EclecticInk.com Arts E-zine
Serving up tasty treats to creative souls from around the world since 2003.
R.I.P. GEORGE CARLIN - M. Mitchell
George Carlin, kick-ass comic, and defender of free speech died last night of a heart attack. BUMMER. I had tremendous respect for Carlin as a comic and benefited greatly from his assortment of beautifully crafted routines. The man was a true genius. One of a kind. Take into account the current lame state of comedy...who will step up and try to fill his giant footsteps? Who is as articulate, as bold, as knowledgable as Carlin? The answer right now, unfortunately, is nobody. Given the current state of the world when we need articulate, outspoken voices more than ever, it seems we have hit a wall. The talent isn't there. So isn't it up to each individual to speak up and speak out and use their wit and wisdom to push society forward with the use of pointed words and well written routines pertaining to our present reality and the world at large and all things lacking therein? I suppose that is what I have been doing, but I am sickened and saddened by the blatant disregard for all things intelligent. If you have been keeping tabs on my blog both here and at My Space (the TENACIOUS ART PIMP), you know that I have been subject to much hell on earth over the last ten months. Though I have contacted the fucking retards in government supposedly in charge of seeing that innocent people are not victimized by criminal assholes from outer space, I have not received assistance. I continue to be harassed and abused due to the fact that I refuse to participate in a lame little experiment, known as 'OPERATION MOCKINGBIRD.' The title stems from the fact that I have been very outspoken when addressing certain injustices in our society and I have been even more outspoken when it comes to dismissing certain miscreant fuck wits who should have been shot out of a cannon and into a brave new world long ago. I will continue to push forward for as long as I care to and I will see to it that those responsible are held accountable for their actions/inactions when it comes to seeing that justice is served and Constitutional law is upheld. Everytime I am seized by a moment of utmost seriousness, I am taken aback and nearly dissolve into hysterical fits of laughter when I think of the absolute fucking retards responsible for this! Afterall, I am dealing with a polygamist, white trash, tax evading, deadbeat dad and petty con man who dropped out of high school and cannot form an articulate sentence to save his life, a 3,000 pound shut-in and welfare recipient from a shitty little town back east, a turd on the map in northwest PA, a southern fried cunt, a paranoid loser terrified of the Geneology Society in Beaver County, PA, who cannot board a street bus, or hold a job, but fudges numbers so that she can collect government funds and a fucking idiot who's biggest thrill in life is passing gas at the dinner table. Oh, and there's the Witchita Lineman, a person who has lived in the same community all of his life and kept the exact same job because he was simply afraid, or terribly unimaginative and afraid to try anything different, (or maybe he's just simple). Then there's his shallow, superficial, petty wife Betty who hasn't done much of anything really, aside from using tired old stereotypes and generalizations in order to form inaccurate opinions about others, especially artists. The stupid bitch simply isn't intelligent enough to grasp the creative imagination. TOO BAD, SO SAD!!! I will continue to pursue this matter legally and see that the retards responsible are punished severely for daring to interfere with my life. In their ignorance they have caused tremendous stress and I will not stop until I see them behind bars. What the hell does this have to do with George Carlin? Well, he was outrageous and outspoken, as am I, and I hope to continue to carry the torch for good old George. Rest in peace and I hope that you continue to kick ass on the other side. - M.M.
GOD REST YOU, GEORGE CARLIN!!!
The Class Clown Has Graduated
BRIAN HUGH RAMSAY
I was way too young to be listening to George Carlin the first time I
heard his Class Clown routine. I was not the class clown. I was too
quiet and timid to be class clown. I was however the guy the class
clowns could come to when they were tired of performing. See, class
clowns are smart and they notice things. They read and so when days
were long and boring, the best place to be in my school was the
library. They were all there, one, or two have actually gone on to achieve
comedy stardom. In the library we would sit and I would listen to them
riffing off each other, testing material that would later drive
teachers to distraction and in one notable case get someone suspended.
That was way back when you tested your boundaries in school and in
class because you knew way deep down where it counts that the
consequences of blowing it in in class were less stringent then
blowing it in the real world.
Maybe that was why I liked George Carlin. He was like me. Okay maybe not like me.
Carlin was like the kids I had known and grew up with. The ones who
made life easier to bare, class a little shorter, authority figures a
little less scary.
He made sense of the minutia of my life while he made light of that
minutia. Icebox Man, I answer the call when there is a need at the Ice
box. I swear whenever I open a bag of bread and start to leaf past the
first slice, or two I hear Carlin making light of the search for 'THE
GOOD BREAD.' Even now when my nieces visit both my brother and I, will
tolerate them standing in front of the fridge looking at it contents
before a Carlin-ism will pop out. "You're letting out all the coldness
I saved up overnight!" I'll scream. "Here's five bucks, my brother
will snap, "Go away to the corner store and get what you want."
Carlin was not a fan of soft vague language or speech. Some of my
customer service success stems from my unwillingness to soft sell
statements and finesse egos. I remember channeling my inner
Carlin the night I told someone the mark of a true customer service
professional is someone who can tell you to fuck off with a such a
beatific smile upon their face that and in such a nice way that the
customer makes a point of thanking you.
He made me love language and appreciate truth. He even made a
memorable family occasion even more so when I quoted him verbatim when
a highly religious member of my family asked me why I had such issue
with the church. "Religion asks you to believe that there is an
invisible man in the sky who sees everything that you do and who
has a list of ten things that he doesn't want you to do and if you do
any of the ten things, you will go to place of fire and torment and
burning and fear...but he loves you, he loves you and he needs money.
He is according to his people very bad with money." That got me out of
a few family get togethers. In fact to this day there are still members
of the family who will not come near me and who cite the reason for
this as that incident, which was almost ten years ago now.
He is my point of light guiding me through the world of comedy. As I
hone my craft and increase my skills, he is the example I go by in my
mind part of the hold triumvirate.
Lenny Bruce who made them laugh until the crowds realized that the
America, the world, Lenny was talking about was the America they lived
in.
Richard Pryor who taught a generation of blacks that they didn't have
to pull it back or play it white just to get laughs and bookings and
fame.
Carlin, who withstood the passing of an age. America tried to
crush him. Silence him. Make him something smaller then he was. Instead
he blasted the walls of authority. They called him un-American, but he
was a patriot. See Carlin believed in the dream of what America could
have been to its people and to the world at large and it pissed him
off how little interest those whose job it was to guide the country in
that direction seemed uninterested in doing so.
An educated electorate is of no use to a government that rules by fear
and entitlement, so let's spend money meant for education and learning
on upper management. You know, the guys who don't do anything have
nothing to do with the kids whose duture they gut every time they
finish their Jettas.
