and I wouldn’t have them any other way….
Smarts
There a lot of talk lately about female political candidates. Women in office. Women thinking of running for office.
Occasionally we hear their stance on the issues, but usually all we hear is noise. As of late it’s been about their Facebook escapades, the names they have been called, or their college religious preferences.
And now we have women on the left arguing with women on the right over who’s doing a better job standing up for females in the political arena.
Essentially, we’re having a nice, male-style, pissing match.
I have a better idea.
Let’s work together.
Clearly none of us get along. Clearly we couldn’t be further apart on policy, preferences and patience. But we do agree that the treatment of women in the media and by campaigns as we head into November could use some help.
On this we agree.
Let’s use it.
You don’t have to abort a fetus and I don’t have to let my neighbor’s house burn down. You don’t have to give away your money to the poor and I don’t have to suck up to big corporations.
We just have to continue to call out the sexism we see as we do our thing.
And keep everyone focused on the issues.
The Death of Lois Lane
Hard core.
That’s the only way to describe my decade as a traditional journalist. A profession that has been thrown under the bus by my blogging colleagues. Traditional journalism doesn’t get it. They are a dying breed.
When I tackled a story I only had one thing in mind- to bring the people the information they needed. I was a very old school journalist and prided myself on sharing unbiased and up to the minute news on wherever I was sent that day.
Fires. Crimes. City Council meetings. Red Carpet galas. Accidents. Weather trouble. Celebrity court hearings. Deaths.
My job was always clear. My objective very straight forward. Get to a scene, collect as much information as possible, share said information with the public.
My politics never came into play. My feelings and emotions buried. I was a journalist. I was a professional. I was there for you, the listener, the viewer.
I was very good at what I did. My investigative work had cities spending millions and landed some nice hardware on my desk. But it’s not about me. This is just to lay the background on why I struggle with the current state of journalism and the impact of new media. And struggle I do.
Make no mistake, I’m leading the charge to incorporate social media into traditional journalism. I’ve spoken on the topic at universities, conferences, and in various podcasts, twitter debates, etc.
Citizen journalists and traditional journalists are not the same. You can combine the two, but in the process you kill traditional journalism.
You can’t be a reporter and share your feelings on a subject matter. This is no-no #1 in Journalism 101 and destroys your credibility. If you open your mouth, you are henceforth a columnist, pundit, and/or blogger.
The end. Period.
This does not mean you can’t break news, investigate, or report. But it does mean you will always be taken with a grain of salt, and you are NOT ever to be considered a journalist. At least not in the traditional sense.
I am no longer a traditional journalist. I gave that up the minute I opened my mouth. I am now a blogger. A pundit. A columnist.
What traditional journalists can do is use these social media tools in their reporting. Use Facebook to promote a story. Use twitter to promote a story, use your online presence in a blog or site fashion to report .. use them as TOOLS, not as bully pulpits. That is the role of reporter. That is the role of journalist.
But I fear the abuse of these social media tools have left us with few, if not zero, real journalists. Everyone is now a social media hybrid citizen journalist. A term I loathe. I prefer to call you MOS… that’s Man on the Street.
You are all witnesses, pundits, columnists, opinion makers. You can blog all day long with facts and opinion and speculation and use all the tools and really make a difference…but that doesn’t make you a journalist.
And I fear there are none left. No one can seem to keep their mouth shut. No one can seem to ignore the siren song of tweeting how they felt about reporting that story, or blogging the ‘behind the scenes’ of their interviews in a note over on Facebook.
When I began blogging I gave up my title as journalist. It’s as simple as that. Why? Because I respect journalism. I respect what real reporters do. I respect the profession and I certainly know what it is to be a professional journalist.
I tell this to journalism students now and they look at me stunned. How can they possibly live in a world of Facebook and Twitter and blogs where their mother’s are giving status updates on their personal lives?
It’s simple…they can’t. Traditional journalist may be an impossible feat and title for anyone entering the field. I’m not sure any real reporters make their way out of this muck that is social media. You can use the social media tools all you want, but the minute you show your human side you are pounced on for being anything other than a straight news gal.
