REPUBLIC OF SNARK and THROWBACK TO NEWS JUDGEMENT

HAIR TRIGGER NASTINESS

     Maybe it's all the caffeine, or 24 hours of cable news yackers. We are wired and wireless and trending and our analytics are almost important as the Dow. Whether it's the spirit of our tweet or post or actual comment in a meeting, we've become a nation obsessed with snark, the 2015 version of snide. Invective has infected.

     It will take social archaeologists to explain why. In the meantime we all seem to suffer through a prolonged season of nastiness.

     Television maybe the greatest purveyor, or perhaps it's social media, but its omnipresent and it is making jack asses out of many of us and it threatens civilization. At least it threatens civilized conversation, dialogue and even debate. So many seem driven to be, dare I invoke a 20th Century and politically incorrect phrase, bitchy.  No gender reference here, simply the attitude. Nasty.

     The Brian Williams sadness has been a magnet for a lot of invective and scorn. It doesn't take much, but this has been a bonanza for snark masters.

     The masters of nasty live in the comments section of the Internet. I picture desperately unhappy and unbalanced people unloading on all the failures, misery and unhappiness of their lives with their lethal toned diatribes and rants. Most of this carping deserves to be ignored. But for many it is bait and thus the word battle of the nasties ensue. 

     "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn!"  If we can genre and time hop and borrow a sentiment.  Life is too precious to permit others to show their butt headedness.  It's time for an attitude change, on tv, in social media, at the coffee shop and anywhere else where sarcasm has replaced reason.

Let's get back to plain old fashioned arguing without the snide, eye rolling, tongue clucking, sassiness.

IT'S THAT TIME

 A tribute to California spring as an antidote to those of you caught in winter.

  Things are growing well in "Indiana" with a bumper crop of lettuce.

THROWBACK TO JUDGEMENT

   As the sad destruction of Brian Williams and NBC's credibility plays out before us I post a shot of what I will call the "safety bench."

   This is the conference table where for 3 years I presided as the News Director, the senior news executive, of a division that provided programming for CBS, CW and Univision affiliated television stations. 

    We met here in the morning with our day side staff and again in the early afternoon with our evening staff.  We were responsible for at least 7 hours of programming each day across three stations and the accountability started here.

     Reporters, producers, photographers, editors, graphic artists, assignment staff and promotion people would gather as we planned a days coverage and approach.  But we also evaluated.  What did we do well in the previous 24 hour cycle?  Where did we mess up?  Why?  How could we have done it better?  What can we bring to coverage that will make the viewers investment of time worth it?  Every day.  It is not common for the senior executive to guide the session, but I thought it needed to be done. I had the best support staff available in my assistant News Director Kevin, executive Producer Stacy, Assignment Manager Jim, unit managers and a great team of producers.  

     There was a tendency in many shops to "get rolling," to get out of the meeting.  We took the time to evaluate, analyze, criticize, compliment and to measure our work product against our mission/vision statement and our operating principles.  

      Our team did well, very well. As I read about the Brian Williams credibility issue, I can't help but wonder how it might have been different if he had been held accountable by a process that didn't allow ego, big salary or title to filter him from the scrutiny our staff sustained everyday.

            I am thrilled to hear from former employees and colleagues who say those were great years. Some tell me they were the best of their careers. It was all about a mission, a purpose and putting the interests of viewers above all else.

       See you down the trail.

      

"BUT YOU CAN NEVER LEAVE" and A WALK IN HARMONY

A PIECE OF HARMONY

    A long lens from Gail and David's captures the panorama of Cayucos and Morro Bay framed by the iconic Morro Rock, Hollister Peak and some of the other "Seven Sisters" peaks that spine the Central Coast toward San Luis Obispo.

      It was one of those spectacular days for a walk along the coast. 

     Hidden away on a quiet cove is a "Chinaman's house," a remnant of local history.