An empowered and vital people could threaten the status of power and
privilege, so let's not house the homeless, feed the starving, or help
the unlucky and disenfranchised. Let's bomb brown people and when we
are done bombing them set up a government that will do to them what
our governments have been doing to us for years.
My women's studies teacher started getting through to me when we
bonded over Carlin, or as she said to me once, "The reason women need
to be empowered is because George Carlin isn't running the world."
And yes, Carlin made me love those seven words. The seven words that
you can not say on radio or television. He made me ask why you
couldn't and made me one of those who fights tirelessly to make sure
that one day that won't be true. Carlin taught me to suspect anyone who
does things for my own good, for the family, or for the children he
taught me that people who do things without your permission and then
say it is for your own good are really doing it for themselves and
they couldn't give a crap about you, or what you want.
I a smarter person because of George Carlin. Carlin made me think and
made me appreciate more and more every day. I remember buying a button at a
head shop when I purchased a Carlin comedy album that I still own and
play today.
'I think, Therefore I Am Dangerous!'
When you make the world a darker place, when you try and bullshit
your way into the hearts and minds of the innocent and uninformed, we
will be there ready and able to fight you using a verbal arsenal that is Carlin inspired.
Don't thin of Carlin as gone don't. His bastard children are a legion and we will be
watching when you screwdeliver the verbal smack down that Carlin would
deliver if he were still with us.
Thank you for everything you did for me George! It's my turn now. I
promise you I will do you proud.
BRIAN HUGH on The Murder of SEAN BELL
Sean and his friends were out for a bachelor party and stopped at a strip club and partied the night away. Unbeknownst to them, the club was filled with what the police like to call "persons-of-interest." The men left the club late. I have no doubt that they had a few and were still feeling that post-party high that comes from being out with friends and doing what friends do best. The cops came out of the darkness and demanded their surrender and compliance. Whatever happened after that is a source of confusion .
The cops at first claimed that the men had drawn weapons on them and tried to flee. Later forensic testimony would show that the men in the car had no weapons of any kind. The police opened fire and fifty rounds later, Sean Bell was dead. Yet another glorious chapter in American civilian police relationships had been written. You know this one, don't you folks? That grand book filled with those many moments when a country founded on the principles of liberty and justice for all failed spectacularly to provide any justice for anyone and denied liberty to someone based on nothing more then the fact that he was not establishment approved.
The Murder of LAWRENCE KING - Megan McBride
If you haven’t heard of Lawrence King, let me give you some information about him, since the media has not given sufficient coverage to his story. Lawrence King was a 15 year old, eighth grader at
Lawrence King
He appeared to be just like every other student in his class, happy and outgoing.
A few days prior to his murder, Larry asked fellow eighth grader 14 year old Brandon McInery to be his Valentine. Apparently,
I would like to ask a very simple question. Where did Brandon McInery’s intolerance toward homosexuals come from? WHY AREN’T
The entire situation upsets me for a number of reasons, but there is one thing that really pisses me off. Why didn’t I hear of this murder when it actually took place? I didn’t hear about this incident until 2 weeks after the fact! We all hear about the idiot who killed 15 innocent people at a mall, for no reason, right away, but we haven’t heard enough about the innocent 14 year old boy who was shot in the head simply for being gay.
What is the difference between these two incidents? In both cases innocent people were killed. Well, what makes one more important than the other? What the hell is wrong with this country? Lawrence King absolutely did not deserve to die and it makes me sick to realize that, apparently, the media does not feel that his murder is important enough to cover. We hear all about tabloid headlines regarding which celebrities have put on weight, or what they are wearing, but not enough coverage has been given to an innocent child murdered because of his sexual orientation. This is ridiculous! Our country’s priorities are so fucked up it’s sickening. I am far from being through venting, but I’m going to end this anyway, because honestly I don’t know what else to say except that so many people have made so many mistakes that are unforgivable regarding this senseless act of violence.
Lawrence, I hope you are in a better place now and free of pain. You were a joy to those who knew you. We all miss you very much, and we will make sure that you are not forgotten.
BRIAN HUGH RAMSAY on Nature and the American Vision: The Hudson River School
Canada, to her credit, has inspired many an ingenious artist, my favourite being Emily Carr. Carr was a woman whose love of the Canadian wilderness, and the footprints left upon it by aboriginal peoples', made her both a legend in the art world and an icon to lovers of landscape aesthetic.
She would view the sprawling exhibit at the New York Historical Society as a chance to reconnect with the real America, not the beleaguered country spreadeagled across three columns and the six o'clock news. I am referring to the vast land of ideas and possibilities that countless millions saw as they moved across it in search of dreams, some haunted by nightmares.
Maybe that is why the exhibit kicks off with the massive Thomas Cole landscape series. A series of paintings showing the rise and fall of a civilization starting with its peoples' first hesitant steps at hunting and gathering and ending with the decayed and desolate remains of an empire undermined perhaps by the very forces that created it.
Other highlights include works by Asher B. Durand, John F. Kensett, Jasper F. Cropsey and Albert Bierstadt whose huge and luminescent canvasses seem at last perfectly placed in this homage to the beauty of a land he and his like minded contemporaries seemed to love so much.
I'm sure that someone could argue that exhibitions like this remind you of what America fights to preserve and protect as it wages a hundred wars on a hundred fronts, cultural, spiritual and otherwise. I will only remind you that all things pass and nothing is permanent. The greatest of civilizations were eventually torn asunder and laid to waste. All that we have of them now is that which, in their vanity, they preserved as a lasting tribute to things they saw as permanent and unchanging. My advice, and I'm just a Canadian internet geek with an axe to grind, is that you take the time to contemplate how modern civilization will be thought of hundreds of years from now, when paintings and artifacts are all that remain to prove our existence.
Malice in Blunderland: Barack vs. Hilary by Canadian Correspondent Brian Hugh Ramsay
One might be forgiven these days for thinking that the U.S. Democratic primaries are starting to resemble a drug fueled fantasy, or a cynics worst nightmare come true. The most prominent frontrunners are persons for whom the dream of being president has always been just that, a dream. Not to jam it down the throat of the supernaturally optimistic, but seeing as hell has yet to freeze over, and cows & pigs steadfastly refuse to grow wings and fly, the average person might be forgiven for wondering what the hell makes anyone think that either Hilary Clinton or Barack Obama have a prayer of sitting in the oval office. One might just as easily posit the chances for a Paris Hilton / Nicole Richie ticket in 2008. Paris clearly feels she has nothing to hide, even things she might want to try hiding, and as for Nicole...unlike a certain gargoyle like veepee, I doubt anyone will accuse Nicole of growing fat off the gullible American voter. Yet the talk persists.
