NO NEWS IS . . . ON EVERY MORNING

           

Is anybody else out there getting really tired of local television news?  I don’t care what channel it’s on, or from which state it is broadcast; it really needs some help.

Gone are the days of ladies and gentlemen who are actually dressed like ladies and gentlemen.  Gone are the days of the newspeople sitting behind a desk, delivering the news of the day with quiet dignity.

Now we have either wannabe comedians or wannabe Kardashians—and I’m not sure which is worse.

“Just look at what that bimbo’s wearing!” my husband, Stij,  is often heard to cry.  Stij has never been interested in women’s fashion.  Most of the time, not even in men’s.  He is interested in Levis and tee shirts with pockets.  He is a master woodworker—he has no need to be interested in haute couture.

But now, at seven a.m., he is outraged.

The “bimbo” in question is one of the two news anchors on our local channel 10.  Oh, and that’s another thing—news anchors travel in pairs now.  One bimbo (already mentioned) and one hopeless male buffoon who thinks he’s S.J. Perelman, but who sounds much more like a post-lobotomy Pauly Shore.

But back to the bimbo.

I squinted through slitted eyes (it was seven in the morning, after all) and saw what he meant. 

I knew about ladies of the evening, but now we seem to have ladies of the morning.  Why on earth this anorexic female with Double-D boobs thought that a skin-tight black leather miniskirt, a red blouse so frilly that it looked as if her chest had exploded, and leopard pumps with six-inch stiletto heels was appropriate for delivering anything but a list of prices for her various services, was completely beyond me.

All I’ll say about the buffoon is that he ought to be wearing a red nose that lights up.  A gag would be nice, too.

And now—at least where I live—the latest thing is to deliver the news standing—and not behind a desk, but out in the middle of the newsroom.  Evidently, they think that people will find the news more exciting if it’s broadcast from a newsroom “in action.”  However, what we normally end up viewing is some bored to death intern picking his nose at a computer screen.

Then they move along to the hard news!  I kid you not, I am not making this up, but they actually hold the front page of a newspaper up to the camera, pointing to the stories and discussing them.  And they will do this with a number of different papers from across the country.  Then, just as you’re throwing a noose over the nearest rafter, they move the camera to one of their computer monitors with headlines on it—I suppose for those who are more “technically inclined.”

After my husband stopped vibrating about the lack of decorum, he happened to notice something at the bottom left of the television screen.

“#*^%^&&**&%#@!$@#!!!!!  Do you BELIEVE this shit?” he roared.

There was a little notice that proclaimed that this was the news from eleven o’clock the previous night!

So this year, dear friends, we’re taking our vacation in Kansas City, Missouri so my husband can cry over Walter Cronkite’s grave.

And that’s the way it is, Friday, November 8, 2013. 

 

POLITICS AND ALLIGATORS IN A SMALL TOWN

     While working for the Provincial Picayune Gazette and still laboring under the delusion that reporting was what I was meant to do with my life, I was sentenced to the cruel and unusual punishment of submitting a daily story about a flyspeck of a town called Deep River – a settlement about as full of hot news stories as a rain barrel.  So, to those of you interested in a career as a small town news reporter, here is Lesson #1.  Pay attention.  It’s about all you’ll be able to pay with the salary you’ll be earning.

     Lesson #1 – Salacious Rumors, assorted Lies, and Miscellaneous Gossip

Somewhere along the line, those inevitable lean days for news will sneak up on you (or, in my case, will lie in wait and ambush you, day after day).  Nothing is happening, town officials are taking five-hour lunches, and everybody else is on vacation.  The ever-present five o’clock deadline is looming closer by the minute, and there is only one thing left to do.

Make something up.

Oh, don’t look so shocked.  It’s very simple, it’s done all the time, and it makes terrific copy.  All you have to do is think up a nasty rumor about a town official, then call that official, repeat your newly-born rumor, and ask for verification.

Here’s a short example:

Reporter:  Mrs. Swane, is it true that, as First Selectman, you’ve been dipping into the town General Fund for personal use?

FS (First Selectman):  Absolutely not!  That’s a vicious lie!

Reporter:  My sources tell me that you’re building a castle out in Winthrop, complete with a moat.  Isn’t that quite expensive considering the salary you’re paid?

FS:  It’s beyond my comprehension how these rumors get started.  I am not, I repeat, not building a castle!

Reporter:  Exactly what are you building, then?

FS:  (quickly)  It’s just a replica of the Taj Mahal.  And it doesn’t have a moat, just a small reflecting pool out front.

Reporter:  But it is filled with alligators . . .

FS:  Well, yes, but they ate the Second Selectman last week, so they’re pretty docile at the moment.  They do get testy when they’re hungry, though.

Reporter:  Don’t you think “testy” is an awfully mild term to describe killer reptiles?

FS:  I don’t understand why everyone is so down on my alligators!  I need protection out there in the woods.

Reporter:  Mrs. Swane, I’ve seen your home and I’d hardly call it “woodsy.”

FS:  Well, it does have trees all around . . .

Reporter:  There are only two trees on your entire lot!

FS:  But there are lots of bushes!

Reporter:  That’s true.  With all those shrubs to hide behind, you’re just asking for a pygmy attack.

FS:  Well, my husband died last year, and I do need the security.

Reporter:  Don’t the jackals take care of that?

FS:  Oh, you’ve seen the jackals, have you?

Reporter:  Yes, but they saw me first.

FS:  Oh, my!  Are you all right?

Reporter:  Sure.  I’ll be out of the hospital in another month, and then they tell me that I shouldn’t have any trouble learning to walk again, with my new artificial leg.  Now, to get back to this General Fund thing . . .

FS:  I told you already . . . it’s ridiculous!

Reporter:  Then perhaps you could tell me why the town is running on a $200,000 deficit, with a safe deposit box full of IOUs signed, “A Friend.”

FS:  I don’t know anything about those IOUs!  However, the deficit can be laid at the feet of the town sanitation crew.  The cost of garbage collection has simply skyrocketed this year!

Reporter:  But the townspeople pay for garbage pickup.

FS:  Oh, yes.  That’s right.  Well, upkeep on the truck is very costly.

Reporter:  $200,000 worth?

FS:  Well, we had to replace a tire.

Reporter:  Where did you buy it?  Fort Knox?

FS:  No, but it was handmade in Akron, Ohio.  Labor isn’t cheap, you know.  As I always say, you get what you pay for.

Reporter:  Well, that just goes to show you why you’re where you are and I’m where I am.  I would have done something silly, like take it to an ordinary service station and have a regular tire put on.

FS:  I guess I can’t really expect you to understand the inner workings of town government, since you’re just a reporter.  Well, I’m sorry, but I’ll have to hang up now.  It’s time to feed my piranhas, and I just got some meat out of the freezer . . .

Reporter:  Wait, wait!  I wanted to ask you about the disappearance of the Third Selectman!

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