A story I saw on the Today Show yesterday morning illustrates the failure of so-called “news media” to do its job. While the main TV stars were either off in Ireland or off on vacation, the second-stringers back home in New York were trying to hold down the fort.
The main story of the day was the anger bubbling up about the huge bonuses being handed out by AIG. Senator Chuck Grassley of Iowa said the leaders of AIG should follow the Japanese model: bow deeply, apologize to the public and their shareholders, and then either resign or commit suicide.
New York’s Attorney General, Andrew Cuomo, was generating a lot of attention with his vow to track down the AIG bonus-ees, find out who got how much, and get the money back.
The developing AIG story knocked the Bernie Madoff story off the A-block, and moved it down to the C-block or lower.
Quick to attempt to capitalize on the moment, some 20-something producer for the Today Show had some 20-something news writer do a quick script on the AIG story for the second-string anchor in New York, grabbed some video for it, and then set off to “balance” the story by lining up an interview with some 20-something blogger for one of the New York daily papers, whose prime claim to fame was blogging that the AIG bonuses were - well, a good thing, and that the government shouldn’t be in the business of trying to re-write contracts.
Mr. 20-something New York newspaper blogger was allowed to opine to the second-string anchorette “the vast majority of these bonuses are around a thousand dollars”.
WAIT A MINUTE.
At this point, my instinct - after having done news interviews for 30-some years - would have been to ask the 20-something blogger “Where are you getting that information?” - or at least to have challenged his assertion. That’s what news interviewers are SUPPOSED to do.
Nope. The statement of opinion stood, unchallenged. Was the second-string anchorette not listening? Did she not understand what the 20-something blogger was alleging? Did she in fact know ANYTHING about the topic of the interview she was conducting?
The 20-something blogger then spent the next half-hour bloviating on CNBC, the bastard step-child of GE-owned NBC, where his opinions no doubt carried great weight.
Later in the day, when the real news people took over, we learned the scope of the AIG bonuses. 73 people, in the very division (derivatives trading) that sunk the company, got bonuses in excess of one million dollars. 7 got more than four million. One trader got 6.4 million. Many of them took the "retention bonus" money and quit.
There’s plenty of blame to go around here….politicians who posture for the TV cameras, after they gave away the house to these failed companies with no strings attached; robber barons who plundered their own companies and got away with treasure chests brimming with loot; and “news” people who didn’t have the common sense to ask a few questions about it all.
Oh, and by the way - - - CNN first reported the AIG bonus plan on January 28th. They had the number wrong…their sources told them 450 million…but it took me about one minute to find this out using tools that are available to anyone who has a computer and an internet connection. They had a big story and apparently didn’t even know it. Everyone is failing us!
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Spring Break
As I write this, my daughter is spring-breaking in Riviera Maya, Mexico, with her best pal. The two of them have been thick as thieves since grade school, and have gone on a spring break trip together…usually to Mexico….for the last six or seven years. Next week my son heads to Vegas - his favorite break spot - with his pals.
They’re both in their mid-twenties, but still in that no-man’s-land between the lifestyle of a college student, and that of a young professional. This year, though, the trip to Mexico is a bit more troublesome than before, particularly since the gals are headed to an area just south of Cancun, which has had more than its share of drug-war-related trouble lately.
Mom gave the mandatory parental caution lecture before they left, and I weighed in with the “don’t leave the resort alone, don’t take a cab alone, don’t do a lot of drinking when you’re not actually at the resort” rant. Since my wife and I were both news professionals when the kids were growing up, they picked up the habit of staying in touch with what’s going on in the world.
I can’t help but wonder what my parents worried about when I went on spring break trips to Florida back in my college days in the 60’s, but I know they didn’t worry about drug overlords having a shootout, or kidnapping me. You could make the trip from Wisconsin to Florida in 24 hours, if you changed drivers often enough, kept an eye out for the cops, and made sure your stops combined fuel, food, and bodily functions.
I seem to recall the preferred route was US 51 south, all the way down to Cairo (which we learned was pronounced “KAY-ro”) Illinois before swinging southeast toward the Sunshine State. The Interstate Highway System back then was more bits-and-pieces than continuous four-lane concrete. By the time you got out of Illinois, you could run with the windows down.
Ft. Lauderdale was the place my college pals and I always went. Best beaches, best girls, best everything. I believe we crammed 8 people into one motel room. For the life of me, I can’t remember the name of any motel we stayed at, or any bar we hung out at, during spring break. I do remember some of the young ladies, though.