With Democrats seriously gauging the two front runners for their foibles and possible evidence of unlikability that could come back to haunt them at the polling station when America once again holds its nose whilst trying to determine its next step on the road to manifest destiny. As a wise man once said "In a casino, your choices are simple...knowing that you are ultimately going to get screwed and lose most, if not all your money, which of the bandits will allow you the most amount of fun while your getting the business." It's actually interesting to see black Democrats, and black Republicans taking shots at each other over who is more ignorant. Democrats for wanting to believe in the dream of their guy, or Republicans clearly still bitter about seeing their hopes for the future die with Colin Powell's disgrace on the world stage.
As for Hilary Clinton, some might say that a good chunk of Bill Clinton's post presidential career has been a long and extended advertisement for his wife's presidential run. He has used that old seductive charm that made him the terror of the White House Intern Corps to plant firmly in the eyes and hearts of many Americans that the time has come for a woman president, and that Hilary is the best choice for that post. Hilary supporters are quick to remind anyone who will listen that she has the edge on Obama by virtue of her many years as first lady to a multi term governor, and then to a two term President. They will point to the many projects she worked on both on Bill's behalf and on her own volition. Ah, the heady scent of those thrilling days of yesteryear! Clinton's detractors are also quick to remind us of the good old days when influence peddling, and patronage were the currency of Bill Clinton's Camelot.
The smart money seems to point to a merger of sorts. Obama takes the veepee slot under Hilary, biding his time and forging the alliances that make or break great leaders. There are a lot of old school thinkers out there, and if Clinton doesn't want to make them so nervous they go another way, she might want the backing of someone who could forge alliances she never can -- John McCain.
Eights years and a fiasco, or two later, many are acknowledging that McCain might have been the better man to helm the good ship America during these dark days. Ironically though, the fact that he was so publicly frozen out by the republican establishment grants him a perverse credibility that could spell electoral votes come the day of choice.
It is ironic your country seems determined to take a step to the left while mine is making the opposite choice. Stephen Harper seems poised to form a majority government which will grant him the power to do more and say more with absolute impunity. Perhaps we are all starting to realize a hard cold truth. Dreams remain dreams so long as we are afraid to breath life into them. The worrisome part being, dreams once they are living and breathing become the reality that you must learn to live with, and in some cases, live down.
B.H.R.
Brian Hugh Ramsay Reviews ANDY WARHOL/SUPERNOVA: Stars, Death and Disasters, 1962 – 1964 at the Art Gallery of Ontario
"Everything is sort of artificial – I don’t know
where the artificial stops and the real starts.”
– Andy Warhol
Andrew Warhola started his career as a graphic designer creating images for magazine ads and mass market merchandising. During the sixties, Warhol discovered the silkscreen method; taking photographs and images of pop culture icons and churning them out in a mechanical and grid like fashion.
Warhol seeks to erase the artist from the equation and in so doing creates a revolutionary artistic movement: POP ART.
Andy based much of his art on found sources: pictures, publicity stills, movie images, news clippings…Andy scavenged them all, transferring said imagery into artwork. Eventually, he extended that mentality into film.
Andy’s method of directing was basically point and shoot. He would find a target, turn the camera on and leave it running until the life and oddity that followed him around played itself out in front of the camera.
There were people eating, sleeping, making love, or just looking into the camera as the camera looked at them. He later uses these recordings as a kind of wall art; leaving a film projector running; playing and replaying the same images over and over in the same repetitious manner that marks his art.
The filmed images have also become works of art; documentaries capturing the surreal atmosphere of 'The Factory.' Montages of sometimes psychotic characters that will themselves become a kind of artistic statement. Their lives and identities recorded, captured, sifted and processed by Warhol into something new and fascinating; life as art, art as life.
Andy at The Factory
For me personally, to look at Andy’s work becomes an exercise in what if. What if he had witnessed the horrors of 9/11? What about the O.J. fiasco? The trials of Scott Peterson and Robert Blake? The murder of Jon Benet? What would he have made of the Grunge Movement, or the pop explosion that brought us Britney and her clones? What about our recent obsession with brand naming celebrity relationships; the Bennifers’, the Brangelinas’ and TomKats?
We sit in our homes watching life, death; tragedy and ecstasy unfold and repeated endlessly on television. We gorge on dehumanized imagery until the image becomes more important than the facts involved that produce them.
Electric Chair
As I moved through the SUPERNOVA exhibit at the Art Gallery of Ontario, a moment of surrealism overtook me. In the corner is a Mapplethorpe portrait, Andy looking at the crowd. His body language reads as a man in relaxed repose, but the eyes—they are searching. Who will be the next Warhol Superstar? What about the next screen test and the next person on the couch? Who will be the next work of art?
The portrait of Andy staring out at us from the great beyond is haunting. The artist is still watching and waiting. Mapplethorpe captured Andy for all of eternity doing the thing that made him happiest--observing humanity from a distance.
*SUPERNOVA runs through October 22nd at the Art Gallery of Ontario in
Brian Hugh on the Murder of John Lennon
The Boss recently asked for a few words on the anniversary of John Lennon's death; tall order really, since even after all these years it still seems like a surreal nightmare. Even today I find myself asking, did I really wake up to hear DJ's of every radio genre united in a sense of disbelief?
Stoic anchormen who'd delivered news of tragedies and conflict the world over seemed shaken. Stations that played music light years away from what you would consider to be rock were playing anything and everything Beatles that day. “Imagine” was on every station everywhere. I don't remember so much attention given to the death of any public figure, at any other time.
Lennon's music was on all day, all the time; his image appeared everywhere. His words and lyrics now rendered prophetic by the harsh reality of his death. His songs, always a tad angst ridden before such things were popular, became eerie in their aural prescience. Did he know on some level what was going to happen to him? Songs like “Instant Karma” and “Watching The Wheels,” seem to be a cry from a man fully aware that his fame had a dark side that might some day do him in.
In the days that followed Paul McCartney, caught off guard by a reporter, would refer to Lennon's death as a drag. A superficial response that apparently was miles short of the real pain that Paul felt and still feels to this day. Twisted not just by John's death but by the fact that he was taken just as they were starting to talk again, be friends again and learn to forgive each other for the death of the Beatles.
The years since have been one long what if (?) scenario. Live Aid was good, but what would it have been like if the Beatles had reunited on that Wembley Stadium stage. How many classics would John and Paul have churned out during the nineties UK
SO many unanswered questions, but then we do have the music. We have the Anthology, so we can see a young man at the height of his game still able to laugh and joke about creating music that would become classic. We can listen to “Real Love” and “Free As A Bird” and “Imagine” what it would have been like to hear them done live.
