My "Contempt for Journalism" Tour Continues

This one's about the White House Correspondant's Dinner!

I don't have a problem with the dinner, per se. It's nice that wealthy, famous and influential people can finally have a night that's all about them for a change.

What I don't like is how self-important reporters get when reporting about reporters going to dinner. Tom Brokaw, probably rightly, worries that the Correspondant's Dinner makes journalists too chummy with the people they are supposed to be covering objectively. The defense is, basically, "but it's so much fun!" Isn't that also the accusation?

The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which.

I Love to Say "I Told You So"

In case you thought my previous post about the sorry state of journalism was overblown, I offer some evidence.

There's a trope in political commentary that I don't know of an established term for. I call the "F.E.B.",  since I can't otherwise say the phrase out loud without offending people. Let me explain that the acronym is in the format of adjective-adjective-noun and the middle word is "Evil."

When this trope is deployed, Editorialist A describes a situation his Political Opponent Z is bringing about. He lists all of the bad things that will happen because of Z's actions. Then he concludes that doing this is A Very Bad Thing. Note what he does not do: he doesn't do is address the reason Z wants to do this, or the potential good effects of the action. The implication is that Z is just an evil mustache twirler who likes seeing orphans starving in the streets while puppies are thrown alive into furnaces to provide cheap energy. I'm not saying A needs to make all of Z's arguments for him. But he ought to at least acknowledge that Z has a reason for what he does, and maybe try to address why those reasons are wrong, or the good effects are outweighed by the bad.

This rant is brought on today by a report I heard on NPR over my lunch break. They were reporting on Margaret Thatcher's legacy. The particular story I heard was about the miners' strikes of the 1980's. I admit I knew next to nothing about the strikes when the story came on. Thanks to their reporting, I didn't know any more once it ended.

I did learn that the guest being interviewed disapproved of Thatcher's handling of the strikes, which he characterized as "going to war against her own people" (as though she were Saddam Hussein gassing the Kurds). What were the overriding issues? What was the strike about? Why did Thatcher's government want to end the strike? What were the government's tactics? In what ways did it resemble a war? How could it have been resolved differently? Is the mining industry in decline today because of what happened? Are the connections correlated but not causal? Are we reversing cause and effect? I don't know any of those answers.* But my point is I didn't learn them from the source whose very purpose is allegedly to educate listeners on those issues.

I understand that politicians will deploy the F.E.B. strategy. They want to make their opponent appear unelectable. But it's unacceptable for a journalist to broadcast an F.E.B. attack, or allow it to stand unchallenged. In fact, the host of the show thanked the reporter for his contribution and concluded that there were "mixed feelings on Margaret Thatcher's death." Not her "legacy", not her "influence on modern politics"… on her death. Because she is a F.E.B. and she deserves no better.

* Remember: No Research Zone.

Where is your God Now?

Those of you who know me will surely realize that tomorrow marks an important day, not only for myself but for many of my friends and family. That's right, my alma mater Marquette is playing in the Elite 8.

Of course, there's also the fact that tomorrow is Holy Saturday, the final day of the Triduum, the day Christ spent in the tomb. While not technically a part of Lent, the Triduum is one of the most solemn periods on the Church calendar. I'll be in a bar getting a nice afternoon buzz, watching basketball.

I spent some time today considering whether that would be appropriate use of my day. The realization came to me that, rather than being sacrilegious, it's more or less in the liturgical spirit of the season.

"God is dead," Nietzche said and, like a stopped clock, he's right once a year.* What else is there to do? Do like the late-Republic Romans, I guess, when they stopped believing in their gods. Drink wine, watch gladiator contests and try to ignore the fact that the country is transforming before our eyes into an imperial military state. For a few hours, we Christians enter into the state the pre-Christian world found itself in. Take a moment to read Phillip Larkin's poem Aubade. (No seriously, read it!) How else is there to live with the unescapable inevitability of our own demise?

Fortunately, we have the advantage of knowing how the story ends. Death is no longer the last word. Jesus (showing His humanity) enters into death, like Bruce Banner slipping on an ill-fated white shirt in the morning. But by the end of the day His divinity bursts forth in Hulk-mode, destroying the power of death in the process.

