• Is about this blog
• Is short enough to not need a summary

Every few weeks, I think about changing this website. I think about moving the blog elsewhere and making gabebullard.com look more ‘professional.’ I’m not exactly sure what that means, though.

Do I post a picture of myself next to a radio microphone? Do I link to stories I’ve written? Do I stop posting my thoughts on pop culture and media?

And every few weeks I worry about it. The fears eventually come down to me thinking that writing posts about Don Rickles makes me seem like anything less than a serious journalist. And every few weeks I dispel that fear by reminding myself:

1. I am a serious journalist, and that doesn’t stop me from thinking about other things in my off hours.
2. I’m honing my writing skills by posting something new here every two weeks.
3. I’m not posting anything that would make anyone question my ability to be a fair journalist. I’m not on the DEVO and Buster Keaton beat, after all.

If someone came along and offered me a million dollars, but retracted the offer because of what I’ve posted here, then I might consider changing this. But if my ridiculous over-thinking of the politics of King of The Hill stops you from giving me a million dollars, then I don’t want your money anyway (maybe).

• Is about movies
• References movies I haven’t seen
• Was inspired by the series finale of the At The Movies TV show
• Acknowledges that it’s kind of silly
• Has three footnotes, but two of them aren’t necessary

I have this bad habit of trying to absorb everything at once. When I like a band, I collect their whole discography. When I like a book, I reserve the author’s entire catalog at the library. When I like a movie, though, I get stuck. I don’t rent the director’s oeuvre. I don’t look for the writer’s other works. I stop.

It’s not that I can’t rent more movies. I live near a video store with an extensive selection and I subscribe to Netflix. With Netflix, it’s easier (and more affordable) for me to find a director’s other works than it is for me to read more books by an author I like. It’s not that I’m not interested in seeing more movies. I like watching movies.

But for someone who enjoys movies, there are too many I haven’t seen.

I don’t mean there are literally thousands of movies that have been made that I haven’t seen, because that’s true of everyone. I mean there are too many movies I probably should see that I haven’t. There are about just as many I’ve never admitted to not seeing.

I could blame my upbringing. I don’t harbor any resentment toward my parents for anything, but I wasn’t raised in a cinematic household. It’s not that culture was absent; it was extremely prevalent. My parents are with it. They exposed me to some great art. Very little of it, though, was on celluloid. Growing up, if I wanted a book, I could go the public library or browse my parents’ collection. If I wanted to listen to music, there were boxes upon boxes of records in the house. If I wanted to look at visual art, there were photography books. It was all there…except movies. We didn’t have a lot of home videos. I was always surprised to go to friends’ houses and see VHS tapes or DVD boxes lined up like the books in my parents’ living room. I don’t think there was any sort of intellectual difference between my friends’ parents and mine, I just think there was a different focus on entertainment, and that difference surprised me when I was a child. *

Now, I did see movies back then. We watched movies on television. We rented new releases at the video store. We occasionally went to the theater. But these viewing habits omitted a number of classic and important films. When I started getting deeper into music and books, I realized I had a large, Orson Welles-shaped cultural blind spot. I could have caught up; I could’ve gone to the video store and the library to get the classics. I didn’t. I didn’t grow up watching movies regularly, and even though I liked movies, I was a teenager who wasn’t interested in sitting still for two hours.

Most of my good friends in college were in the film and video programs. They knew all about the movies I had missed. They had either seen them (anyone who saw 8 1/2 before they could drive has serious bragging rights) before, or saw them their first year in class. When we talked, we were all on the same footing most of the time. With music, new movies and books, we kept up, sharing tastes and opinions. But when the conversation veered toward Le Amiche**, I closed my mouth and nodded.