     There was a time when Chinese settlers lived in homes on the shore, often hanging over bluffs.  They harvested and dried kelp for export to China. Historical accounts say George Hearst, father of William Randolph Hearst, forced many of the Chinese to leave by pushing their homes into the sea after he purchased property where they had resided. 

      The current owner has improved the historical building as an isolated get away cabin.

       This stretch of coast offers pristine nature.

  There is a simple joy in an invigorating and mind clearing walk.

     Selfie ops for our eldest Kristin and her fiancé Richard.

  Or a quiet meditation and breather as evidenced by "Ducky," Gail's trusty companion.

THE FIRST NEW YEAR IN CALIFORNIA

Ours that is.

     It was our first Christmas season after being married in April. It was also my first trip to California. We arrived on the 29th or 30th, enough time to get in the swing of the "pickin" New Year's eve party. 

       

Photo Courtesy of Jim Cahill

On the Strand in Manhattan Beach California

      Setting the Scene:  We were lodged at the above house in Manhattan Beach, occupied by our friend Jim, who shared it with a few other guys. We got a room made empty by the travel of one of the musicians who lived there.

     It was directly on the beach and the sidewalk strand. This Indiana boy had never seen anything like it.  Bicyclists, skateboarders, runners, walkers, roller skaters, people on stilts, hand walkers and more and all in a continual parade.  The beach was a show unto itself.  Volleyball players, Frisbee fliers, boogie boarders, picnickers, and all of this in the glory and full tilt life you'd expect of 1969 California beach life. I was indeed a long way from home Toto!

     Some how we had survived the first day and were in the mode of setting up the house for a party. Jim had given Lana and I an assignment to walk to the grocery and liquor store to pick up a few supplies. We were heading up the hill away from the beach when we were stopped in our tracks by blood curdling screams and then a series of what can best be described as whoops and growls. In a flash, from an alley way came two figures running down the street. Both were nude males, that was obvious. Their identities were not.

     One of the lads was wearing a kind of Tasmanian devil mask and he was the creator of the screams. Behind him and in apparent pursuit was a fellow in a Richard Nixon mask, carrying a kind of spear and offering the war whoops. 

     "New Year's eve in California" I said to Lana who looked entirely confused.      

       It was an era when Jim, and our artist friend C.W. spent hours a day playing. Musicians drifted in and out of the house on the strand, and some of the folks in the neighborhood have gone on to stellar careers and fame. The party was to be a gathering of many of the players from the beach community. The music was indeed wonderful, the crowd was mind boggling and the best I could manage was to sit back, lean against a wall, be amazed and enjoy the whole scene.  

       During the course of the evening we met an older fellow who had done a "little singing and little acting" and said he had been "trying to leave LA" for more than ten years.  He said "it's impossible. You just can't get away." He told us he had "left 25 times" and was "always drawn back."

       Lana and I thought a lot over the years of how we might get to LA, particularly to the beach communities where friends lived.  We visited a couple of times a year for many years, but life's flow did not include a Southern California address. Of course we've all added a few orbits around the sun and many of the crowd have dispersed. Those funky beach communities have gentrified.

     Jim is still a SOCAL resident. He's the guy who opened the door on the Central Coast to us, all of those years ago when we made the first of many trips with him to Big Sur. We stopped for coffee and a snack in a little coastal village named Cambria. The seed was planted, the bait was set, the die was cast. 

     We are closing in on 8 years as Cambria residents. I think I'm like others who sometimes take offense at how quickly it is all passing. There are times when I wish my time machine was in working order, just to go back for a visit. 

Thank God the memory file still works and there are photos that now accuse us of youth but also remind us of how rich  life has been. 
      A variation of the California dream, inspired by that first trip, has come to fruition. We come to the end of the year in a place we consider beautiful, laid back, peaceful, full of creativity, wonderful people, eclecticism and eccentricity. Who knows, those Manhattan Beach revelers in masks could be fellow retirees up here. Another escapade like that might get the locals talking, but then again….

    See you down the trail.