Within a couple of centuries, Roman culture went from the the fading worship of gods they didn't totally believe in, to killing the God who was sent to them, to being ruled by that God-man's followers. Yet, their culture wasn't extinguished. It was baptized. The very term "alma mater" comes from the language of Zeno and Marcus Aurelius, but was preserved by Catholics for use in the university system they created.**

Have hope, Christus Vincit!

(It's always disheartening to realize that someone else blogged about the same topic as you did, and better. After I finished drafting this post, I came across this article by David Warren. Mr. Warren's article is a lot like this blog post, except it's insightful and well-written. And when you're done, read his whole archive. I burned through it in a couple of days and I'm smarter for it, if only in the sense that I know what a real writer sounds like.)

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* Imagine this is some kind of calendar clock, with 365 positions on the dial, corresponding to days of the year. Or imagine that I'm not good with similes.

** Every week, my parish's confirmation class has Little Caesar's pizza for lunch. Each pizza comes topped with pepperoni, sausage and the delicious irony that Catholicism continues to be believed and passed on, while our 2nd century oppressor is now a cartoon image used to sell fast food.

And a Third Post, Just to Make Tom Nervous

Some of my more masochistic readers may wonder what it's like to be inside my head. Well, here's a little peek. The other day, a memory I hadn't even though of in years came back to me as a fully-formed (stupid) bilingual pun.

So, when I was in college I met a girl who was studying abroad from Germany. I speak ein bischen German (better than the average American, at least). She spoke a bit of English (probably better than the average American, as well), so we had that common. It seemed like we were kind of hitting it off [Ed.: probably not], but the semester came to an end and she heraus'ed back to Germany. Only then did I realize I hadn't gotten a home phone number, an email address, a Facebook friendship, any way to remain in contact.

"Well," my brain concluded as that old memory flickered past. "I guess she was the one that Goethe way."

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Blog up, Patrowsky.

Something I Hadn't Considered

Savor .the ongoing silence about Obama’s ongoing Drone War against civilians, including children, in Pakistan right now, as opposed to what will be the incessant chatter about Cardinal Bergoglio’s imaginary role in the Dirty War in Argentina forty years ago. The Pope of Roman Catholics must be raked over coals, but their own God-Emperor Barack must be shielded from any kind of scrutiny at all.
(Source).

I've been pretty peeved* about both of those issues lately, but I hadn't considered them in conjuction. This is turning into a perfect storm of powerless righteous indignation.

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* "Pretty peeved" is the proper response to a President's assertion that he can order me killed by drone strikes without due process, right?

All I Don't Know is What I Read in the Papers

We have a new pope! Not only that, but he's a Jesuit, the order that ran my alma mater. And he took the name Francis, my confirmation patron saint. So, I have a lot of reasons to like him already, which is good because I know next to nothing about him personally.

I realize this is uncharacteristic for a blog (particularly one run by your humble correspondant) but I don't know much more, so I'm going to shut up on this topic. If only others showed such discretion, particularly people who are actually paid to report the news.

I don't want to get into some kind of Poping contest, where I consider which one I like better than the others. That's not what this is about. I just loooooved Pope Benedict. He had a difficult act to follow, but he understood he wasn't John Paul II and didn't try to be. He wasn't wildly charismatic, he was a soft-spoken introvert. He seemed like someone who just wished everyone would pipe down for a minute so he could explain a thought was more than a 10 second soundbite snatched out of context. (I understand the feeling.*)

Sadly, he rarely got that opportunity. Instead, he was painted as Nazi (even though he was forcibly enlisted, and deserted as soon as he could escape). He was called an enabler of pedophiles (even though he was the one who took action against Fr. Maciel, essentially the moment he became pope). He was called a hard-nosed dogmatist (even though a brief perusal of his writings showed a gentle man explaining himself with clear-headed logic). His most lasting impression upon pop culture will almost certainly be the fact that he was an old man with bags under his eyes, who drew comparisons to Emperor Palpatine.

All this goes to prove that what GK Chesterton wrote in Edwardian England is still true today. "It will not be necessary for anyone to fight again against the proposal of a censorship of the press.... We have a censorship by the press."