I saw several important movies in college. I watched them in class and I watched them in the library when I didn’t have other things to study. And that’s what it was: studying. I was studying and learning. It was as educational as a trip to the museum, but without any of the fun of walking. After Satyricon, I had to stop. I was near graduation and I figured there was no point in seeing the rest. Why sit in darkness for hours just so I can appreciate things and have ammo for conversations with my classmates?***

After graduation, Fellini came up less and less in conversation. My friends and I mostly talked about how broke we were and how hard it was to find a good job. But the seed was planted. Like with good albums, paintings or books, the movies stuck with me. I wanted to see everything by the directors and writers I liked most. I started craving Antonioni and Kurosawa. I wanted to watch more. But at the time, I didn’t have a TV or Netflix, and I worked during library hours. Granted, this all sounds very pretentious and neurotic. Oh, poor me, I haven’t seen Wild Strawberries. Yes, there are bigger problems. I’m bringing up this movie gap now because, as I see it, this is the time for me to see these movies:

First, I have the means. There’s a recession on, but Netflix is my lowest monthly bill. Plus, movies are extremely affordable at the local independent store.

Second, I have the time. I’m sure I can set aside 2-3 hours a week to watch a movie that will boost my cultural capital.

Third, I have the will. At least I think I do. Part of why I haven’t seen these classic movies is that they haven’t taken priority over other things that fill up my free time. I feel bad for sitting around the house too much after work or on the weekends. But I can get over it. After all, I do have the time. Any anyway, this is the modern age. Movies are streaming and I have a computer. Quiet day at the coffee shop? Click on Paisa. Can’t sleep during a trip? Call in the French New Wave. Let’s watch some movies.

* This is true, but in case my parents read this, I should point out two (I’m sure there are others) very nice instances that contradict this statement: 1) my mom and dad bought Toy Story when it was new on video (I was 12), and 2) my mom bought the Royal Tenenbaums when it was new on DVD (I was 16). We hadn’t seen either in the theater.

**This is properly L’amiche in French, but in America, the movie is always listed with the double-vowel.

***The danger with watching too many important movies too close together is probably most clear to the people who knew me in the second semester of my sophomore year, when repeated viewings of the best Woody Allen movies had the same effect on me that prolonged life in the deep south has on a northerner’s accent.

• Is about comedy
• Is mostly about Don Rickles, who is alive
• Is partially about Buster Keaton, who is not alive
• Is tangentially about artistic sacrifice and revenge
• Is slightly speculative and probably pretentious as all get out
• Has a footnote about Vietnam

How did Buster Keaton feel?

I ask this question because earlier this week I walked by the local independent video story and saw a giant black and white picture of Don Rickles hanging in the window. I smiled and kept walking. After a few steps I stopped and pulled out my phone. I had to make sure the picture wasn’t a memorial. I had to make sure Don Rickles hadn’t died. (He’s alive)

Thinking of Don Rickles makes me wonder how Buster Keaton felt in 1965. That was the year Keaton and Rickles appeared together in Beach Blanket Bingo–the fifth installment of the seven-part Beach Party movie series.

I’m not a big fan of insult comedy and I’m not an avid Don Rickles devotee. Some of his stuff is upsetting, but I admire his courage. He was a comedic pioneer, pushing polite speech to extremes. He wasn’t like Lenny Bruce. Lenny Bruce thrived more on controversy than laughs. Rickles was loyal to the punchline, no matter who the butt of the joke was. He was a comic who didn’t demand to be taken seriously. He insulted Sinatra. (“Make yourself at home, Frank. Hit somebody” he said after Sinatra walked in during a set. And anybody who insults Sinatra gets a point or two with me.)

Now Rickles is more of a living face on comedy’s Mount Rushmore than a groundbreaking stand-up. He’s better known as Mr. Potato Head from Toy Story to this generation, and nobody–not even him–seems to have any problem with that. Even if he goes out playing Vegas nightclubs for the rest of his career, he won’t be like Elvis. He’ll be remembered for his best work–his work in 60s and prior.

While he was still in his prime, Rickles appeared in the beach movies, which appealed to a crowd that wasn’t and never would be his target audience. The movies are bad, and it’s unlikely they’ll weigh very heavily on his legacy when the poster in the video store really is a memorial. But Beach Blanket Bingo shouldn’t be forgotten. It’s a valuable insight into Rickles’ style. It’s one of his most subversive roles.