I hope, like my parents probably did, that my kids get where they’re going safely, have fun while they’re there, and that they get home safely. More than that I probably don’t want to know.
They’re both in their mid-twenties, but still in that no-man’s-land between the lifestyle of a college student, and that of a young professional. This year, though, the trip to Mexico is a bit more troublesome than before, particularly since the gals are headed to an area just south of Cancun, which has had more than its share of drug-war-related trouble lately.
Mom gave the mandatory parental caution lecture before they left, and I weighed in with the “don’t leave the resort alone, don’t take a cab alone, don’t do a lot of drinking when you’re not actually at the resort” rant. Since my wife and I were both news professionals when the kids were growing up, they picked up the habit of staying in touch with what’s going on in the world.
I can’t help but wonder what my parents worried about when I went on spring break trips to Florida back in my college days in the 60’s, but I know they didn’t worry about drug overlords having a shootout, or kidnapping me. You could make the trip from Wisconsin to Florida in 24 hours, if you changed drivers often enough, kept an eye out for the cops, and made sure your stops combined fuel, food, and bodily functions.
I seem to recall the preferred route was US 51 south, all the way down to Cairo (which we learned was pronounced “KAY-ro”) Illinois before swinging southeast toward the Sunshine State. The Interstate Highway System back then was more bits-and-pieces than continuous four-lane concrete. By the time you got out of Illinois, you could run with the windows down.
Ft. Lauderdale was the place my college pals and I always went. Best beaches, best girls, best everything. I believe we crammed 8 people into one motel room. For the life of me, I can’t remember the name of any motel we stayed at, or any bar we hung out at, during spring break. I do remember some of the young ladies, though.
I hope, like my parents probably did, that my kids get where they’re going safely, have fun while they’re there, and that they get home safely. More than that I probably don’t want to know.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
On Being Irish (March 17th or not)
I’m here because in the mid-1840’s my great-great grandfather left the tiny town of Lick Finn in County Cork Ireland hoping to make a go of it in the new world. He came through Ellis Island with thousands of other Irish refugees of the potato famine, moved down to Boston, and then caught on with the railroad, heading west.
When the railroad got to Rush Lake, Wisconsin, he and his brothers hopped off and homesteaded. The family farm still exists on Morrissey Road just off the north shore of Rush Lake in Winnebago County. My dad went to elementary school in Waukau (“Waukau State Graded School”) a few miles away, and drove to Oshkosh to attend High School, after which he served in the Big War and then returned to Wisconsin to graduate from college, marry my mom, and start his family.
Growing up, I guess we knew we were Irish, but we were never “Irish-Americans”. Our “clan” gathered frequently. Morrisseys, Currans, Days, O’Days, Killeens…Irish surnames predominated at gatherings of the extended family. But for me, my identity was “American”. My best pals growing up were named Dominowski and Mompier. I’m pretty sure they didn’t think of me as a Mick, and I didn’t think of them as anything other than Americans. My mother’s folks came out of Austria to escape the tyranny over there, and my maternal grandmother spoke German. But mom is an American a girl as there ever was.
I don’t care for Irish food; I don’t particularly like Irish music; and the only part of the Celtic culture I’ve embraced is the gift of gab. (The Irish call poets “failed talkers”.) In the mid-70’s, I was on the auld sod, and made a side-trip to the ancestral home-town in County Cork. I visited the Blarney Castle, just a few miles from the ancestral origins, and climbed the steps and got down on my back and slid out and kissed the Blarney Stone.
The former governor of New York, Al Smith, came from New York City’s tough lower East Side, and became the first Irish Catholic to run for President. The story is told that once a lady of temperance was concluding a long, pleading speech with the phrase “I would rather commit adultery than take a glass of beer”. A voice from the audience said “Who wouldn’t?”. Smith reportedly said “ah, a fellow Irishman”.
So go drink all the green beer you want today; wear green; eat that horrible cabbage and ruined beef; put an O’ in front of your name; and have a ball. I’d rather have a serving of my Italian wife’s lasagna.
When the railroad got to Rush Lake, Wisconsin, he and his brothers hopped off and homesteaded. The family farm still exists on Morrissey Road just off the north shore of Rush Lake in Winnebago County. My dad went to elementary school in Waukau (“Waukau State Graded School”) a few miles away, and drove to Oshkosh to attend High School, after which he served in the Big War and then returned to Wisconsin to graduate from college, marry my mom, and start his family.
