WHAT IS NEWS?

WHAT IS NEWS?

It never fails to astound me when I contemplate the “newsworthy” events of the day.

Yesterday, Art and I were driving somewhere with our radio tuned to a talk news station. They were going into lengthy detail about Michael Jackson’s stay at a local hospital for the flu. They even went so far as to describe his brief appearance at the window when he made the “V sign” to his fans. The commentator did not know whether the “V” was for “victory” or for “peace”. Hmmm. A weighty matter, indeed.

Do we really need to know the details of the separation of Brad Pitt and Jennifer Anniston? It seems like the news spends a lot of time and manpower telling me things I have no business knowing.

One of the Olsen twins (I forget which one) is struggling with anorexia, according to the papers. Again – What business is it of mine? And how can it possibly help her to feel the weight of the paparazzi on top of this potentially life-threatening disorder.

This morning in USA Today there was a piece about someone being successful on American Idol. Good for her. But do I care?

These are only a few examples in very recent memory. But it seems to me it’s always been this way. Back in the 50s, a prominent Hollywood star gave birth out of wedlock, and it was front-page news. (By the way – She was ostracized and blacklisted for years). I realize that mores have changed and that back then, having a child out of wedlock was considered taboo. Still, it seems to me a lot of to-do about nothing.

At the same time, the news continues to use scare tactics to get attention. Yesterday the United States was warned through coverage in all the media that Al-Quaeda was trying to regroup and plan a new attack on our country, possibly with biological or chemical weapons. You might think it is important that we know that. My own feeling is that 1) It’s not really news, because we know all too well that there are certain elements, like Al-Quaeda, who are constantly plotting to do catastrophic harm to the United States while making spectacular headlines. 2) There is absolutely nothing we can do about it as private citizens, except to worry, which is exactly what the terrorist organizations want us to do. Believe me, I don’t need to read alarmist headlines in order to remind myself, “Oh yeah – If I happen to overhear someone plotting to bomb Time Square I’d better call the FBI”.

Every morning in the newspaper, just across from my crossword puzzle, there is a picture of a child. Every morning it is a different child. The caption tells you that the child disappeared from home, and then tells you vital information such as the child’s date of birth, their race, eye color and hair color, when they disappeared, and how old they would be now. Sometimes they use computer technology to age the appearance of the child so that you can see roughly what they might look like now. Some of these children have been missing ten, or even fifteen years. I always take a good look at them. I think maybe one day I will spot one of these missing children and be able to alert the authorities so that they can be returned to their parents. I can’t believe that so many children go missing. Imagine. A new child, presumably abducted, in the paper every single day for years on end. Stuck way back in the “Life” section, across from the crossword puzzle.

© 2005, Robin Munson

SOMETHING TO PONDER

I’ve heard that work expands to fill the time available (or something like that – Remind me to get a Bartlett’s Book of Quotations so that I don’t mangle these axioms and I can tell you who said it).

Anyway, this morning was a case in point. Because Thursdays are mostly taken up by my time with my mother, I wanted to get up extra early so that I could get my routine done before going to Mom’s. So I was up before dawn cooking breakfast and feeding the cat. By six thirty, breakfast was over and I was washing dishes. So far, so good. But then, it happened. I was wiping off the stove and the counters, and I noticed some grime. Not your everyday grime, mind you, but some serious, built-up, greasy grime, and it was all over the top of the stove.

Now, I’m not Martha Stewart or Betty Crocker, but there is a limit to just how much of this stuff I can stand. So I took apart the stove, piece by piece, and began scrubbing from the inside out. Suddenly, it was an hour later, and all my lovely extra time had evaporated.

My big philosophical question for the day is this: Was the stove scrubbing a serious and important task that is part of my larger effort to keep my home free of chaos and clutter? Or (and this is my own sneaking suspicion) was the stove scrubbing merely a distraction to keep me from completing my writing?

I guess the only possible answer is – It depends.

First question: Am I a serious writer? In order to know the answer to that question, you would have to define “serious writer”. If the answer is: “a writer who makes a serious amount of money as a writer”, then I would have to say, alas, no. If the answer is: “anyone who takes themselves seriously as a writer”, I’m afraid the answer would again have to be, no. If the answer is: “anyone who writes something of weight or import”, I would have to say that I’m not the one to judge that. But if the answer is, “Anyone who writes every day” – I qualify.

Second question: Does cleaning matter? In order to know the answer to that question, you would have to define “cleaning”. Is cleaning merely mindless routine that must be repeated every day in as little time as possible? (In which case, it matters very little, indeed). Or. Is cleaning a way to unclutter our surroundings in order to unclutter our minds and free us for more creative tasks? Or is the act of cleaning in and of itself therapeutic and necessary to our well-being? I have to say that I have been all over the map myself with these questions, and I don’t really know the answer. (Sigh).

Well, if nothing else, this morning’s exercise at the stove gave me something to ponder – and it gave you something to read. Let’s just leave it at that.

© Robin Munson, 2005