We can listen to song after song, classic after classic, and remember the good times. The Bed-Ins’, the activism, that damned cheeky arrogance that was unique to Lennon and that history has shown, had its place. We can also weep, for I see little chance that anyone will ever come along again who can fill that void--be that larger than life working class hero.
BRIAN HUGH RAMSAY on the Aftermath of Hurricane Katrina
Well, since everyone else with an uneducated and biased opinion has weighed in on the flooding of New Orleans, why not your humble chronicler? After digging out of Canadian winters that can create snowdrifts taller then my 6'2 frame, I can appreciate both the shock and awe you feel at nature's fury and the mystification at how civil order could collapse so quickly.
According to reports trickling out of what's left of the Big Easy, their infrastructure was sadly unprepared for the extremes of Hurricane Katrina's wrath or the depths of human depravity that would show themselves
post-disaster.
The usual suspects start finger pointing and blame laying. Indeed FEMA head Michel Brown was shunted aside while publicly everyone continues to praise his efforts. The general drift seems to be, anyone who admits on national TV that he has no idea of the gravity of a situation being reported on by every major media outlet should not be the government's face during that situation. This hurricane and the resultant flooding have escalated from a category five storm to a category ten public relations nightmare.
Then there are the people who live in the city. You hear about disasters and on the very next page you can read about the "stories of personal heroism and triumph." You know, those funny stories about block parties during blackouts, carpooling, and sheltering to get people out of harms way and to protect them once they are safe. So, it is dispiriting to hear stories of armed thugs controlling the streets, firing on rescue workers hoarding
resources and fighting attempts at evacuation One particularly doting example reportage about the disaster and the civil chaos that followed was a piece by Robert Tracinski:
http://tiadaily.com/php-bin/news/showArticle.php?id=1026
In it Tracinski blames the welfare state. Low income earners who have spent so long suckling at the social teat that the idea of having to fend for themselves, even temporarily, drives them to acts of violence and depravity.
Picture the scene as it plays out in Robert's mind. Some social cockroach in a wife beater and sweat pants hauls himself from the carcass of his government housing project to survey the chaos around him. He immediately decides that the right thing to do at this point is to arm himself, grab some malt liquor and a woman, and go loot the local Safe-Way. Rob can I postulate that the blame for people starving to death in the Super Dome isn't the indulgent welfare state? The real culprit might be the rather piss poor social planning that dismissed the minor reality that the city was built BELOW FREAKING SEA LEVEL!!!
And check out Kayne West. Apparently taking time away from turning mediocre pop tunes into mediocre pop tunes with rhythm, Kayne decided that a nationally televised appeal for help and resources was the perfect forum to belch forth his so-called well thought political opinions. Well Kayne, can I venture the thought that stealing a 27 inch plasma screen from the local Best Buy mightn't be the proper solution for the unequal
disposition of wealth in our society?
Look guys the city is toast, maybe we should concentrate on helping the living, burying the dead and rebuilding the lives of everyone affected by this disaster. IF, after all that, pundits still want to fight about the social political culprits for the breakdown of civil order after a unprecedented catastrophe, then of course feel free. May I suggest a Cajun rules cage match with the proceeds going to strengthen the damn levees?
Until next time, true believers...
B.H.R.
Here's to you, BIG DADDY: B.H.R. Remembers HUNTER S. THOMPSON
Like any good tale of the Doctor's this is mostly, but not entirely true. It was G.T.R. (Great Teacher Ryan) who turned me onto the Doc. It was one of those cold ass nights in Canada that you read stories about. G.T.R. had been working for a dime store video set up that would go bankrupt shortly there after. I was in one of my moods, life had been depressing of late, and I was starting to question the direction in which things were headed. I ferried up to the farm and sought comfort and rest from the horrible conditions outside, the relentless howling cries of failure ringing in my ears and heart.
G.T.R. loads up his VCR assuring us that this Bill Murray film was funny, damn funny. He was in the midst of his bad movie fetish, so I relaxed and prepared for yet another incoherent mess passed off as a scripted film. I remember watching the film and thinking at first that Murray was doing a take on his Caddyshack character, I was pleasantly surprised. Hunter Stockton Thompson was a character all unto himself, a guy who faked his way into the writers game to avoid doing any "real work" during his stint in the military. As it turned out, he was so damn talented at writing that he could come up with blistering critiques of his own work and have it look as though dramatically different people with wildly diverse views were ripping into each other.
Over the next several years, I explored this savage strange world. I read Thompson prose and found it good. Thompson wasn't trying to invent anything when he became the father of GONZO journalism, he was just writing from a whacked out perspective. He wanted the world to see the madness that was so very much apart of the so called sanity of our daily lives. His focus was on the way we abused our minds and our bodies and most importantly the way we abuse those who we call upon to lead us, love us, and give us hope for the future.
Hunter wrote about America. He saw the country though some of the most tragic and glorious changes and watched the idealism of the sixties become the disillusionment of the seventies, the cynicism of the eighties and eventually the depressive whining and angst of the nineties. His prose saw me through my own dark period. I saw his wisdom and his willingness to flay open the sick carcass of the world and jab at the wound, cauterizing it with truth and vitriol. I tried, and maybe in some ways I have succeeded, in finding truth within my own work.
I so very much want his death to be a hoax; an amusing joke played on the public so that The Good Doctor can find out what might be said about him when he's gone, but that is not going to happen. He is gone, and he's not comin' back, but I'll always have his work: 'Fear And Loathing On The Campaign Trail '72,' 'Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas,' 'The Great Shark Hunt,' 'The Generation of Swine,' better than sex. The letters, articles, and most importantly that savage strange way of looking at the world that inspired, titillated, and opened minds even as it clouded them.
I have the knowledge that anyone that has read the work and understood it is good people. I have the sweet memories of watching 'Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas' for the first time, and thinking that Johnny Depp was one fearless mofo for taking his portrayal of the real Gonzo so very over the top. I am a better writer now because of that snowy night. I am a better person now because I discovered that there was a man called Hunter S Thompson out there. Tomorrow, I will wake up and the world will still be there; it will still need to be reminded, not just of how great it is, but how great it could be if it would just try harder, or at least develop a sense of humor about itself.
Thank You, Doctor. The man that I am and the man that I may become, owes a profound debt to you. I am thankful that you decided to answer that ad and faked your way into a job you thought you were ill suited for. A writer writes, they write of their own truths and the truth there in. With that profundity in mind, I will rise from this evil machine, go out into the world, and have a look. It may be a darker world for his being gone, but it is brighter for his having taught me how to search in the shadows for the glowing embers of hope and proof that betrays that a great civilization was here and may yet rise again.