In Bingo, Rickles plays nightclub impresario and skydiving instructor Big Drop. Buster Keaton plays Buster, a mostly-silent sidekick who spends most of the movie ambling after a buxom European bathing beauty. Paul Lynde is also in the movie, playing talent manager Bullets.

Keaton and Rickles appear together in a scene about an hour into the movie. Frankie (Frankie Avalon), Dee Dee (Annette Funicello) and the gang have gathered in Big Drop’s club. Bullets brings his client Sugar Kane (Linda Evans) in to perform. He’s also arranged for columnist Earl Wilson (playing himself) to watch Sugar Kane’s performance, in hopes that kind words in the press will lead to fame and fortune. Big Drop is called upon to introduce Kane. What happens next is a massacre of egos.

For about three minutes, Rickles (presumably ad libbing, since I can’t find any evidence of his schtick being in the script) lashes out at the characters and the movie itself with a screed that eschews razor wit for blunt pounding.

“Did someone tell you you were eleven?” he asks Wilson, mocking his crew cut. “You act as though you were in the sandbox and you flunked.”

That was the softball. Earl Wilson is a New York pro, he knows the game. But it gets worse as Rickles, playing himself rather than Big Drop it seems, turns to Avalon and Funicello.

“You two 43-year-old yo-yos,” he calls them. “You’re old and wrinkled,” he says to Frank. “Did you ever hear yourself sing? You scare trains.” Then Rickles slaps him. Literally, slaps Frankie Avalon. He may as well have broken the fourth wall and told the audience to go home.

And just in case anyone thought the slap was all part of the show, Rickles turns to Funicello and says he never liked her (or her character’s) personality. When she laughs he mimics her. “What are you, a seal?”

It’s vicious. It’s subversive. It’s Rickles kicking the edges of the box he’s been put in with the movie. He’s lashing out. He’s insulting the stars of a movie that is more or less a vehicle for them to be admired in. It’s contrary to the point of the Beach Party series. Frankie and Dee Dee may squabble over romances and get tossed around by biker gangs, but they don’t let anyone touch their vanity. Rickles’ monologue is comedic assault.*

To the kids who went to see the movie, the scene is a boring part before a musical number. To any of their parents who may have been dragged to the theater, it’s the only part they can appreciate. Rickles lobs bombs at a generation that lacks his class. For a guy who hangs out with Sinatra, Frankie Avalon may as well be in preschool. There’s no style, just hairdos and swimsuits. Rickles may not have known it, but his attack came at the beginning of the death of the beach movie culture. Avalon didn’t star in the remaining Beach Party movies.** ***

So I want to know about Buster Keaton. His character is standing in the background as Rickles decimates a 26-year-old teenager on film.

What was Keaton thinking as he watched Rickles improvise a vaguely-meta insurrection against a movie with a subplot about a mermaid falling in love with a character whose defining trait was a hat?

Keaton, who was a genius. Keaton, who had made The General, one of the greatest movies (silent or not, comedy or not) of all time. Keaton, whose co-star in The General was a moving train. Not a CG train, not a train on a set, but a real train. What was Buster Keaton thinking when he stood, almost motionless, in the background of the shot, knowing that later that day he would perform painful slapstick for the cameras as his character tries to impress a much younger woman.

The next year, Keaton starred in Samuel Beckett’s Film, so his art chops were intact. He died a year later, in 1966. He had been chewed up by the system and survived. He’d survived the death of silent pictures and was a respected comic, actor and artist. What was he doing in beach movies? What went through Keaton’s mind when he realized he wouldn’t rebel like Rickles? Was his only consolation the security in knowing that he would end up being a bigger influence on art (or at least film) than Rickles?

How did that feel?

*Before I wrote this, I tried to find out why this bit was included in the final cut. I can’t find any explanation. I did, however, find a few people who agree that Rickles is insanely cruel to Avalon.

**Though he appears briefly in “How To Stuff a Wild Bikini.”

***Vietnam and the British invasion were coming at this time, too, and the subsequent change in society (caused more by the former than the latter) makes fluffy movies look even fluffier in retrospect.

