Because It Sells, That's Why

   I'm not real happy with the way this mess in Haiti is getting covered on TV.  To what end will it serve to show the endless footage of the rescued, the injured, the lost souls wandering the street still caked in the cement dust since water is so scarce?

   Where are the political analysts to help the rest of the world understand the history behind the events that caused Haiti to be in shambles even before last week's earthquake? 

    Oh, I'm sorry. They're on NPR, PBS,  the foreign networks and some websites such as http://commondreams.org .  The job of the networks and CNN and Fox is to sell detergent, personal care products, cars, and TVs so they can increase their revenue and get prettier anchors in preparation for the Even Bigger One that threatens to knock California off the map. As if those trinkets could save anyone. They appeal to the perverse part of human nature that slows down to stare at car wrecks despite our parents' admonishments not to do so. 

   Whether it's the morning shows or the evening news, there seems to be an informal competition to see who can report the same story in the most sensational method possible. It's not just the humanitarian or natural disasters that have dragged the above outlets down to the same level as the tabloids. It's the sleazy stories inherent in the political world, items from the world of entertainment that detract from the real issues of the day (yes, Michael Jackson's passing was sad and of note because of his enormous fan base, but tying up coverage of the health care overhaul and the last weeks of Ted Kennedy's life was inexcusable). 

    The time for mourning the initial shock has gone, and we need to get into the nitty-gritty of the world community doing what is right and proper to literally and figuratively stabilize the situation. 

Michael Jackson's Final Bow: Was This Really Necessary?

Two weeks ago, the news didn't just break; it exploded. Michael Jackson died. As I would have at the news of the passage of a classmate I'd been on good terms with, but not close to, a small wave of sadness passed over me.
The first question in an unexpected demise: what happened? Cardiac arrest, yes, but what mechanisim triggered it? Evidence suggests the involvement of prescription drugs, with sources making reference to needlemarked arms and authorities in California invesitgating five doctors. We wait for the results of the autopsy, not expected for another two to four weeks.
In the meantime, we have otherwise credible news sources prying details from the woodwork along with the ubiquitous hanger-oners with forks in hand ready to get their perceived share of the pie. Do we really need to know on a nightly basis how much the casket cost, or other trivial information for the obsessed? No. I questioned the need, except for the obvious chase for the almighty dollar at Michael's expense, to have the funeral televised? But for the last two weeks, specials and tributes have aired, and aspects of the saga have hijacked network news. I don't think so.
What seems to be lost in all of this is that another artist became enslaved by the system that is the mainstream music business, and the twin jailers of isolation and loneliness that no one talks about took his life. Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, and on goes the list of performers who found out through bitter exerience that the top is a lonely place, indeed, even though a luxurious one.
Michael was, like the rest of us, a survivor of a tough childhood, and more than anything wanted to love and be loved for who he was as a person, and not for the glitter illuminated by the light of his talent. The glow of his being--a caring father, someone who treated a group of homeless people to pizza one rainy night in London--was unfairly overshadowed by the focus on his controversial behavior and bad choices. He leaves behind a legacy of songs that bring smiles to many faces.
Godspeed, Michael, Godspeed.

They Drop Like Flies

Attention, all famous people: knock it off with the dying, why don't you?
Last week began with the transition of Ed McMahon. I'd hoped that a special, or even a few more clips of his work with and without Johnny Carson of the "Tonight Show" would have been shown. If thirty years as sidekick doesn't make you an icon, please tell me what does. He was in his eighties and his health had been failing for some time. No real surprise, just a little sadness.
Tuesday, John Callaway, founder and former host of WTTW's "Chicago Tonight" and current host of "Friday Night Show," died suddenly of a heart attack at 72. He had the gift of being confrontive about tough issues without being combative and putting guests at ease to the point where it felt as if they'd invited the viewers to join them for cappuccinos.
We had a break on Wednesday, and the breathing space was good. Thursday? Not so much. First around lunchtime in my area came the news that Farrah Fawcett had quietly slipped off to where she needed to be, seen off by her longtime love Ryan O'Neil and best friend Alanna Stewart. Bittersweet, but expected.
Late that afternoon came the bombshell: Michael Jackson had died, no, he was in a coma, no, oops, he's really dead from an appearant heart attack. The intrigue and updates continue.
Yesterday came word that Billy May, a high octaine spokesperson for Oxi-Clean crossed the void. Now we open this Monday with the news that Las Vegas comic and frequent gameshow guest Fred Travelena has passed on due to cancer.
And, oh yeah, in case you're interested, Bernie Madoff got 150 years for his Ponzi scheme, the government in Iran has offered a partial recount to placte the populace, the US is set to launch a test missle from someplace on the Pacific coast, the US will start standing down in Iraq tomorrow, and I'm going to go plug in a Loreena McKennett CD and make tea before my head explodes