Good journey my friend, see you on the other side. I tarry here but a little longer for there is still much to be done and fewer hands now to do the work. R.I.P. Hunter S. Thompson.
Your fan and faithful friend,
B.H. Ramsay
The Wil Rogers of the Last Half of the 20th Century - BRIAN HUGH RAMSAY
Urban Legend time, folks. In 1991, hundreds of reporters descended on Burbank, California for the annual meet and greet that allows network executives to crow about their bright and shiny new stars for the upcoming season. NBC was riding high. The peacock network had been getting good numbers, and they were still the ones to beat. Johnny Carson walked out on stage to big applause. The undisputed King of Late Night, he had beaten all comers; humbling some and grinding the rest out of existence by virtue of his grace under fire talent.
Carson was doing his thing and working the room with quick, witty banter. The press conference was like watching one of his monologues. The executives were feeling confident that he would re-new. Carson reached the end of his prepared speech and then announced quietly that he would be retiring in May of '92.
Silence fell over the room. Executives who had been confident about their place in the ratings game and their own individual roles only seconds before, were now bewildered. Had Johnny Carson just announced his retirement in front of every single influential journalist in America? Indeed he had. Was this some pressure tactic to get more money? Apparently not, because he really didn't need the extra cash.
Carson was serious. He was out. Gone. Finished. He left that stage and began planning the last week of shows that would go down in history for the high quality talent that gave back to Johnny in tributes and praise he had earned over a celebrated career that spanned decades. That was Johnny's way, quietly reading the audience for signs that it was time to move on, not wanting to linger too long, or overstay his welcome. He also had the bizarre ability to completely turn it on and turn it off.
Public and private Carson were two very different people. In all the praise, tributes and gushing in the wake of his death at 79 from Emphysema, you step back and realize you didn't really know that much about Johnny Carson. What you do know involves the icon and the myth, as opposed to the man. Well, you know as much about Carson as he wanted you to know. You had him for an hour a night and he gave you everything he had. He gave you his best and he never phoned it in and at the end of every show when the camera went off, so did his public persona.
Carson did not even cash in on his "Where Are They Now" fame. Johnny did what a retiree is supposed to do, live quietly and enjoy the things that work had not left him time to do previously. He did not make a spectacle of himself. He knew that the public needs to believe that you are what you seem to be.
In the end, he remained the larger than life, bigger then big, King Of Late Night; the innovator and the originator. He gave us what we wanted most, the image of a celebrity in quiet repose who after doing what made them famous allowed us our memories and did not rob them of significance by staging an attempt at late in life re-invention.
He did not make his health problems public in so much as they were made public for him. Kings of Late Night do not get sick, that is for mere mortals and we need Johnny Carson to go on being immortal.
The Johnny we know is the one he wanted us to see and know about. He gave us what he thought we wanted and you know something? He did it his way and he was right.
Thanks for the memories, Johnny. We'll miss ya!
RAMSAY Reflects on the Year that Was (2004)
Well, time to look back and say what you think about the passing year. Ugly, tempered bastard that I am, I thought I would take a shot at being positive for once and write about the things I'm thankful for. Here goes...
1. I'm thankful for the blogging community.
This year as we struggled to separate fact from fiction and real news from press release sound bytes, the bloggers were often way ahead of the curve. BLOG's are usually the home of much teen angst and bad poetry. Thanks, however, to regular bloggers (some of them obsessive news junkies, some of them industry pro's writing under aliases), not only did we get more of the story this year than ever, but we also saw how much of the story we don't get and why.
2. I'm thankful that Fahrenheit 9/11 and Passion of the Christ came out in the same year.
Released within weeks of each other, Michael Moore's documentary and the Mel Gibson's cinematic passion play both gave us a stark picture of the world. The criticism and the praise, the laurels and vitriol sounded the same, but different, depending on what ideological camp you belonged to. This may seem simplistic, but think about it. People treated these films as if they were going to change the world. As if the viewing of them would send crazed thugs out in the streets to run amuck, duped into believing lies and half-truths. It is dishearting to realize just how stupid some people believe the average person to be. (Not quite as disturbing as how stupid the Average Joe really is, but that's a rant for another day).
3. I'm thankful for Janet's Jackson's breast. No, seriously, I am.
The secret battle to control the mind and heart of the public came out of the shadows and onto the world stage. We saw men of dubious character elevated to posts of power, manipulating good-hearted people by promising to "clean up the airwaves." We watched as a nation of good people had their good intentions turned into fodder for hate and divisiveness. Those of us who have been trying to educate the public can point to this year as being the year that at last, people got the message. Control what people can see, hear and say and you control their way of thinking and in 90% of the groups out there, mind control is what they are all about.
3. I'm thankful for bi-partisan rancor.
Nothing is more fun then watching people you respect argue opposing viewpoints. Except when those views are so stratified that people act as if they are gospel and any other point of view is madness personified and a conspiracy against the good and decent of the world. Why would I be thankful for something like this? Well, because the solution to this problem is easier then most. If we rediscover the LOST ART of LISTENING we might discover that we agree more then we disagree, we just haven't been paying attention.
4. I'm thankful for the I-pod.
Mp3 players have become THE gift item this year. Technology has advanced to the point where we can fill our players with gigs worth of music. Of course, now that that option exists, we are starting to notice that the music industry is ill equipped to handle that demand. P2P services continue to be the best place to find rare to air music. The beautiful thing is Itunes and the many legit services that sprung up are making money hand over fist. They just need the content. How has the industry decided to deal with that issue? Well, they gave us Ashlee Simpson. (!!!) They responded by sitting on artist releases by solid talents justifying it by saying that there was no "Hit Potential." Meanwhile a lightweight like Ashlee gets cradle to grave exposure on MTV and commercial hit radio.
Speaking of which, I'm thankful for NATRADIO and the semi daily broadcast(s) that I do from Toronto to the world, via the internet. Whole volumes could be written about what I'm discovering, as I pour over the letters, requests and comments. I am learning things about net culture that amaze me and I live half of my life online already! Sure I play commercial crap, but I also play stuff you aren't going to hear on Itunes & Poptracks. Increasingly it is people like me, who spread the word about music that doesn't suck. (Depending on what your definition of non-sucking music happens to be).