• Features indie music talk
• References television commercials
• Focuses on DEVO, Wilco and Iggy Pop
• Is mostly about misinterpretations of art (others’ and my own)
• Is not supposed to be entirely serious

There was a point in my life (probably 2003) when I was concerned about my favorite musical acts selling out. I would get upset if I heard a song by an independent (read: unpopular) artist I liked used in a commercial. But as the music industry changed, so did the concept of selling out for independent or small-label artists. If artists aren’t making much money on record sales or concert tickets and if radio airplay is unlikely, then commercials may seem like the only option to stay afloat. Advertisers might be, in some cases, the only people willing to finance some acts’ careers.

That’s the justification Wilco’s Jeff Tweedy gave a few years ago when Wilco licensed several tracks from Sky Blue Sky to Volkswagen. Moby said the same thing years earlier when he licensed an entire album. It seems like Tweedy and Moby weren’t necessarily making bids for mainstream success so much as they were trying to make a living recording and touring full time.

There are a few people out there who question whether it’s the right choice to license music, and those concerns are valid. If a band or artist licenses music to a company that the fans don’t support, then the necessary fallouts can and should ensue. The same is true if artists seem more intent on acquiring wealth and fame than they do on writing quality songs. I think the days of most fans punishing indie artists for success are gone, but devoted fans still reject blatant grabs at fame, and that doesn’t seem likely to change at all.

But what if a band takes a step that seems too bizarre to be real? What if a much beloved artist makes commercial choices that are so over-the-top crass and ridiculous that the artist’s artistic choices are put into question?

Enter DEVO.

Music, video and hat pioneers DEVO broke up and stopped releasing albums in 1990. Earlier this century, they reformed. The band’s output since has been–at least on the surface–contemptible. The group wrote new songs and re-recorded old tracks for DEVO 2.0, a Disney-produced teenage DEVO cover band. The original DEVO even changed the lyrics (which the kids in DEVO 2.0 sang) to be teen-friendly, removing the social commentary they (and their fans) worked so hard to spotlight after Whip It became a novelty hit.

The band also re-recorded Whip It for a Swiffer commercial. Again, they changed the words, “When you’ve got a dirty floor/You need Swiffer.”

It seemed like the one-time punky, anti-commercial art rockers had sold out entirely. The band that once turned advertising jingles into lyrics (in “Too Much Paranoias”) was now going in the opposite direction. But recently, Mark Mothersbaugh and Gerald Casale of DEVO explained these choices on The Sound Of Young America(http://www.maximumfun.org/sound-young-america/devos-gerald-casale-and-mark-mothersbaugh-interview-sound-young-america)

Mothersbaugh and Casale say the result of their work for Disney and Swiffer is so commercial and so bizarre that it embodies the DEVO aesthetic just as much (or possibly more than) their earlier output.

They argue that DEVO is a postmodern group, and as such, their work acknowledges that it is a reaction to the culture it’s born of.  Early in the show, Mothersbaugh says he wanted synthesizers that played explosions and rocket noises. That comment can be directly connected to his comments on DEVO 2.0 and Swiffer.

I’m not Mark Mothersbaugh, but I think I understand his point. So here is my attempt to simplify and explain postmodernism as it relates to disposable mops and men from Ohio who wore flowerpots as hats.

During and after World War I, artists reacted to the new mechanized methods of destruction (machine guns, tanks) by creating mechanical, jarring works. Hemingway threw out the adjectives, painters threw out form. Dada was born.

Devo was formed at Kent State in the wake of the 1970 shootings on campus. Their aesthetic (lyrics, music, costumes, films) was a reaction to their proximity to military-on-citizen violence. As the band whipped into the 80s, they began reflecting the newer changes in society. They wore plastic pompadours and made music videos with cowboys. This is how Mothersbaugh justifies the Swiffer ad. The band’s works are so clearly products of a consumer culture that for DEVO to join in is not only the next natural artistic step, but also wildly subversive. Why wear a costume that looks like a Swiffer when you can alter a song to be about Swiffer?

