes us feel like we've experienced something?

The news has become our pimp...they give us our fix, keep us revved up with scandal, controversy, adrenaline-pumping danger. And we sit back and watch and demand more.

The news will perform a service after the disaster. It will make us aware of people in need, make the aftermath immediate enough that many of us will be moved to help. But what I saw last night was just another disaster movie. I think I'd have been far more impressed if Geraldo had gotten in out of the weather and encouraged everyone else there to do the same.

My Name is Susan and I Have a Perfection Problem

It's interesting how situations can force you to confront your character, showing you things you never wanted to admit about yourself.

This show is a challenge - as I have mentioned, I am doing two jobs at the same time. At first, I was in a panic. I was frantically cranking out edited shows in a desperate attempt to stay a week or two ahead of the air schedule. It's not a good thing when the show date arrives and there's nothing to put there.

Then I had a couple of weeks of low production - I was doing interviews, stockpiling sound from the other sources and beginning to line up the dominoes of future shows in my mind.

As this was going on, I noticed something - I was relaxing my standards for my daily news job. Not that I wasn't getting the stories told, but I was less concerned about being wildly creative or breathtakingly sound-rich. And it bothers me. My fixation on doing a good job led to three awards for three different stories in 2008 and I'm prouder of that achievement than I admit to myself. I don't see any awards coming from the stories I've produced since taking over The Show With Issues.

Perhaps I'm a perfectionist?

It seems unlikely, really. I'm not a meticulous person - when I paint a room, I make a mess and clean up the slop later. I clean house but I miss the dustballs in the corner. When I write I tend to go with my first draft with very few revisions. That doesn't sound like a perfectionist to me.

Yet when I noticed that I was also making The Show less complex, easier to edit and basically cutting corners to make my life a little easier, it bothered me. A lot. The Show and my news stories have me all over them...it's my writing, my name and my voice. And I want who I am to be identified with something really, really good.

Yet this past week, I did the usual seven stories for the daily news, plus cranked out four (yes four!) half hour edited shows. As I filed the last one, I got an email back from my supervisor saying, "Okay, insane lady." And I had to agree. Why on earth am I pushing so hard to be the most stellar worker on the planet?

I don't think I am looking for public acclaim (although that's up for discussion and thought as well) but I most certainly want the people I work with to say "Good job!" when that's what I've done.

So am I going to drive myself into the ground trying to be so terrific that my colleagues will not be able to avoid giving me kudos? That's sick. Or am I so horrified by incompetence that I go overboard to make sure I never get stuck with that label?

I am finding that the one part of the job where I thought I was weak is becoming a strength- I interview well. The people I'm talking with are thoroughly enjoying themselves and the resulting interviews are fascinating - we go in depth in a hurry.

I spoke with two authors on books about the Iraq war and its connection with big oil. We covered the bases in twenty minutes and had a good time doing it. Then I spoke with actress Laila Robins for the arts segment of the show and we ended up having a really good discussion about violence in the movies and on stage and what that means about our society. It's nowhere either of us thought we'd be going, but we poked around and she had some really strong opinions that I think the listeners are going to find compelling.

So goody - Perfect Me has something to feel good about. But Perfect Me isn't so happy with the quality of her day to day work, and Perfect Me is noticing every compromise in The Show. Where I plugged in two or three songs between stories, I now do one. I'm getting it down to a formula, and that makes it far easier to do. But something's being lost because of a time crunch and I'm sorry to see it go.

A Bellyflop into the Deep End of the Blog

Intro:

I've been writing about my experiences as host of a nationally syndicated radio show for a couple of weeks. But I haven't shown it to anyone. I might get in trouble.

But I've decided not to worry about it. I spoke with Judith O'Reilly, whose blog "Wife in the North" has become a sensation in the UK and I've decided to put it all out here in the intergalactic netweb, as my Handsome Significant Other refers to it with appropriate Bush-ian sincerity. If anyone at my place of employment is offended, it's because they don't have a sense of humor. And I don't care for people who can't laugh at themselves. I laugh at myself. Constantly.

So here I will write my ongoing experiences as regional bureau chief for a sprawling-signalled radio station. I will confess my need to be the most amazing worker on the planet which would explain the ease with which I accepted the additional duties of host and producer of a weekly half hour issues show. I will admit that I am powerless to stop trying to be Superwoman. No one else may care. That's alright. I'll just put it out there. If you're reading, welcome aboard.

July 1, 2008

What the hell have I agreed to do? It sounded like fun at first.

“The current host is leaving to get married and go back to school,” the Boss told me, his nasally voice clearly certain he was offering me the opportunity of a lifetime. “We’ve got a replacement for her on the afternoon show…you did say you didn’t want to drive upstate to do that, right?”

That is true. It is an hour drive, gas has recently topped four dollars a gallon and the upstate office is a boiling stress tank.