5. And in a blatant act of sucking up, I'm thankful for both you, (our audience) and Marla (Editor-In-Chief, EI.com).
Over the last year I have had the chance to rant rave and more importantly really look at the world around me and how it works and why it works and share my discoveries with you via Eclectic Ink. Marla has patiently winnowed out the dross, leaving you with some razor sharp and accurate takes on the world that we all share. (Trust me, there are some real clunkers on her hard drive with my name on them). Her ability to make me look good in print is astounding and her commitment to all of you inspires me to do what I can to stay the course and keep hacking away at it.
This is a beautiful world and I will not surrender it to the weasels' without a fight! It's the least that an ugly, tempered bastard can do for the ones he cares about. Happy New Year my friends! All the best in '05!
Until next month,
B.H.R.
The Beginning of "The New Mean" BRIAN HUGH RAMSAY
One of the things about being a politics junkie is that you develop a level of foresight that can be almost frightening at times. Thus, during the Democratic National Convention I looked into the eyes of John Kerry and saw nothing; none of the spark or gleaming twinkle of scheming charisma that made Clinton so much fun to watch. This was not the man to halt America's head long Irish jig to the right. Nevertheless, you hope and you pray that you are wrong. The long and short of it is that I may be one of the few Kerry Supporters who would have been more surprised if he won then lost.
So, the dust is settling...
Now that an overwhelming majority of Americans have carved the next chapter in the character assassination of a nation, it's time to admit the truth about how things are in this sad, strange part of the world.
Hate and intolerance have replaced reason and patience as the currency of social change and demonizing the other guy has become the strategem of choice. (Okay, that sort of thing isn't new, but damn if it isn't getting more of a workout lately than is comfortable).
Blood was being shed out there over questions of which votes were going for and against. To hear the religious right tell the tale, they fear reprisals in the wake of their choice to safeguard America's social and moral fiber. Such self serving dogma only serves to divide and derange rather then to unite and sooth a populace that lately seems to believe that it is their way or the highway--"America; love it or get the **** out!"
What's worse is that with blatant evidence that some truly dark agendas were being serviced at the expense of personal liberty and national security, such people continue to let little things determine their view of the world. Let me challenge you with this idea: IF social freedom and choice are truly sacred, why was Ralph Nader getting legally stonewalled for running an election campaign? If Washington and Lincoln both rose from the dead on prime time TV and ran an election platform that you disagreed with, would you have voted for them? Of course not! So why would the bleating of an obvious fringe candidate bother you? If Nader wants to run, let him run! That is his choice just as it is your choice to vote, or not to vote for him.
On the other hand, how morally justifiable is the war in Iraq when the man responsible for the terrorist attack that prompted said war is still at large and still free to plan further attacks. Apparently still making statements to the effect that a vote for Kerry was a vote for peace with terrorists (not my words check the news reports for yourself).
Misinformation, blatant defaming and character assassination--these are the trademarks of your new enlightened politically aware society. You are with us, or you are against us and if you are against your words and ideas are evil and dangerous and must be strangled in the birth canal of thought; never shared or debated upon, never culled over for the relevance that might reveal golden nuggets of truth. I call it the New Age of Mean, the age when being stridently certain of a point of view is more important then being right. The age when you can LIE, EXAGGERATE, CONCEAL and BASTARDIZE and you will still be rewarded with the gold seal of public approval. Ah, that's democracy for you!
Until next month,
B.H.R.
The Toronto International Film Festival 2004 - BRIAN HUGH RAMSAY
As your humble chronicler of the northern climes, I had the pleasure to be front and centre for this year's Toronto International Film Festival. Films are a wonderful thing. They tell stories about who we are and who we would like to be and every so often they tell us about things that we would just as soon not know about.
This year's crop of films was obtained in a wide net cast by organizers and the themes are many and varied. Films run from the dark and depraved, to the surreal and sublime.
My personal bent is genre films, thus the North American premiere of 'Ghost in the Shell 2; Innocence' was right up my alley. This year's midnight madness was a high point for my fanboy loving soul. 'GITS' tells the tale of a society drowning in its technological dependence. Takashi Miike, who has in past years shocked and appalled audiences with powerful and disturbing pieces like 'Audition' and 'Ichi the Killer', takes aim at the superhero culture with Zebraman. (Imagine taking many drugs and then watching Mighty Morphin Power Rangers).
Points for most shocking film go to Saw (a tense American thriller starring Cary Elwes, Danny Glover & Monica Potter), in which a demented maniac imprisons victims forcing them into kill, or be killed situations.
Zev Asher, a documentary filmmaker was making the rounds and avoiding the darts being tossed his way for his investigation of a local crime that had international repercussions. 'Casuistry; The Art of Killing a Cat', looks at the 2001 incident wherein three teens violated a stray cat before beheading it. One fest organizer received a death threat from parties unknown and even I was accosted in a elevator by someone angered at the presence of the film in the fest calendar. Right or wrong, the general feeling in the fest offices was that it was a documentary and thus must be judged on how well it tells a story. Since the film may get a limited release, I leave it to my readers to do just that.
Katsuhiro Otomo returns to the fest circuit with 'Steamboy'. Otomo-san is also the director of the classic Akira. STEAMBOY explores themes of scientific philosophy asking the question, should morality or necessity determine the pace of scientific development? In my opinion, the film is successful in telling a thrilling adventure story set in the semi-Victorian age.
Audiences thrilled to films like 'Silver City' and 'Going Upriver'. Films that if you can see them before the next election, may change your mind about which way you are voting come November. Silver City is a satirical piece much in the mold of 'Primary Colurs', showing the election drive of a candidate whose questionable leadership skills are covered up by a soulless political machine. 'Going Upriver: The Long War of John Kerry' is a documentary focusing on the young Kerry and particularly his anti-war activity after he got back from his heroic service in Vietnam. If you still have doubts about what Kerry stands for, you will at least know what he stands against.
The city of Toronto was insane! As a volunteer, I was running from venue to venue. I watched guests and attendees being herded like cattle from hotel to movie house and back. In many ways they are as much victims as we are in this parasitic process that has film goers rushing from screening to screening, sometimes with only moments to make choices that determine what goes in a multiplex.
By the time Sunday and the end of the festival rolled around I was a drooling zombie with only vague powers of recollection. I knew it was time to go home and rest when I found myself falling asleep on the subway that traverses Toronto---Too tired to get off at the festival office to return my volunteer badge.
Alas! Alas!
B.H.R.
Canadian photojournalist, ZAHRA KAZEMI, was killed while covering a protest in Iran last year--BRIAN HUGH RAMSAY shares the details.
