Tag Archives: television

On binge-watching “Friends” with my daughter

Am I a terrible parent for letting my twelve-year-old daughter binge-watch the 90s super sitcom “Friends” over the last few weeks?

I’m sure by somebody’s standards I am.

But it’s been a particularly cold and rainy late winter and early spring, and I was curious about what she would think about the world I inhabited during my twenties. Continue reading On binge-watching “Friends” with my daughter

Lilyhammer: Imperfect Television at its Best

Lilyhammer Season 3 Finale
Lilyhammer Season 3 Finale

I don’t review much. Mostly because I hate reading reviews.

Very seldom does something line up the same way for reviewers and critics and myself.

Life is frenetic, and as a journalist, I’m too often caught up in the spider web of pop culture and hard news, trying to dissect the edible morsels for the ravenous public.

So when I want to unwind with something entertaining, I want it to be ridiculous, far from either my own experience or the realities I have access to.

It was 2012, the snowiest year on record in Anchorage, Alaska. My wife was working nights at a local Applebees, and I was trying to come down from the highs of covering both the Iditarod, the 1,000-mile sled dog race and the Iron Dog, a 2,000-mile snow machine race.

Continue reading Lilyhammer: Imperfect Television at its Best

The lost art of intentionality

Parents and two teenagers watching television

The smartphone has changed our lives.

Many would argue that it’s for the better.

Some work argue that it’s for the worse.

But all agree that this little piece of technology has truly changed our behaviors.

I’ve been analyzing my own behavior recently, in light of the many articles I’ve read bout the impact of small screens on our lives.

How our brains are different when we read paper than they are when we read on screens.

How we’ve lost our ability to focus on one task or project at a time.

Continue reading The lost art of intentionality

bobeda:

What is the virtue of a proportional response?

I figure I’m not the first to draw this comparison, but while consuming news about Syria, I keep hearing echoes of the (pre-9/11) episode of West Wing.

If you want a fictionalized but prescient way to think through some of the elements of the current situation, watch the full episode (Season One, Episode Three) this clip is from on Netflix, or wherever you have access to it.

It’s proportional. It’s limited. It does not involve boots on the ground…”

– President Barack Obama (via inothernews)

I have nothing to add here. This was a brilliant find by TBOBEDA –

indispensable part i –

I should be at ONA this week. I’m getting little snippets of the conversations going on there on Twitter and Facebook.

But I’m here in Chicago dissecting a teacher strike, planning for election coverage and social media strategies for public radio in general.

It’s lonely work sometimes.

There is something measured and good about getting away to talk to others about your line of work. It’s good to hear people relay their own experiences so you can gather ideas or add and subtract your own.

The conversation that I keep stumbling onto has a lot to do with something the media has always had. Would like to have again. But never will.

The ability to be indispensable.

At one time a train like the one I’m riding right now would have been full of trench coat wearing men reading newspapers and talking about the White Sox post season hopes. Today it’s full of fleece-wearing men and women reading iPads, Kindles and Samsungs.

A few peruse the local newspaper app but many are on Facebook, Twitter or YouTube. I see businessmen following latest analysis videos on Bloomberg, and the guy in front of me is reading the gossip columns on the RedEye app on his iPad.

Nothing they are reading is indispensable. I realize that’s a rather subjective statement, but if one online service was down, they would likely go another. My Facebook app would not refresh this morning, for instance, so I switched over to Twitter.

I peruse a lot of news on my iPad. I don’t have any must haves. Some days I go to Romenesko, some days I do not. I haven’t subscribed to a newspaper in three years. I didn’t have cable television for two years, but I just got it again, because it’s bundled with my phone and Internet.

The closest thing to indispensable is my Wi-Fi connection at home.

But even that is questionable, because my iPad with LTE is actually faster, so when the power goes out, I still have that.

Lately my wife and I have been watching HBO reruns on the iPad in our bedroom, just because Hulu + and Netflix are more familiar to us anyway. It’s strange to have a bazzilion channels to choose from on television. I can’t find anything that is indispensable. 

But nothing is indispensable in the way that newspapers, television and radio were in the past.

The only time TV was allowed in the evenings around dinner time was when the news was on. I used to read the newspaper every morning because my parents read the newspaper every morning.

I was able to speak with authority about current events in school. I could converse easily about many topics, most of which I got from the indispensable news.

Today I have the world at my finger tips. I can search for anything. There is very little I don’t have access to. And yet In life I find myself in the awkward position of having to say that I don’t know about something a lot more than I used to.

I spend my mornings, from 5 a.m. on, trying to familiarize myself with what I think might be important. Local news, as in my southwest Chicago suburb. Regional news, as in Chicago, the Great Lakes, the Mid West, national and world events.

Still, I’m routinely caught unaware.

You know how we as humans will sometimes say yes when asked if we’ve heard or or seen something, even if we have not? Many times we do this so we can progress the conversation rather than have it end awkwardly.

It’s easy to go look something up now, and I feel like there are days where trying to keep abreast of the situation is exhausting. So I’m getting myself into the habit of just saying no, I’m unaware of that, which forces my friends and family to give context and perhaps send me a link.