…

If DEVO marketing products is postmodern, then where does that put the other artists who have done the same? Iggy  Pop licensed a song about heroin to a cruise line, and the result is a questionable, but ultimately funny inside joke for people paying attention. Moby gave his proceeds (or most of them) to charity, exhibiting a form of social commentary akin to a bully slapping a nerd (a Moby or DEVO fan, perhaps) with his own hand (“Why are you hitting yourself?”). But the biggest postmodern sellout of them all was perpetrated by Wilco (a band I really enjoy) in the Volkswagen ads I mentioned earlier.

The Wilco VW ads were all–at least as far as memory and YouTube serve me–calm. They don’t have the trademark humor of other VW ads. They don’t push a hard sell or tout extreme performance or exceptional affordability. They’re just shots of young people driving Volkswagens set to Wilco music.

To see two Wilco fans listening to Wilco in a car that many Wilco fans probably drive is honest. It’s so honest that it looks lazy. It’s so incredibly honest to see young people in a Jetta gently rocking out to Sky Blue Sky that the ad is practically a documentary. It’s not selling a lifestyle, it’s pointing out the lifestyle many of the people the ad is aimed at already have.* Not all Volkswagen drivers like Wilco, and not all Wilco fans drive Volkswagens, but the crossover is large enough that the ads probably made a lot of VW-driving Wilco fans think, “Hey, that could be me.” Maybe this reinforces brand loyalty, but by getting the image so right for so many people, the ads go beyond illustrating the music and illustrate the people listening to the music. It’s postmodern in a way that doesn’t make anyone stop and think about whether it’s postmodern. Well, it’s either that, or I’m just as full of it as Mark Mothersbaugh. After all, I like Wilco, but I don’t drive a Volkswagen.**

*Yes, I know that it’s a stereotype to say that Wilco fans drive Volkswagens, but it makes a lot of sense when you think about it. Wilco has a sound that appeals largely to hip people in their late 20s and beyond. Think about the people in all the other VW ads. Now think about the Volkswagen drivers you know. If there isn’t a crossover here, I want to know where you live.

**But I almost bought one last year.

I’ve long thought of this site as a place where I present thoughts in a way that doesn’t necessarily attract readers, but that keeps my friends and acquaintances informed about my activities and (hopefully) engaged in shared interests. I realize that’s a bit naive. My friends are busy people and I don’t want to put off any newcomers. (I use a different approach at work, of course, but I’m still not a fan of brazenly trolling for hits. Content is always king.)

To step away from my old ways, I’m introducing a new feature here: the nut. It’s a take on the nut graf, which has been informing newspaper readers and making first-year journalism students giggle for decades. Posts on this site will now begin with a short list of bullet points that outline the text that follows. This was recommended to me by a few friends and Yahoo! guide.  (I’m not sure what to think of the guide yet.) The idea is also stolen–blatantly–from The Believer.

Here’s an example list…

This article contains:

• References to this site
• A discussion of writing style
• Self-deprecating/lame jokes

Also…I’m not going to post a monthly 8 anymore.

I don’t understand her reasoning. She seems to be arguing that Hastings violated journalistic ethics and the military’s ground rules for the interview. Many of the most talked-about quotes from the article indicate that either the General and his crew were speaking with their guard down or that they had no guard at all to begin with. Logan argues that by reporting these candid comments, Hastings betrayed his duties (and, as Logan seems to imply at the end, his country). She asserts that there is an unspoken rule that journalists do not report banter or potentially dangerous information, and then says Hastings’s story not only violated that rule, but hurt military reporting as a whole.

It’s mentioned that Hastings once said reporters build up a false-trust with subjects, then betray that trust for stories, if necessary. Logan and others cite that quote as evidence that McChrystal et al were somehow deceived into thinking anything that was unacceptable or scandalous would not be printed. While I don’t think it’s right to deceive a source (there are other, more difficult ways to get information than by being friendly), the argument against Hastings essentially says that journalists should (and do) accept muzzles in exchange for access. Hastings makes this point, saying that beat reporters soften their work to ensure continued access to sources. Logan says that’s an arrogant stance to take, but then proceeds to argue in favor of not reporting the entire truth, essentially saying that comments like the ones that resulted in McChrystal’s dismissal shouldn’t have been reported because they were supposed to be off the record.