Eclectic Ink is home to artists of all stripes including photographers. Photographers tell stories though pictures of what our world is like and like all art forms, it holds up a mirror to society and draws attention to our flaws. Zahra Kazemi, a Canadian photojournalist, traveled to Iran to show and tell the world about life under a brutal regime. A regime which hides its evil under a cloak of religious hocus pocus.
While she was in the mid east, Kazemi took pictures of a student protest near Evin Prison, which was the scene of a brutal massacre of several thousand political prisioners in 1988. The government was clamping down on security; the photojournalist knew the risks, but did her job anyway. She was caught up in one of the security sweeps and arrested. Her E-letters back home made it clear that harrassment of reporters was regular and accepted in that benighted wasteland. It was something she was prepared for; she assumed that the worst she would endure would be some jail time. She was wrong.
Zahra Kazemi
The Iranian government imprisoned her, abused her, tortured her and after they killed her, they buried her body in a foreign land so that they might cover up this abominable crime. The Iranian government murdered her. Is that strong language? Live with it, as her son lives with it. Live with the knowledge that a group of shadowy men regard the world with such contempt. Those same men lie about the torture and abuse Kazemi endured; explain it away with the ridiculous claim that she fell down during a hunger strike. Those same men offer blood money to the family but deny them access to the body. Why? Because they know that a layman would come to the conclusion that Kazemi was brutalized before her death. The Iranian government ignores every convention of international justice and humanity that allows our species to maintain its arrogant claim of civilization and they openly flaunt their lack of fear in Canada's face.
Canada is not a country that does regime change. We talk, we discuss, we entreat, we grovel at the feet of murderers then we go home and try and tell ourselves that it will all mean something in the end. A life is snuffed out and because Canada lacks the means, we may never see justice for Zahra. A crime is commited and because there is no oil in the sand, the perpetrators behind that crime will continue to have their way with the world; an image of brutal honesty worthy of anything Zahra ever recorded with her camera.
1948-2003
R.I.P. Kurt Cobain - Brian Hugh Ramsay
"For what profit is it to a man if he gains the whole world, and lose his own soul? Or what will a man give in exchange for his soul?" - Matthew 16:26
"Most of us go to our grave with our music still inside of us." - Unknown
Kurt Cobain is ten years dead as a doornail. Since then music and the Alt-Rock scene especially, have changed. Kurt's memory, the way that we see him, that has really changed. Kurt has morphed from a talented guitarist and vocalist and effective songwriter into a messiah figure--Grunge Rock's own beatified saint. Cobain has been carrying the torch for alot of us since then; however, was Cobain an artistic genius beset by grasping false friends and ungrateful bandmates, not to mention a sinister and greedy wife, or was he a damaged tortured soul, innately hardwired for self-destruction by our "Use and Abuse" way of living?
In the early 90's, I was feeling the typical teenage angst that would become cliched at the close of the century. As my life passed out of the euphoria of childhood and into the demented surrealism of High School, I wanted the music of the times to speak for me. The Hair Bands like Bon Jovi, Def Leppard and others were getting laid and living high lives with fast girls. That was not my life. I was an outcast in the halls of my own school. Insulted, demeaned, made to feel small and unimportant because my clothes weren't right and my hair was unkempt and I read long books with big words. Then I found "The Friend," you know, "The One."
The person who had that record collection just a bit better then yours. The one who looked for new stuff that wasn' t popular. Being at his house was a litany of strange roars. They excited my senses, that thus far, had been long dulled by commercial hit radio. Playing strange music for me like The Sex Pistols, The Ramones, The Pixies and Sonic Youth. One day, he demanded I listen to a track off an album called Nevermind. "Just listen to this one track, it is killer," he crowed and set Cobain's screaming prose loose on my young mind.
For the next few years, I would explore a world of musical choices that have come to be known as the Alt-Rock scene. Bands like Soundgarden, Pearl Jam, Alice in Chains, and the Smashing Pumpkins sang the songs that became my anthems and my mantras. Although others would come along, I would always return to "Nevermind" and eventually "In Utero." When my elitist friends were calling it nothing but noise, Nirvana would make an MTV Unplugged appearance that silenced the harshest critics, for awhile.
The fact that Kurt was not happy was no shock. That he set a dark course for himself was just as obvious. Sad people produce great art, but sad people often try to banish the sadness and sometimes the creative process doesn't cut it. Drug and alcohol abuse seemed mystic and cool to my young mind, already learning that the cost of being a talented artist usually was to be a screw-up in all other aspects of life. The pantheon of musical God-hood reads like a roll call of the dysfunctional and damaged. The ones who knew them best always said that no matter how it came, the end was not as surprising as the reaction of those left behind asking how & why?
There are always signs, always hints; cries for help that get interpreted as poor lifestyle choices, self-indulgent lyrics, and publicity whoring from stars too immature to realize that life is not always about them and their make believe pain.
On the day that I heard the first reports that Kurt had been found dead--the gunshot wound apparently self-inflicted, my blood ran hot with rage. Two years earlier, in my loneliness and frustration, I had tried to take my own life. It was during my recovery, that the music of Nirvana and other Alt-Rockers, really took hold of me as I tried to answer for myself that burning question of WHY. Not why had I tried to kill myself, but why shouldn't I try again? The anger, the pain and loss they sung about was my anger, my pain, and my frustration. I felt cheapened by his act. The media called his suicide a cliché, which somehow made my own misadventure a cliché. In a single moment, every LIE I had told myself in those lonely hours as the life slipped out of me, became truth. If Kurt could not deal with LIFE, was I any better?
He had money, a wife, a kid & fame; all of the things that I had been taught that I should want. IF the 2.5 kids and the "Picket Fence Fantasy" held no joy for Kurt then surely I was destined to crash and burn. We ask, WHY KURT? You created beauty, you made the world better, why end it by ending yourself. It took me ten years to find the answers but I think I'm close to one now. The thing Music fans hate the most is the band that stays too long, the band that becomes a sad parody of its early years. Nirvana was a great band; they could have gone on forever except, what might they have sounded like? Releasing one album after another, each one compared to work produced when they were younger, hungrier and less polished. "In Utero" was unfavorably compared by some to "Nevermind." Grunge music aficionados sometimes slammed "Nevermind" itself as being overly commercial compared to "Bleach." Although the fans embraced the Unplugged release as Nirvana in its purist essence, most critics did not appreciate it until after Kurt's death. Their Garage band sound became an over-used studio trick. Nirvana and their Grunge Cousins, were slammed for being needlessly self-indulgent.