Maybe journalists were always the ideal, but never really existed. Maybe we all strived to be straight forward and unbiased and worked our tails off to make sure we got you the news and you got it opinion free. I know I did. And I also know I firmly renounce that title now that I’ve opened up my life to the world. What bothers me is other’s haven’t. They continue to label themselves journalists without really having the back ground or education or even experience. While I laude the power of the average person and their blog, and it’s power to enact change… I cringe at what it’s done to those who have worked their entire lives to bring you the news.
Maybe this is my romanticized version of news. Maybe it’s my plea to find the light inside the darkness of so much noise and information and my hope that the cream rises to the top. But more and more I’m finding it’s not the cream, it’s the crazy, loud, brash, and obnoxious. Social media has pitted the serious journalist against the shock jock, and America loves a good train wreck.
So instead of the economy we get Jersey Shore and instead of showing all the hard working people busting their butts to free an Iranian woman from being stoned, we get the Tea Party rhetoric that feminists aren’t doing a thing to help. The noise is beating out the truth. Fiction and lies are louder than those toiling behind the scenes, with no time to defend themselves because they are actually working to make change happen.
And normally it would be the part of the journalist to find these stories, to call them out, to present the information to the public. But they are too caught up playing catch up to notice.
Maybe I’m just lamenting the passing of time. Maybe this is my ‘get off my traditional journalist lawn’ post. Or maybe I just refused to see what was always there.
Lois Lane is dead.
Or was she every really a traditional journalist? After all she was fucking Superman.
All He Needs Is A Cape
Last night I told my son he was my hero.
We cuddled in his bed after a long day, and very quietly he asked me a question that stopped my heart.
Mom, why am I different from the other kids at school?
We talked about how amazing he is, and how smart and wonderful. We talked about how well he is doing in school, and his many, many friends.
We talked about how everyone says he’s brilliant, and bright… and how well he handles himself. How he’s a leader, and so very sensitive and caring.
And then I told him he was my hero, and he smiled like I have never seen him smile before.
This morning as we walked into school he stopped on the stairs before entering his classroom. He grabbed my shirt, which happens to say ‘I love Jack,’ and grinned that huge grin again.
It’s great being different, because I get you.
Can you take me all the way into class? I want everyone to see your shirt. Because I’m a hero.
A Gift
Driving in the Momvan last night my daughter asked me if animals died like people die.
This is a frequent conversation in our home lately, stemming from my rash of hospital stays and influx of relatives and friends helping to care for me and mine.
She wanted to know if animals lost their colons and uterus too. If they stayed in hospital beds, and if their animal families could visit them.
We arrived at our destination and my son unbuckled and laid his head on my shoulder. He didn’t have to say a word, I knew he just needed to be near me. Death talk does that to him.
My husband, the rock as of late, has been shouldering more weight than I can bear to watch. And after discussions of funerals and what I would wish, and wills and advance directives and how he would cope as a widower, I crumbled inside to put such a burden on those I love.
The pit of my stomach hasn’t been filled with dread over my health, it’s been filled with dread over what my health as done to those around me. It’s gnawed at me with a fierceness. I’m the one who should be caring for them, and it’s very hard for me to play the role of invalid.
But today, I finally got to lift some of that weight. The specter of death hovering in my daughter’s head. The anxiety in my son’s mind. The uncertainty in my husband’s heart.
Remission.
The doctor said remission. And in his office I broke down, and he touched my shaking hands, and he assured me Lupus was, indeed, in it’s cage, locked.
The long road that started with a hospital stay in August of 2009, the tests at UCLA where I ate radiation, the bowel rest hospital stay, the exploratory surgery, the Mother’s Day hospital stay that broke my heart, the colon and gall bladder surgery where my kids were not allowed to see me, the emergency room visit where I cried in anger at the sky because I was again hooked up to tubes and ivs, the total hysterectomy where I mourned my womanhood, and the diagnosis where we stood dumbfounded and planned my death…now, finally…
Remission.
I feel like I have been given a gift I don’t deserve, but my family does. I feel like the world is different in so many ways. I feel like I owe so many people so much…but most of all I owe these people around me the world.
And I will deliver.
Because Someone Has To, So It Starts With Me
I’ve noticed something over the course of the past few days…you can’t change anyone’s mind.
On anything.