Nearly every report about Pope Francis in a major non-Catholic media outlet has come with a subtle barb, an implied "Given that the last guy was so terrible..." I think you're well aware by now that I don't do research for this blog, so this NPR Morning Edition story is the first that came to mind. (Also, this interview with Sr. Pat Farrell) Note the implication that comes with these questions and responses. "He doesn't wear red shoes," "I grumble a lot about my Church's teaching, but...," "We're all in wait and see mode," a "sincere hope" that he would condemn child abuse (Benedict's famous reference to "filth" and John Paul II's term "appalling sin" apparently were not harsh enough).

Particularly for the parishioner interviews, there's no point of reference. Were their opinions a majority view? Or just the view that the person writing the story decided to highlight? Do these people have any particular competency to back up their opinions?

You'll notice that the implications are just that – implied. If the accusation were directly stated, it would be open to obvious refutation. Instead, it hovers in the background as something "everyone knows".

I think I have some insight into how this kind of things happens. I shudder to bring this shame upon myself and my family, but I must be honest here: I originally declared myself as a journalism major in college. For a semester and a half, I wrote for the school's official paper.** We had two editions a week. I wrote one or two articles per edition, for the princely sum of $7 per story. The stories were denominated in inches and I don't recall the exact conversion rates, but they were generally in the area 500-700 words. Any news story required at least three quoted sources. That part especially sucked. No one had an interesting opinion about that student government hearing you just sat through. And even if they did, it probably didn't coincide with the angle you were told to write about. Stories were assigned Monday and published Tuesday or assigned Tuesday and published Thursday

Tight deadlines, little pay, stories chosen for headline value by the editors instead of news value by the reporters. That's no way to run a news outlet. Yet, everything I hear about professional media outlets (with real alleged honest-to-goodness adults!) suggests it's not so different out there in the real world.

I only have two real areas of expertise: Computers and Catholic theology. And it seems like every time I read a news article about either of those subjects, I'm driven by the urge to take a red pen to the thing. "Common misconception, not true." "That's not what that word means." "That 'source' is actually a nut who doesn't represent mainstream thinking in the area."

Yet, I read about everything else and absorb it with the assumption it must be true. I'm stuck in Donald Rumsfeld's ultimate nightmare: unknown unknowns. I have no idea what I've absorbed that's just hanging around in the back of my head and is flat out not true. I don't know anything about the Higgs Boson or or Portugese austerity measures or Libyan rebel groups, except what I see in the papers. What else do I not know I don't know?

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* Any comparisons between myself and Pope Benedict are purely a matter of kind and not degree. I might be excessively full of myself, but even my pride has limits.
** To avoid an libel suits, I will state upfront that all facts from here to the end of the paragraph are based on my fuzzy memory. I'm pretty sure I'm in the ballpark, but exact amounts are probably wrong.
** Part b, I later ran the website for their competition, the apparently now-defunct independent paper.

Bells!

Ahhhhhhhhhh!

I've Got Abs Like a Fridge

There's a six pack in there somewhere but it's behind all the food.

My Insufferable Opinions on Hall of Fame Voting

As the old saying goes, sportswriters' opinions are like armpits, if armpits were published on the front page of every newspaper's sports section.* So lots of armpits were exposed today, explaining why their owners did or did not vote for various candidates to enter the baseball Hall of Fame. None of them seem to have noted my personal theory, that this year's ballot is essentially a modern day retelling of The Taming of the Shrew.

Just to establish the groundwork, here's what happened. No one was elected to the Hall of Fame this year. The full list of voting results is, as always, recorded in tabular form by Baseball Reference. The major candidates were Barry Bonds, Jeff Bagwell, Craig Biggio, Mike Piazza, Curt Schilling, Roger Clemens, Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa.

Of those, McGwire has admitted using steroids. Clemens, Bonds and Sosa never failed a drug test, but anyone with eyes could see they were a bit, umm,  unnatural. Bagwell was often suspected. Piazza hit a lot of homeruns and had bacne, so duh⸮**. Biggio was 5'11"/185 and was never suspected of anything other than sticking around a couple years too long.