Would we have preferred the slow disintegration suffered by bands like Alice in Chains? Lead singer Layne Staley commited slow suicide. He proved unable to escape the lure of drugs, or believe the happy feel good pitch of the self-help gurus and their twelve-step industry. The Stone Temple Pilots flamed out the same way. I reluctantly await Scott Weiland's final descent into rock infamy; alone in some godforsaken room with nothing but his drugs and his pain as witness to the death of this otherwise talented guy. How about the Smashing Pumpkins? They self-destructed. Brought down from the inside by ego conflicts and from outside by The Music Business--A cannibalistic industry that fattens its stars even as it consumes them, leaving nothing but the desecrated carcasses we see on the Where Are They Now?/ Surreal Life specials.
Recent reports have disclosed that in the month before his death Kurt was thinking about dissolving Nirvana and making music with Hole. Most of the their first album was written by Cobain, so it's not such a stretch. The cynical have dismissed such stories by pointing out that Kurt was doing way too many drugs at that point. Many whisper that he talked about divorcing Courtney Love. No matter what the truth is, it is clear that Kurt needed some kind of a change.
Sinner or Saint, Kurt Cobain's life and death have taught us something. Many of us draw a line between our lives before April 5th 1994 and our lives now. Go out the week of April 5th and thank Kurt for letting you see how far you have come; the lessons you have learned, the loves you have had and lost, the good and bad times. Thank God that you can draw a breath today. Take his life as an example, you can have it all and still feel empty if you don't find Your own reasons to love who you are and what you do. Most important, go out and buy a copy of a Nirvana album for yourself or a friend. R.I.P. Kurt Cobain.
B.H.R.
Our Beloved Canadian Correspondent, Brian Hugh Ramsay, Asks The Musical Question...A Constitutional Ban On Gay Marriage? What Could "DUBYA" Be Thinking?
George Bush, and by extension "The Republican Party," are waging war on America's "Queer Nation." The argument put forward by Dubya's handlers, is that by offering same sex couples the right to call any life long union marriage, "liberal law makers, and aggressive local officials" are threatening the underpinnings of domestic society. They maintain that if law makers want allow this type of union, then at least call it something else, anything else, just not MARRIAGE. Apparently, Republicans and church leaders feel that MARRIAGE is some kind of copyrighted term; the gay and lesbian use thereof, robs it of its social meaning and reverent status. (Cue pictures of Britney Spears, Liz Taylor, and anyone else famous whose sacred unions barely lasted longer then it took for the ink on the marriage license to dry).
"What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." - Shakespeare
However, as any Lenny Bruce fan can tell you, words have a power that transcends the language that birthed them; marriage is such a word. It denotes to some of us, a merging of lives and therefore, souls. Two people, who for whatever reason, have chosen to be together, supposedly for the rest of their lives. Take the "M" word away, and you remove the symbolism behind the action. You no longer have two people who want nothing more then to be with each other, forever; rather, you have two people shacking-up and shagging until boredom, or death sets in.
I can see where some of the heat initiates from. When some European countries were sanctioning gay marriage, bible-belt Americans could dismiss it as "Europeans dressing immorality as social sophistication." Then, your northern cousins, the Canadians, pulled a social 180º when two major provinces: Ontario and British Columbia, declared that withholding the right to marry based on sexual orientation was a human rights violation. The race for the chapel was on for hundreds of gays and lesbians, including some from America. Sure, they know that their wedded bliss, and more importantly the legal rights, and responsibilities that go with it, are recognized north of the border only. The symbolism drove them to make the trip across the border in order to stand in line, and to do the deed in front of a Justice of The Peace (Freedom of Religion guarantees that no church that forbids it, will ever be forced to hold or endorse a gay marriage). The liberal government has pledged to entrench the rights of gays and lesbians to marry into the Canadian constitution. (The cynic in me demands that I mention they have pledged to do this only after they win the next Federal election).
Let us not kid ourselves here. The real winners, should gay and lesbian marriage become the norm instead of the exception, are the divorce attorneys. Ambulance chasers across the country will be supporting their children's, children's children, with what they stand to make after the shine wears off, and the harsh reality of married life sets in. In addition, lets not drag out the tired saw of sexual sophistication within the community...gays and lesbians simply want the same rights that straight American citizens enjoy. When same sex couples are finally allowed to legally get hitched, they will quickly realize getting married and staying married are two very different beasts, and that taming the one does not automatically grant you mastery over the other.
Marriage does not need to be protected by George W. Bush. Marriage is a symbol. The word itself, and the message that it conveys, and the ideals contained there-in, cannot be damaged by all the Bennifers, Britney Spears, or Liz Taylor's out there. IT stands untouched by the serial polygamists who use, and abuse their partners. It still means something to those of us who dream of one day standing before witnesses, and swearing to love, honor and cherish, till death do us part. If those ideas are the ones that form the basis of a marriage union, then the "institution" will stand the test of time and foul political will, no matter who walks down the aisle, or who waits for them at the end of it.
Sensationalism and Tabloid Journalism in America - Marla M. Mitchell
In case you haven't noticed, journalistic integrity is a thing of the past. Junk food journalism has experienced such an enormous surge in popularity over the past ten years, that it has virtually taken over and become our primary source of information in this nation. If this bit of truth does not cause you concern, it should. Big time.
The tabloid press has gone from being an easily discredited minority, to becoming the dominant force in media today. We are spoonfed round the clock press coverage by 24 hour news service station's that continually fill us, to the point of regurgitation, with "Jerry Springer headline's." What does this say about a society that supports such gross, media bias?
If there were not some sort of psycho/social need for it, then the powers that be would surely change their ways and stop producing news at this most basic level. After all, our society thrives on the laws of supply and demand.
Journalistic standards have sunk to such a juvenile and petty level because we the people eat it up. Does this imply further decline and degeneration on the part of our society, or is it simply cyclical?
It appears that our species cannot maintain a period of stable progression. We tend to regress within 10 year cycles, the natural process of evolution somehow arrested. And so we hang in perpetual limbo, unable to make the intellectual commitment that is necessary in order to achieve progressive minded goals.
Our discontent, our indifference and jaded cynicism, have all contributed to this current crisis and have led to the formation of "The Disinformation Society."
The press will take a story and beat us over the head with the sensationalistic aspects of it, until we are literally desensitized to the facts and distracted by all of the hype. Opinions are then formulated based on half-truth's, while relying on unsubstantiated rumors as evidence and in some cases, reason enough to win a conviction in the court of public opinion.
Why not focus media attention on this desperate "need for the negative," this "hunger for raw meat" that has proven to be insatiable on the part of our nation? It's time to reclaim moral and ethical responsibility and time to stop catering to the lowest common denominator.
We have been overlooking the contribution's being made on a daily basis to the continual "dumbing down" of America, for far too long; it's time to put this perverse process in reverse.