As absurd as I think the arguments against Hastings are, I don’t have reason to doubt Logan’s statement that critical reports are allowed, as long as they are balanced. She mentions a story she produced that reflected negatively on the military. Because it was balanced, she says her access wasn’t limited. If that’s the case, great. I may be overly-optimistic, but if Logan says both sides of an embedding scheme can respect that the truth must be reported fairly, and potentially damaging pieces are okay, if they’re balanced, then I believe her.

But I also think the concept of balance has been twisted by reporters who fear losing access. They may find a bevy of damning facts or gather damaging quotes, but then they “balance” them with stenography from primary sources. A reporter might say these facts exist and can be proven, but the piece is inevitably “balanced” by an outright denial by the person or entity providing access. I’m a firm believer in balance and objectivity, but neither of those tenets of journalism mandate the neutering of facts. While neither is right, which is worse: deceiving a source into thinking a piece will be soft, or deceiving the audience into thinking you’re reporting the whole truth?

A few notes:

1. I’ve read reports from embedded journalists and I can understand the desire to be nice to the soldiers around you, because you will likely rely on them for survival. I think the military understands this, too, and this inherent problem with embedding schemes is something I’m not qualified or knowledgable enough to suggest a solution for.
2. There is clearly value in continued military coverage (and therefore the preservation of access), but not if the coverage is, by nature, incomplete or weak. There are also dangers to Hastings’s style of reporting beyond overreaction from the military resulting in reduced access, but if no compromise exists, perhaps we should weigh the values. Hastings uncovered a kink in the military chain of command in an operation that puts thousands of lives on the line every day.
3. Military reporting is an especially tricky area for another reason. Reports that are too glowing are seen as unnecessary flag waving by some, and reports that are critical of members of the armed services are seen as unpatriotic by others (including Logan who says McChrystal has done more for American than Hastings has–an out-of-place argument) . It must be frustrating for military correspondents to know that even the most fair reports will be attacked.
4. Access is important, but so is integrity. If a story results in a reporter being kicked out of the press pool, perhaps that reporter’s outlet should stand up for the reporter. Run a story saying access is being traded for soft reporting. Of course, this could lead to all access being restricted, but I like to think (and again I may be overly-optimistic) that the tenacity of a free press can overcome such obstacles.
5. This entire debacle over the story had distracted other media outlets from the real scandal of the story. The counter-insurgency strategy being used in Afghanistan may not be working. It’s certainly upsetting troops. McChrystal losing his job is certainly a big deal, but the story presents plenty of evidence for a re-evaluation of the Afghanistan strategy. Maybe it’s the right way to go, but there sure seem to be a lot of unanswered questions from soldiers on the ground.

CNN’s Ed Henry said on OTM that the party did not hurt his journalistic integrity, but Salon’s Glenn Greenwald said otherwise online:

I personally don’t think that these types of interactions “violate journalistic ethics” because I don’t think such a thing exists for them.  Rather, all of this just helpfully reveals what our nation’s leading “journalists” really are:  desperate worshipers of political power who are far more eager to be part of it and to serve it than to act as adversarial checks against it — and who, in fact, are Royal Court Spokespeople regardless of which monarch is ruling.

As I see it, there are two ways to become an elite as a journalist. You can either work for years, produce quality work and earn the respect of your colleagues or you can use your access to get friendly with people who are already famous or powerful, and become a part of their circle. The second method is easier, but only with the first method do you become an elite journalist.

I think the desire some journalists have to be friends with their subjects is caused by a few things.

First, journalists spend a lot of time asking the same people questions. It’s hard to not expect this professional relationship to take on a personal friendliness, but journalism is hard. To expect a reward of friendship seems almost like a symptom of Stockholm Syndrome.