Growing up, I guess we knew we were Irish, but we were never “Irish-Americans”. Our “clan” gathered frequently. Morrisseys, Currans, Days, O’Days, Killeens…Irish surnames predominated at gatherings of the extended family. But for me, my identity was “American”. My best pals growing up were named Dominowski and Mompier. I’m pretty sure they didn’t think of me as a Mick, and I didn’t think of them as anything other than Americans. My mother’s folks came out of Austria to escape the tyranny over there, and my maternal grandmother spoke German. But mom is an American a girl as there ever was.
I don’t care for Irish food; I don’t particularly like Irish music; and the only part of the Celtic culture I’ve embraced is the gift of gab. (The Irish call poets “failed talkers”.) In the mid-70’s, I was on the auld sod, and made a side-trip to the ancestral home-town in County Cork. I visited the Blarney Castle, just a few miles from the ancestral origins, and climbed the steps and got down on my back and slid out and kissed the Blarney Stone.
The former governor of New York, Al Smith, came from New York City’s tough lower East Side, and became the first Irish Catholic to run for President. The story is told that once a lady of temperance was concluding a long, pleading speech with the phrase “I would rather commit adultery than take a glass of beer”. A voice from the audience said “Who wouldn’t?”. Smith reportedly said “ah, a fellow Irishman”.
So go drink all the green beer you want today; wear green; eat that horrible cabbage and ruined beef; put an O’ in front of your name; and have a ball. I’d rather have a serving of my Italian wife’s lasagna.
Monday, March 16, 2009
AIG...again...
Everyone is outraged that AIG, which sidled up to the public trough to the tune of 75 Billion dollars, has apparently paid out over a hundred million in “bonuses” to employees this past weekend.
How do we know AIG got 75 billion in bailout money? We don’t. We’re taking Washington’s word for it.
How do we know AIG paid out 105 million in bonuses this weekend? We don’t. We’re taking their word for it.
The financial media tell us AIG had to pay the “bonuses” because it was in their employment contracts. This, of course, is the same financial media that warned us about the impending economic meltdown (NOT!) and the same media which were so thoroughly excoriated by John Stewart on Comedy Central last week.
As the government counseled us against panic in the early days of the meltdown, it was obviously in panic mode itself. It shoveled tons of money at AIG and other poorly-managed businesses - money it didn’t have, and money that came with apparently absolutely no strings attached.
Later in the meltdown, with the borrowed money still being shoveled at failing companies at an incredible rate, a few strings were attached. But we still don’t have any reliable source which can tell us who got how much money, with what terms, and what they’re doing with it. Basics of lending money.
Just a thought about future dolings-out of money we don’t have to companies that have shown no evidence of being able to manage it: maybe we ought to put a clause in there saying that if they accept the bailout money, it nullifies any “bonus clause” of any employment contract until such time as the bailout money is paid back.
We ARE going to get paid back, aren’t we?
How do we know AIG got 75 billion in bailout money? We don’t. We’re taking Washington’s word for it.
How do we know AIG paid out 105 million in bonuses this weekend? We don’t. We’re taking their word for it.
The financial media tell us AIG had to pay the “bonuses” because it was in their employment contracts. This, of course, is the same financial media that warned us about the impending economic meltdown (NOT!) and the same media which were so thoroughly excoriated by John Stewart on Comedy Central last week.
As the government counseled us against panic in the early days of the meltdown, it was obviously in panic mode itself. It shoveled tons of money at AIG and other poorly-managed businesses - money it didn’t have, and money that came with apparently absolutely no strings attached.
Later in the meltdown, with the borrowed money still being shoveled at failing companies at an incredible rate, a few strings were attached. But we still don’t have any reliable source which can tell us who got how much money, with what terms, and what they’re doing with it. Basics of lending money.
Just a thought about future dolings-out of money we don’t have to companies that have shown no evidence of being able to manage it: maybe we ought to put a clause in there saying that if they accept the bailout money, it nullifies any “bonus clause” of any employment contract until such time as the bailout money is paid back.
We ARE going to get paid back, aren’t we?
Why Can't Things Just Stay The Same
For those who use Facebook to stay connected, it’s been an interesting last few days. They’ve changed it. Changed the way it looks and acts. Just when I was getting comfortable with it, it’s all different.
I know it’s a sign of my advancing age that I seem to be more comfortable with familiar things, but I take comfort in the old saw “people don’t know what they like, they like what they know”. I can’t believe I’m the same person who in the 60’s wanted to change everything.
Just when I got comfortable with Windows 95, they came out with Windows 98. My first computer ran Windows 3.1 and the computer I’m writing this on runs Windows XP, and that’s where I’m stopping. No Vista for me. I’ve learned to get XP to do what I want it to do, and I’m not fighting the battle again. As far as I’m concerned, the Mojave Experiment is alien science.