“I’ve got to tell you…” his voice lowered. Perhaps some more forward member of the staff was standing outside his office door, ear tight to the plywood, whispering to the other desperate souls gathered there. He said…

“I think it was time for an overhaul. I’d like you to take over The Show With Issues." That is what I have begun calling the women’s show our public radio station carried as part of its national programming. “There are tough times coming. There are going to be cutbacks. And although you’re doing a wonderful job for us there in the boondocks bureau, you’re not essential. If you do this, you’ll be essential.”

“So you want me to do both?”

“Yup. It’s only a half hour show once a week…how much can it take?”

And with that attitude my new career as the host of a show heard around the world began.

I had no idea what I was getting into. It’s been a month since that phone call. My first show aired this week. And my stomach has been in constant knots as I fight tears sitting alone in my cozy office in a small upstate New York city.

I’ve been at this station for just over a year. In that time, I’ve moved back to the Catskills, where I grew up. I’ve bought a house I can’t afford. I’m living with a wonderful man who is, unfortunately, an amazingly talented musician. That means he’s usually broke. We’ve put more money than I can think about without being ill into a studio as the economy begins its roaring descent to the bottom of the roller coaster. I won three awards for journalistic excellence. I make less money than my daughter probably will at her new restaurant job. And I just turned fifty one.

The ironic thing is that as I was offered The Show, I was working on developing a show of my own. And it’s now on hold as I try to mold this existing program into something I can be proud of. I have no time for my own idea.

It’s fun. It is. Sometimes. I threw together the first three shows without breathing hard…I used material I already had on adoption for the first two shows…amazing interviews…one with a woman who surrendered her son, found him sixteen years later and became an activist for adoption reform, another with twin sisters who discovered after thirty years that they’d been separated and adopted out as part of a scientific study. I started to put my stamp on the show, adding music, creating profiles of interesting artistic women.

Now the heat is on – the show is airing, I’m not three shows ahead anymore and I’m still doing two stories a day with my reporter hat on. To say I am overwhelmed would not be an exaggeration. To say I’m ready to grab my sweetie, disappear into the night without a forwarding address and start fresh in another country would be spot on.

There are good things about producing and hosting this show. I don’t have a co-host…so there’s no one to coordinate things with. I love to write. I have plenty of ideas. What’s lacking is time. I could do this job full time and make it something I’m really proud of. But instead I get one day a week and an occasional afternoon. I’m fast, but I’m not sure I’m that fast. My Superpowers may not include "writing as fast as a speeding bullet."

My supervisor, the smart young news manager, is a godsend. She’s happy with my work, we like each other, and she understands that I’m absolutely freaking out. She and the dour veteran host of another program are handling the shuffling of papers and filing of reports for me. My responsibilities are the fun things – dreaming up shows, doing interviews, editing the program into an mp3 format. I have no room to complain. But I am. I’m scared. And I’m solely responsible for filling half an hour of air time at 147 radio stations around the country and Armed Forces Radio. I’m in trouble.

July 12, 2008

A Saturday morning, waiting for Handsome Significant Other to pull himself together (his hair takes longer to do than mine!) and shlep down to Brooklyn to move Daughter out of her third floor walkup and into a funky little house ten minutes away from us.

She’s a gem, that girl, and what, to others, might look like aimless wandering reminds me of my own confusion at age 19. She’s handling it far better than I did. She graduated high school, didn’t get into her college of choice and enrolled in a film school in Manhattan. Moved down there all alone into a dismal little box in the Bronx separated from the landlady's apartment by a curtain. She’d never lived outside our small town in Connecticut.

She quickly discovered that proximity to the subway was vital and she was the only blonde, blue-eyed girl in miles. I went down to see her the first weekend and immediately begged her to move. After a few months staying with a friend of HSO’s in Soho, she got an apartment in Brooklyn. She shared it with a sweet and completely unreliable gay boy friend who sometimes paid his share of the rent and sometimes didn’t while she worked for less than minimum wage at a trendy shop. It got old fast.

We rented a van and drove it two hours to the city. Double parked, opened the side doors and were almost immediately sideswiped by a junker car driven by a guy who didn’t mind if he put another dent in his vehicle. In fact, he couldn't figure out which one was the new one. He looked, shook his head and drove off.

We packed her up and drove north.

Her new place is adorable: a funky little house in the country she’ll be sharing with two other girls she met through me.

“I got stung by a bee,” she told me as she carried in another box. “I’m ready to go back to Brooklyn.”

Mother’s guilt begins, and kicks into high gear the next day as she tells me her roommates are non-stop socializers.

“People are coming and going constantly. I don’t want to be the bad guy, but this is my home. I don’t want strangers in and out of here all the time.”

I hear her roommates introducing her to someone new as she’s talking to me on the phone.

“Yeah. Hi.”

“You can tell them to tone it down,” I suggest. “You’re paying rent, too. You’re allowed.”

She sighs. “If it keeps going, I will.”

I hang up the phone and tell HSO.

“She’s not going to like it there,” he says.

I sigh. It's back to work for me tomorrow.