The argument basically goes like this: People who clearly took steroids should not be elected to the Hall of Fame, because they're cheaters. I want to agree with that, but we've already elected cheaters to the Hall of Fame. There's a bunch of spitball pitchers and guys who took uppers. Babe Ruth, in fact, had incredibly elevated testosterone levels from his habit of eating a whole roasted pig before games.*** We can't keep everyone who had big muscles and hit a bunch of homeruns out of the Hall of Fame entirely****.

The key problem is that we use the Hall of Fame for two purposes. It is a museum of baseball history. But it's also a personal honor. The ceremony itself is almost like a canonization, not just inclusion in a museum.

I suspect the biggest reason the writers didn't vote anyone into the Hall of Fame is what I'm going to call "The Taming of the Shrew Theory". In the play, there's a man with two daughters, Ophelia and Desdemona. For whatever reason*****, he decides his youngest daughter can't get married until after his eldest daughter. Unfortunately Ophelia is a total harpy. Nobody's going to marry her, which is no good for Desdemona who wants to marry Mercutio, I think. So she has to get Nick Bottom to convince her older sister marry him, so she can get married to Mercutio on Midsummer's Night. Anyway, the exact details aren't important.

My point is, Barry Bonds is Ophelia. He's the "eldest daughter" on the Hall of Fame ballot. He's almost certainly one of the top 5 hitters of all time. He's 3rd in WAR, 1st in career home runs, 4th in career RBIs, 1st in walks, 1st in intentional walks and holds the single-season home run record.

But he's a shrew. Besides the PED suspicions, he was a grouch, a bad teammate, a rude interview, basically an unlikeable arrogant prick. Doesn't it just make you sick to think about him strutting up to the podium, with a grin on his face, clearly thinking what an honor it must be for players like Stan Musial and Hank Aaron to be in his company? That's the real holdup. It's obvious Bonds should be in the museum. It's also clear that no one wants to put on a ceremony in his honor.

It boils down to the fact that if Barry Bond's isn't a Hall of Famer, nobody is. So nobody is.

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* My opinion is like yo mama, in that [Ed: not appropriate for posting in public.]

** Did you know there's a symbol to indicate sarcasm? Yeah, I bet you did⸮

*** [Ed: Citation needed, but why didn't Ryan Braun try that excuse? Does he eat kosher?]

**** Well, technically, yes we can and we're well on our way to doing it.

***** I seem to remember reading part of The Taming of the Shrew in high school. This blog being a Research Free Zone, I'm going off memory here.

Some New Crap

Things have been busy at work lately, with some tight deadlines leading to long hours. Fortunately, our project lead has been authorized to buy us dinner. He ordered in Rosati's and we sat around, managers and programmers and designers, new hires and old veterans, enjoying some pepperoni and mushrooms. Love for pizza really is something all of humanity holds in common.*


Reminiscing on this experience, I started to think of the democratic things that bind us together as humans. I mean, biologically speaking, we all have to eat. But beyond that, we all love eating something delicious. Left out in the cold, we'll die. But even in a climate-controlled apartment, we appreciate the warmth of another person by our side.

If the success of the book Everyone Poops tells us anything, it's that not only do all humans need to poop but a significant portion of us also finds poop hilarious.

What I'm trying to say is, Tom has been clamoring for an update to this blog because he wants some new crap to read online. Humbug to that, I told myself. Think bigger! Give a man poop on the internet and he wastes time at work for a day. Teach a man to put poop on the internet, and he never has to pay attention in a meeting again.

Tom (and anybody else who slogged through the previous paragraphs and got to this point), did you know you can post a little picture of a turd in Facebook comments**? Just type ":poop:" (without the quote marks of course), et voila, vous avez un merde!

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* That's probably not exactly true but it's true enough if you only consider middle class midwestern American workers in technology fields, which I am willing to do if it makes my point.

** This seems to work only in comments (not in posts or captions) and only in a computer-based web browser (not on mobile). Then again, TVs used to be 10 inches by 10 inches by 2 feet deep and weigh 200 pounds. In other words, don't worry. The onward march of progress will surely surely remedy this sad limitation.