One of the companies I write for wants me to upgrade to Microsoft Office 2007 so I send them stuff in Word 2007. I have Office 2003, hence Word 2003. I’ve installed the Office 2007 compatibility pack, but that’s it. I’ve been stalling them by saying “your IT people can convert it to whatever they want”. I can read their stuff, and they can read mine.
I’ve been forced to make the change from VCR to DVR, and it seems to be for the better. But I can only tell my DVR to record a certain program…not to record a certain time. So if the program starts late, I get the end of the program that preceded it, and miss the end of the show I wanted to see. If I thought that was going to happen back in the VCR days, I could set the timer to record an extra 15 minutes or so. I can’t figure out how to do that with the DVR.
My anti-virus software is constantly demanding that I upgrade it. I’ve given up that fight. I just let it boss me around.
They always used to have 64 teams in the NCAA Basketball Tournament, now they have 65. The Super Bowl used to be in January, and now it’s in February. The World Series darn near ended in November last year. Spring Training used to start in March, now it starts in February. They seem to be constantly fiddling with the date we set our clocks ahead or back an hour.
Why can’t things just stay the same?
I know it’s a sign of my advancing age that I seem to be more comfortable with familiar things, but I take comfort in the old saw “people don’t know what they like, they like what they know”. I can’t believe I’m the same person who in the 60’s wanted to change everything.
Just when I got comfortable with Windows 95, they came out with Windows 98. My first computer ran Windows 3.1 and the computer I’m writing this on runs Windows XP, and that’s where I’m stopping. No Vista for me. I’ve learned to get XP to do what I want it to do, and I’m not fighting the battle again. As far as I’m concerned, the Mojave Experiment is alien science.
One of the companies I write for wants me to upgrade to Microsoft Office 2007 so I send them stuff in Word 2007. I have Office 2003, hence Word 2003. I’ve installed the Office 2007 compatibility pack, but that’s it. I’ve been stalling them by saying “your IT people can convert it to whatever they want”. I can read their stuff, and they can read mine.
I’ve been forced to make the change from VCR to DVR, and it seems to be for the better. But I can only tell my DVR to record a certain program…not to record a certain time. So if the program starts late, I get the end of the program that preceded it, and miss the end of the show I wanted to see. If I thought that was going to happen back in the VCR days, I could set the timer to record an extra 15 minutes or so. I can’t figure out how to do that with the DVR.
My anti-virus software is constantly demanding that I upgrade it. I’ve given up that fight. I just let it boss me around.
They always used to have 64 teams in the NCAA Basketball Tournament, now they have 65. The Super Bowl used to be in January, and now it’s in February. The World Series darn near ended in November last year. Spring Training used to start in March, now it starts in February. They seem to be constantly fiddling with the date we set our clocks ahead or back an hour.
Why can’t things just stay the same?
Friday, March 13, 2009
Children Having Children
Summer was giving way to fall and a hurricane was raging in the south. In the north, at the Republican National Convention (Country First!!!), the most recent Palin baby was being thrust into the spotlight, while another Palin baby was cookin’ in his young momie’s belly.
Mom in this case was 17 year old Bristol Palin, who’d paired with a high-school dropout and the love of her life, Levi Johnston, a full year her senior. Now, surprise to none, Bristol and Levi have gone their separate ways, and Tripp Easton Mitchell Johnston, at two months old, faces the tough future of all products of teen pregnancy. The deck is stacked against Tripp and Bristol.
As the sociologists have told us for decades, the prime indicator of poverty is teen pregnancy.
Oh, lots of teen parents say the same thing Bristol and Levi did to the newsies at the convention in September. They love each other and they’re going to get married and just love that baby forever. Doesn’t often work out that way. Fully a third of pregnant teen girls say they’re CERTAIN they’ll marry the guy who impregnated them; a quarter more say chances are good they’ll marry the father. But statistics are harsh. Less than 8 percent of teenage moms marry the baby’s father within one year of the birth. Teen marriages are twice as likely to fail than marriages where the woman has reached the age of 25.
Kids who are 17 and 18 years old have no idea what life is all about. They’re completely unsure about their place in the world, and most don’t find it until they’re well into their 20’s.
In my lifetime the sociological paradigm has completely changed. Used to be you got married and had a baby. Then it changed to having a baby and then getting married. Now, it’s getting pregnant and NOT getting married.