Second, asking questions can sometimes seem rude, but both sides should be capable of accepting the scrutiny as a fact of their careers and as something that is essential for the public good.

Third, it’s easy to get star struck. A good reporter, however, should be able to separate fondness from sycophancy.

Fourth, it’s become easier (possibly as a result of changes in the media) for newsmakers to control access and use it as a reward for some degree of obedience. A politician may not go on a certain cable network because the treatment may not be–in the politician’s mind–fair. This perception could be caused by an ideological bias in the network’s reporting or the politician’s lack of tolerance for critical reporting, either way, access is achieved through the network’s acquiescence: be soft, land the interview.

All of those factors, if not faced with a sometimes-difficult-to-muster-integrity, create a buddy-buddy situation between journalists and their subjects. Flattery earns more access. In a perfectly ethical world, however, journalists wouldn’t try to flatter and subjects wouldn’t expect sycophants in the press pool. This world doesn’t exist, though, so we’re stuck with a system where too few politicians are willing to take scrutiny in stride and too few reporters are willing to scrutinize.
That’s not to say that reporters should be mean to the people the cover. Rather, the concern over how a string of logical questions will be perceived should be minimal.

So is the beach party evidence that the reporters in attendance have lost their edge? Not exactly. I don’t think the party is indicative of a sycophantic press corps or an administration trying to soften up the Fourth Estate. Rather, I think the party shows the colossal misunderstanding the desire for access and respectability have created. It’s apparently okay for reporters and their subjects to act like friends, when in fact they should be cordial adversaries. Had enough reporters declined their invitations, perhaps the remaining guests and the hosts would realize the party was a mistake.

Henry argues on OTM that reporters can have some fun with politicos and still keep everything honest. I’ve long argued that good reporters should be able to set aside their assumptions and biases when they’re on the job. This is difficult to do, but I’m confident that good enough journalists are capable of separating their personal beliefs from their work. The best way to demonstrate this capability, however, is restraint. No matter how unbiased a reporter can be, that reporter should not end up in a situation where people on both sides of an issue have a reason to doubt his or her credibility. (People on both sides can and do get upset with reporters, but there’s a difference between a reporter presenting a vehement lack of allegiance and a reporter presenting ambiguous allegiance.)

For me, tweets like Ed Henry’s cast serious doubts on his judgement. I don’t think they’re necessarily proof he will be favorable to the Obama administration, but I do think they’re evidence that he’s willing to put himself in an ethically questionable situation in return for a little bit of fun or a nice personal story to tell his grandkids. Journalism is hard, though, and maybe he just needed a spritz.

• A lot of rock lyrics are epic to the point of being completely ridiculous, but only if they’re taken out of context, that is, if you ignore the fact that the lyrics usually accompany loud, driving music.
• Compared to other genres, rap has more words. The efficient use of lyrics has led critics to give rappers more leeway when it comes to exploring bizarre topics (time travel, witchcraft, ghosts) than they afford to other songwriters. The leeway is deserved, too; rap hits are more thematically varied than rock hits.
• Remember when record labels used to reissue two albums from an artist’s back catalog on one CD? Why do online music stores sell these instead of the individual albums? When it comes to packaging music that came out before the mid 80s, Mp3 download stores are essentially CD stores without CDs.
• Jay-Z is destined to fulfill his own lyrics and become the next Sinatra. The song Empire State of Mind seems directly created to do this, and the lack of hubbub over Hova edging out Sinatra to soundtrack the Belmont Stakes post parade is proof that the song’s public acceptance is the next step in Jay-Z’s post-retirement crossover fame boom. I liked this post, but then I realized it was essentially this New York Times article, only with more ridiculous claims about popular music.
• Something about Netflix streaming and how I’m not writing blog posts.

I am boring on the internet.

I’ve been monitoring the geotags on my photos, and as you can see on the attached map, most of my pictures were taken between my house and the station. There are some pictures from personal outings and a few from assignments I’ve covered, but the majority of photos in my 365 project have been taken on my street or between the office parking garage and my desk.

