Monday, March 8, 2010

Tomorrow Today

News flash. The newspaper industry is dying and with it, I fear, journalism. Less and less people are tuning into the local news and 24-hour news has taken over the way people view the world. America has progressed to the point where it is not enough to read about what happened, we have to get an alert when the future is happening now.

The heart and soul of publishing has always been writing, but its blood is advertising, especially in mass production. The massive cost for materials, printing and transportation began to outweigh the revenue from sales and instead of trying to up the cost of words on a page to John Q. Public the industry tapped into advertising. Renting their bodies and becoming a carrier for advertisers to now penetrate the homes of millions of consumers.

The problems started the moment the news left the printed page and jumped onto the glowing screens. The glowing screens sat in our houses, our offices and our laps. The glowing screens were everywhere. The news now came to us; we no longer had to go to the news. Also there was less garbage, less recycling, just less. That’s what America is, more for less, or in this case, less for less.

Advertising and cost are main concerns but I would argue that the real killer of print and ultimately journalism as a whole is the philosophical change America made from demanding quality reporting to get the whole truth, to sacrificing quality in order to get some truth as soon as possible. The real reason 24-hour news has become so popular is the networks ability to pass off speculation as news. Journalism happens in several stages and it is very rarely instantaneous. There is fact checking, source verification and the arranging of information so as not to be misleading or trivial. The reporting of news is only one step in the process of informing the public. Reporting the news takes up only a fraction of the time in a news program so 24-hour networks fill the extra time with analysis. The problem with this is that only a small amount of news needs to be analyzed passed its original reporting. This is where the real genius of hyper journalism comes into play, when a story is rushed through the journalistic process to the news floor the story comes in broken pieces instead of one fluid entity. This allows the anchors and “experts” to try and predict what direction the story will take.

The 24-hour networks then try and create news of their own by speculating on the events they have reported. Why waste time on a news show that only informs you of the past when there are programs creating a future for you, right in front of your eyes, that you can use to decide how to live and vote and think? This is where journalism will die. We as a people are so time consumed that we are moving closer and closer to the abandonment of fact altogether and the embrace of an educated guess. If we do not decide to hold our information gatekeepers responsible for dealing in fact instead of speculation and demand quality reporting today, then journalism has no future in the world of tomorrow. With no reliable source to aid in discovering the truth, we will have no choice but to accept what the gatekeepers present as important and will continue to be susceptible to fear mongering that is based on shallow premises and a complete and utter indifference towards information that would help create a society of intelligent well-informed individuals capable of thinking for themselves.


III,

Saturday, January 16, 2010

Epic iFail: The Ballad of the Dust

"Since all life is futility, then the decision to exist must be the most irrational of all."
--Emile M. Cioran


Our story begins on a typical sunny day on the south side of Los Angeles. Blue skies, cool breeze, and the subtle suffocating fog of pollution made for an almost perfect day. Birds chirped, children laughed and the faint sound of sirens meant that somewhere the civil authorities were responding to a fire or a robbery. Even the tune of "pop goes the weasel" could be heard emanating from what was surely a pedophiliac ice cream truck. Yes all the signs were there, it was a typical day in L.A. So it seemed.

"Let's go." were the first words of the rest of the Dust's life. Little did the Dust know these two words would be the beginning of a trip into the very heart of futility in America. What began as a simple, if not routine, trip to the Apple Store for a new computer battery, would turn into a four hour marathon of unanswered questions and stifling bureaucratic red tape. The battery which allowed the Dust to enjoy the satisfying omnipotence of online tyranny had begun to diminish over time requiring a constant power supply and thus limiting the Dust's opportunities to provide his biting social commentary in a bold and what some would call "megalomania driven" attempt to rid the world of babies and meaningful relationships. "I'll drive" were the only words to be spoken by the Dust's dashingly hansom friend. The Pope was one of the Dust's oldest friends and one whose charm was only overshadowed by his striking good looks.