We no longer have the same indispensable sources of information. We have billions of sources living out there in the ether of cyberspace.

I can barely talk about my favorite football teams with my sons, because we do not all read the same analytical column from the Monday newspaper, if there is even such a thing as a Monday newspaper any more.

They read a half-dozen ESPN apps and college football analysts I’ve never head of, not to mention the myriad arm-chair ESPN analysts on Twitter.

Today when I think of news, I think of being indispensable again. I think about where I would turn in a natural disaster. What information source would give my family the best information to insure our survival?

If there is no power, there are no printing presses and no television or radio broadcasts. There is not Wi-Fi and no Internet.

Maybe I shouldn’t watch NBC’s new show “Revolution,” but I think a lot about how information is disseminated today. And I’m worried, because we’ve lost our indespensible news sources. They’re still here, but they’re fighting for air and relevancy online and on your phone. 

Yesterday I got rid of a dozen apps on my iPhone so I could make room for the iOS 6 upgrade. As I was hitting the little x for delete button, I was thinking these apps were once indispensable. I had to have them for one reason or another. 

But here I am deleting them with no feelings of remorse. 

What is indispensable to you? Where do you inform yourself? What couldn’t you live without? 

The survival of news as information will depend on finding that promised land of indispensability. 




Here’s Why Journalism really is the Best Job Ever

No disrespect to Jeff Bercovici, but his article, “Forget That Survey. Here’s Why Journalism Is the Best Job Ever” made me throw up a little in my mouth.

Being a newspaper, magazine or television reporter IS worse than being a waiter or waitress and just a wee bit better than being an oil rig worker.

And don’t you forget it.

The last thing we want is journalism being so cool only the elite can get in or so ironic that only hipsters want in.

Journalism is hard, low-paying work made for those of us with just enough personality disorder to ask questions no one else would dare. With little to no personal life to take us away from it and without regard to the proverbial ladder climbing of traditional workforce.

Bercovici’s list starts with:

You’re always learning

I learned everything I would learn about journalism in the first 10 days as a cub reporter. That’s about all the time they’ll let you make the mistakes you cannot afford to make as a journalist.

It’s truly a sink or swim career, and if you swim, it’s 90 percent instinct, 5 percent skepticism and 5 percent alcohol by volume that keeps you afloat.

Continuing education? Yes. But the best journalists I’ve worked with know it, and they’re just looking for a few more inches or 30 seconds more to prove it.

You get paid to read a lot

I worked with a reporter who used to come in and pour himself a big cup of coffee and read through our newspaper. The rest of us were combing through blogs, Twitter and Facebook for leads, sources and to make sure there were no tagged pictures of us from the night before. Of course you get paid to read a lot. You read 10 times more than you write. You read so much your eyes bleed.

You get paid to meet interesting people

Perhaps the understatement of the article. If you consider city managers who embezzle money and sexually harass staffers interesting, well then daily journalism is just chock full of interesting characters. Yes, there are the occasional celebrities playing the county fair circuit, but a county commissioner with an ax to grind is far more interesting than a washed up country star who is about to squeeze out an extra 15 minutes on a reality show. 

You get to meet celebrities

See above.

Maybe you get to enjoy a little celebrity

It takes a hell of an ego to do the stuff that journalists do every day. My favorites keep their awards (like toy soldiers) on their desk. Like notches on the bed post, 97, 98, 99, 02, 04, 05, best writing, best feature, best story, best photo, Pulitzer, Murrow. Lets just say journalists are not likely to inherit the earth.

All that “stress?” It’s called excitement

Actually, it’s stress. Pure, unadulterated, sweat-stained stress. It’s trying to maintain a semblance of the coverage before layoffs decimated newsrooms over the last 5 years. It’s stress from trying to keep up with every vertical invented to create the illusion of new revenue. It’s stress from two cultures sharing the same space, virtually at odds and ultimately trying to achieve the same purpose while working to destroy one another. What’s the definition of insanity again?

Journalists Get Around

Conferences in Puerto Rico and Austin? It beats conferences in Portland and Seattle or pretty much anywhere in the Midwest, but seriously, who among us didn’t get into journalism for that international assignment, the war reporting, the travel writing? The reality is quite the opposite, but the opportunities are not all gone the way of the buffalo. I once spent a week in Yellowstone National Park in winter to write about the impact of snow machines on the park. I paid my own way, shot all my own photos and wrote three stories for the paper I worked for. It was totally worth it. A young reporter I currently work with just went to Afghanistan for a week to cover Alaskan troops stationed there. The days of blank-check travel are over. But a reporter who refuses to accept the limitations will find much shoe leather and plenty of road miles if not air mileage.

And then there’s the matter of self expression

If the appeal of journalism is getting to use the word “I” today, then we’re in some real trouble. Bercovici says, “Have I convinced you that journalism is the only real career choice for curious, restless semi-narcissists like me?” That’s pretty much anyone on Facebook these days. In this UGC world of iReports, journalism is an open door for the innovators, the thinkers, the relentlessly curious, the willingly overworked, the consciously objective, the ego-worthy writers and broadcasters willing to face the eggs and tomatoes of an altogether uncaring audience, who, like a child, does not know what’s good for it were it not for us.