This isn’t surprising. I think most people probably follow the same basic routes on weekdays and weekends. (My situation may be slightly different because I have a job that requires me to move around the city, but even my work-related photos follow the same routes: I go from the station to City Hall to three or four popular press conference locations.) I’m not complaining that I have a routine of going to work on weekdays and visiting the same group of restaurants, bars and coffee shops on weekends, I’m just wondering why I should document it publicly.

I’m split on how to use location-based social media. I was once an avid Brightkite user, but I gave it up after a few months of checking in at work, home and the coffee shop. I did the same thing with Foursquare. I checked in, earned some points and badges, then gave up. Like Brightkite, Foursquare became a record of mundanity. I go to work, I go to the coffee shop. I go to work, I go to dinner. I go to work, I go to a bar. I go to work, I go to the store. My Foursquare feed was bumming me out. There was no adventure. I was predictable. I stopped checking in because I was boring myself. And if I don’t find my own activities interesting, then what hope do I have of entertaining other people with them?

This is where someone might say location-based networks are stupid. I disagree. I’ve been in other cities where businesses offer discounts or specials to Foursquare users. Other users have recommended some excellent menu items from restaurants, and I wouldn’t have seen their recommendations had I not checked into Foursquare. I’ve also had pleasant conversations with people I’ve met after checking in at their location. I’m just torn on how to strike the right balance between benefits and use. Getting a tip to avoid the soup or meeting someone interesting is handy, but that’s not happening while I’m at work.

It could be that I’m an introvert or maybe there’s something to this midwestern sense of modesty, but I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to say I’m at the office every morning. If for some reason I’m not at the office when I should be, that’s an update I’ll post.

So with Foursquare and Brightkite, I can’t tell if I don’t live a rich life, or if I’m too shy or afraid to tell people what kind of life I live, because it might be boring. I’ve compromised with myself to only check in when I’m somewhere new or interesting, or when I want to socialize.

This feeling of immobility is one of the reasons why I started my 365 photo project. I knew I would take most of pictures between home and work, but I wanted to challenge myself to find new ways to look at things. I wanted to make myself explore the city more and to look out for interesting photo subjects. The geotags tell one story, but the data tells another.

The only problem with that is…I’m running out of perspectives. I’m about halfway through the year and I’m not sure what to take pictures of next. There are only so many plants, houses and bizarre angles. So maybe the final half of the 365 project will be a retread. Maybe I should embrace my routine. Either that, or I’ll write another 659 words about it.

Even Cooler - This

Keeping It Square – Or tiled, anyway. I’ve been playing Words With Friends (I’m more than a year late for the bandwagon). There’s a world of technology at my fingertips and I use it to play Scrabble with strangers while I cook.

It’s Almost Here – Kentucky’s Primary is on May 18th. Indiana’s was this week, and covering it from the newsroom was a nice reintroduction into election night coverage. I’m looking forward to it.

And In Other News – Front Pages is my new favorite Tumblr (welcome to the future!).

From Newspapers To Magazines - Every issue of Spin Magazine is on Google Books. Did you know Sunny Day Real Estate was in a Nordstrom’s ad? Turn to page 17 to see. (Apparently they wanted to use fake identities for the ad) Reading these old issues make me realize how little of the 90s I remember. I was 14 when the decade ended, after all.

It’s All About The Followthrough - A few months ago, I mentioned that I was trying to improve my handwriting. I’ve been using a Pilot Penmanship fountain pen to practice writing at home. It’s working–my handwriting is better. But…most of my pen and paper writing is done on the go at work. As long as I can interpret my scratches, I’m okay.

New Attempt – I just finished reading a full book on the iPhone using the Eucalyptus app. I’ve read articles, essays and even short stories on the phone, but this was my first attempt read a book, start to finish, on it. It was convenient to always have the text I was working through in my pocket, but when I actually had time to sit and read, holding such a small device was awkward. I don’t romanticize the feeling of a book, but for heavy-duty reading, I’d like something larger.