Exiting the vehicle the pair began walking to the store. The Pope thought back on his life and was still puzzled why the Dust had elected to travel to the Apple store for his new battery when one could have easily been purchased online. When the Pope, out of sheer benevolence, had offered this piece of most gracious information, the Dust launched into a tirade that usually followed any attempt to question his power or foresight. The Dust reminded the Pope of their respective place in the universe and at one point exclaimed "I am the law!" Once inside the store the Pope left the Dust to his own devices. After a few minutes of browsing, carousing and general merrymaking, including a slight security situation when just by simply requesting information on a set of headphones, no less than three female employees confessed their undying love for the Pope and had to be physically removed. When the Pope returned, he discovered the truth behind the Dust's insistence on traveling to the Apple store. In the previous weeks the Dust had talked often of increasing his influence to almost mythic proportions. Now he was in position to do so, by purchasing an iPhone. The iPhone would allow the Dust to be constantly plugged in to his online dominion. Now anywhere, anytime the Dust wished, he could crush the dreams of neophyte social comedians and cinematic artists while building a foundation to elevate himself into the realm of online supernova. His prowess would leave the likes of the Orwellian "Big Brother" in his wake while he spat in face of Zeus himself.

With the fate of humanity hanging in the balance of the Dust's bank account, which most scholars theorize to rival the Vatican, the transaction was suddenly cancelled. This news infuriated the Dust and he lashed out vociferously and cursed the gods at their pitiful attempt to quell his ascent. The gods were much cleverer than the Dust had anticipated and locked the Dust's fortune behind a firewall that could only be broken by the true Dust himself. "Fools!" exclaimed the Dust. "I will simply call the bank, inform them of the situation and all will be right with the world." The Dust reached into his pocket and produced his soon-to-be obsolete phone. Unbeknownst to the Dust, during the act of purchasing the iPhone, his old phone had been deactivated in preparation for him to embrace his destiny. His old phone was now a paperweight. "Well played..." was all the Dust could muster with a slight nod to the gods.

Fearing reprimand beyond comprehension the Pope offered his phone in assistance with the Dust's conundrum. When the business had been settled the two travelers returned inside only to find that the original employee had fled the scene. This was according to his replacement but the Pope couldn't help but wonder if the Dust had ritualistically killed the lowly employee behind his back. The new employee informed the Dust that there was such a place where all mistakes could be remedied. Where those inside had the power to right this injustice and restore to the Dust the glory that had fled him.

So the Pope and the Dust set off for the fabled AT&T store where, if the Apple employee was correct, they would find the answers the Dust was seeking. The Dust negotiated with the leaders of the AT&T and discovered that the curse of the pass-code was on his phone. Pass-codes were an ancient form of security handed down from the keepers of the funds to the elders of each family. The Dust now had to contact his mother to discover the hidden pass-code. Once again the path to immortality was wrought with turmoil and time-zones for by the time the Dust had reached his mother, it was too late to retrieve the pass-code. Too dangerous to be kept close at hand the pass-code had remained hidden from even the Dust's own mother and her and the family would be leaving for the land of Florida on the morrow and thus would be unable to assist the Dust in his time of need. In a feeble attempt to buy favor and pardon from the Dust, the leaders of the AT&T gave as a gift a useless SIM card. The Pope and the Dust returned to the Apple store but not until after the Dust had reduced the store to a smoldering pile of rubble.

Once back at the Apple store the Dust was informed of the true reality of the gods treachery. For without the pass-code he would be forever bound to his earthly phone and could not harness the power of the iPhone. Even the validity of his bank account had been called into question making the purchase of a computer battery impossible, and given the much more sobering situation with the phone, irrelevant.

So the Pope and the Dust traveled homeward. They had set out to purchase a computer battery and an iPhone but had only received a deactivated phone beyond repair instead. There are those who say the Dust's power diminished forever that day and that the gods laughed loudest and best. Still, there are those who shiver at the thought of the Dust's return. Indeed a legend has begun to grow of the Dust passing through the firewall of his bank account. That he himself harnessed the power of a newly created pass-code and is even now awaiting the arrival of the moment when he can grasp the iPhone in his hands and rise to power once again.

III,