Ever.
You can present facts, and point out flaws in arguments, and you can yell and scream and stomp…but in today’s political climate lines in the sand have been drawn and heels are firmly dug in and not moving.
After 24 hours of using several different approaches to talk to Tea Party types, there really is no hope. They really, truly, believe I am a Communist ugly feminist man hater and I truly believe they are uninformed, racist, fear-mongers. They think I’m unAmerican and not a patriot, I think they are sowing the seeds of violence and ignorance.
And that is just how it is.
So now that I have resigned myself to this sadness, where do we go from here? November is coming and it’s getting nasty. It is going to get much worse before it gets any better. Tensions are running high, each side wants to win.
I’m worried we don’t survive this as a country. This is unlike anything I have ever seen. Passions are so high and people are so convinced THEY are right, I fear what they will do. Currently the Tea Party rhetoric says ‘Take Back Our Country” … and I keep asking, from whom? Other Americans?
We need to find a way to stop the screaming and fear. We need to find a way to work together before people get hurt, because they are getting hurt already. Both sides have documented violence. Both sides need to loudly condemn that violence.
Or we can continue to call names and point fingers. I mean, this is the route even I went down after becoming so very frustrated with the discourse my head exploded. But it gets us nowhere and does no good. And if only one side makes the effort to have civil discourse, and the other continues to just yell the loudest … who will Americans listen to? Do we risk losing because we took the high road?
I refuse to forgive or forget the nasty name calling and hate going on, but I also know we can’t keep going like this. This country is going to implode, and I worry for my kids and for my nation.
We need leaders and cooler heads to prevail right now, I’m not sure I’m one of them. I do think our President is one…but he needs to be louder. Are you one? Are you speaking calmly and rationally about the issues to your friends, family, and neighbors or are you spiraling down the rabbit hole many of us are…turning from talking points to shouts and name calling? What can YOU do to raise the level of conversation right now with those you oppose…not to change their minds, we know that won’t happen, but to at least keep the peace?
I’m not sure any of this is possible, we may be too far gone…but I feel we need to try.
And it starts with me.
I am pledging to be calmer, to try not to lose my temper, and to refrain from name calling.
Join me. And call me out if I lose it. And I have a feeling I may lose it more than I care to admit.
Will anyone from the other side join me? I am doubtful, for whatever their reasons may be. They might not think I am sincere, which is fine. So be it. But at least I floated it out there in the universe…for everyone’s sake. They might think I’m acting just like a typical liberal, being all huggy and lovey while there is a war being waged. The problem is we’re having that war with each other, fellow Americans. This is your country just as much as it’s my country. This is MY country too, although you don’t think I’m a real American.
But it doesn’t matter…if nothing else I will know I tried and I will know I did it for the right reasons…these two:
They will know I fought hard, but I fought fair. If it means we lose because I fought fair, that is the price I pay.
But I guess, in some ways, that means I win.
Dog Weddings.
This was the scene in the back seat just moments ago as the puppy and the kindergartener looked at the clouds outside and imagined shapes.
I think that one looks like a parakeet, what do you think Nicky?
And all was well and good.
Until…
Mommy, how do puppies like Nicky get made? I mean, how do they get born?
Cough.
Something something penis. Something something vagina. Something something mostly just like people.
But Mommy, do they have to get married firsts? Do puppies get married?
This is where I realized I had failed my little girl. Or not. She clearly thinks babies only get made if you are married and we all know that’s not exactly true.
While I would love to keep her from sex for as long as possible, I realize that is not practical or fair to her. She should be sexually aware and active when she’s mature enough and ready, and it has nothing to do with holy matrimony.
But if I lied, and she continued to believe babies are only made by married people…would it really be soooooooo bad? Cue evil thoughts.
In the end I told her the truth. Damn my truth telling ways.
No honey, puppies don’t get married. And lots and lots of people with babies don’t get married. All families are different, remember? Not everyone is just like us.
I know Mom. But I like our family the best. I want my bruddur and I wish I could marry him but I can’t so maybe I will marry my new friend Nicole.
That’s just fine honey. You marry who you love or don’t marry at all… and have babies or don’t have babies. It’s all up to you.
It’s up to me? Wow.
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