Bristol is still in high school in Wasilla, and tells the public prints she’s thinking about college in the fall. Levi was in an apprenticeship program with an energy services company, but he got kicked out when they found out he doesn’t have a high school diploma. But hey - he’s got a wicked slap-shot!
Who’s taking care of the love child? Well, lots of folks. Grandma, grandpa…the usual suspects. And Grandma still preaches abstinence.
Mom in this case was 17 year old Bristol Palin, who’d paired with a high-school dropout and the love of her life, Levi Johnston, a full year her senior. Now, surprise to none, Bristol and Levi have gone their separate ways, and Tripp Easton Mitchell Johnston, at two months old, faces the tough future of all products of teen pregnancy. The deck is stacked against Tripp and Bristol.
As the sociologists have told us for decades, the prime indicator of poverty is teen pregnancy.
Oh, lots of teen parents say the same thing Bristol and Levi did to the newsies at the convention in September. They love each other and they’re going to get married and just love that baby forever. Doesn’t often work out that way. Fully a third of pregnant teen girls say they’re CERTAIN they’ll marry the guy who impregnated them; a quarter more say chances are good they’ll marry the father. But statistics are harsh. Less than 8 percent of teenage moms marry the baby’s father within one year of the birth. Teen marriages are twice as likely to fail than marriages where the woman has reached the age of 25.
Kids who are 17 and 18 years old have no idea what life is all about. They’re completely unsure about their place in the world, and most don’t find it until they’re well into their 20’s.
In my lifetime the sociological paradigm has completely changed. Used to be you got married and had a baby. Then it changed to having a baby and then getting married. Now, it’s getting pregnant and NOT getting married.
Bristol is still in high school in Wasilla, and tells the public prints she’s thinking about college in the fall. Levi was in an apprenticeship program with an energy services company, but he got kicked out when they found out he doesn’t have a high school diploma. But hey - he’s got a wicked slap-shot!
Who’s taking care of the love child? Well, lots of folks. Grandma, grandpa…the usual suspects. And Grandma still preaches abstinence.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
It DOESN'T Make Sense.
A shooting rampage in Alabama leaves ten people dead….16 dead in a school shooting in Germany….the news was pretty grim yesterday, the sort of fare the 24-hour cable TV news outlets dine on. At the beginning of each half-hour, staid-faced reporters and reporterettes intone moribund updates from scenes where news took place hours before.
The most commonly-used cliché in so many of the reports I saw and heard was the phrase “trying to make sense of it”….as in “the people of this small Alabama town are trying to piece their lives back together and make sense of the horrible tragedy that unfolded here just hours ago”.
Attention, news dweebs: you CAN’T make sense of it. This is a man who shot his mother and her dogs, and then set her house on fire and went on a killing spree. I does NOT make sense and you CANNOT make sense of it. It is INSANE behavior. The young man who killed the people in the school in Germany picked mostly female victims to shoot. NO, we DON’T know why. He was INSANE. We can’t “make sense of it”.
In a little over a month, we’ll have to endure countless “news” reports about the tenth anniversary of the Columbine killings in April of ‘99. (Of course, though, the semi-literate news dweebs will say “ten-year anniversary”.) We will be exposed to all manner of weak and effusively sentimetal stories about how life has changed in the small Colorado town in the past decade; how the people have picked up the pieces of their lives and moved on as best they can; and perhaps the question “how could this have happened here” will even be answered for us by one of the newsies.
To me, too often grim news is made worse by dweebs who think spewing clichés is reporting.
The most commonly-used cliché in so many of the reports I saw and heard was the phrase “trying to make sense of it”….as in “the people of this small Alabama town are trying to piece their lives back together and make sense of the horrible tragedy that unfolded here just hours ago”.
Attention, news dweebs: you CAN’T make sense of it. This is a man who shot his mother and her dogs, and then set her house on fire and went on a killing spree. I does NOT make sense and you CANNOT make sense of it. It is INSANE behavior. The young man who killed the people in the school in Germany picked mostly female victims to shoot. NO, we DON’T know why. He was INSANE. We can’t “make sense of it”.
In a little over a month, we’ll have to endure countless “news” reports about the tenth anniversary of the Columbine killings in April of ‘99. (Of course, though, the semi-literate news dweebs will say “ten-year anniversary”.) We will be exposed to all manner of weak and effusively sentimetal stories about how life has changed in the small Colorado town in the past decade; how the people have picked up the pieces of their lives and moved on as best they can; and perhaps the question “how could this have happened here” will even be answered for us by one of the newsies.
To me, too often grim news is made worse by dweebs who think spewing clichés is reporting.
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