Thoughts on Investigative Journalism

Wikipedia, holder of all knowledge, states that investigative journalism is, “a type of reporting in which reporters (go figure) deeply investigate a topic of interest, often involving crime, political corruption, or some other scandal.”

I assume that such investigation requires weeks, if not months, of work, and journalists act in a professional, unbiased manner. However, in watching TMJ4 - a local news channel - the other evening, I found investigative journalism to be something much different.

Usually I abhor local news for their sensationalist reporting and rampant fear-mongering. News is exciting enough without all of the contrived drama. This instance was no different, yet I managed to catch a trailer for an upcoming segment (the need for 10 o’clock news segments to have a trailer is a discussion for another day).

The trailer advertised a piece on a local contractor who is reportedly charging too much money for his low quality work, and then befriending his hapless clients in order to extort money from them.

This man’s current client happens to be an older woman, whose family gift wrapped and delivered the story to TMJ4 in an effort to draw attention to themselves, I mean to the injustice.

The trailer for the story showcases a reporter chasing after the handyman with a microphone, and asking, “Is it your practice to steal money from the elderly?” as the man walks to his car with as much dignity as he can muster.

Perhaps this guy is a sleaze and a cheat. No doubt he is draining clients’ bank accounts in exchange for substandard home repair, but the only thing this advertisement managed to do was to make sure I was on his side before I tuned in to the presentation (a tough feat considering the guy is a con man).

Reporters chasing “interviewees” with a microphone and camera crew? Investigative journalists asking leading questions, “helping” the viewer connect the dots without giving fair chance for the interviewees to defend themselves?

Objection, Your Honor!

This is not to say that the handyman in question is not a con man who deserves to be publicly flogged, but it is to say that local news stations will stop at nothing in the name of “investigative reporting” to create drama and sensationalize a story once strong enough to stand on its own.

Which is really quite sad because it turns off educated viewers who demand unbiased news reporting based on a strong truthiness quotient (see below). Viewers like me. Which is why I now get my news from The Daily Show and Colbert Report. Because if I have to choose between sensational newsertainment or comedic newsertainment, I choose the laughs.

America's Port - not like the wine

Last night whilst channel surfing the uninspiring 9pm CST time slot, I came across an episode of America’s Port on NatGeo. As I said in my last post, I saw the trailers for this new blue-collar reality show and was intrigued enough to take it for a test drive.

This episode began aboard the cruise ship Monarch of the Seas, as we meet the first-ever female captain. The ship is docked in Catalina, 20 miles southwest of the Port of Los Angeles. A port police dive team must go underwater and check the hull for IEDs, which I heard are all the rage in any terrorist organization.

Sixteen divers in two teams submerge, and start checking the barnacles for telltale red blinking lights and MacGyver-like digital countdown clocks.

This author must admit that barnacles have always grossed her out for reasons unknown. She becomes skittish when swimming too close to boats and/or piers, and tries to stay away from the slimy, algae-covered surfaces. Sorry, we digress.

Twenty minutes into the dive one team is fighting a wicked current and cannot continue. The other team spends the next two hours picking up the slack and no bombs are to be found. We cut to a bigwig in port authority who interviews that today is the busiest day of the year because not two, not three, but four cruise ships are scheduled to make port in L.A.

This means more passengers embarking and disembarking with much luggage to be checked for explosives and narcotics. And let us not even mention the cleaning and restocking of each cruise ship in preparation of its next voyage.

After our commercial break (so Extra gum is now billing itself as a “5 calorie snack”? What’s up with that?), it is now pre-dawn at the Port of Los Angeles. Our Monarch cruise ship is entering the channel and maneuvering in 23mph winds to find its berth.

Port authority must escort each ship through the channel, apparently to play interference between the ships and any unregistered small craft that may mean harm (see: USS Cole in Yemen). A port authority pilot takes over at the helm to guide each vessel to its pier.

As we see this pilot maneuver the Monarch, Thom Beers describes what highs winds can mean for this particular vessel, and explains that the wind could push the Monarch into an already parked ship causing billions of dollars in lost profits for the entire country. No pressure or anything, Thom.

It turns out Thom’s fears are realized as the Monarch’s lady captain takes over the wheel because a container ship, Evergreen, has just announced the dreaded Breach (Breech?). This author formerly thought breach was only in reference to births and Hollywood blockbuster films about secure computer systems, but now is told that it also refers to one of the worst situations possible in naval/maritime relations. Because of the aforementioned high winds, the Monarch is now on a collision course with the Evergreen (collision = breach).

Voice on Loudspeaker keeps announcing things like, “Breach to Evergreen three-zero,” in reference to the fact that our cruise ship is only thirty meters from impact, yet this author feels that merely announcing the obvious without suggesting any solution is hardly helpful. Not to mention the cold, inflectionless way he says it. The ships are about to crash; you think he could drum up a bit of emotion.

Alas, the crash is averted through ship-driving mechanisms unknown to me.

We immediately cut to two hours later. It is seven o’clock in the morning, and our port workers must load 90 pallets of supplies onto the Crystal Symphony, one of the four cruise ships in port today. Crystal Symphony needs to get loaded and then get the hell out of dodge as the Port has only three docks for cruise ships, yet one more ship is on its way. In other words: there’s no room at the inn, and Crystal Symphony drew the short straw.

The next twenty minutes are footage of bomb and narcotics sniffing dogs checking luggage interspersed with a stressed looking dock manager in charge of loading supplies on Crystal Symphony.

The stressed dock manager is blowing a gasket because, instead of the previously arranged 90 pallets of crap, more semi trucks keep driving in and running the tally up to over 250 pallets of crap. Explained to the uninformed viewer, this is a lot of crap to load in five hours. After a few tense minutes and one commercial interruption, all is well as the ship gets loaded and vacates the premises.

But is everything all well?

We head back to our favorite K9’s, whereupon the bomb sniffing dog sniffs a bomb, and the narcotics sniffing dog sniffs narcotics. The police handlers assure us this rarely happens, yet I am obliged to disagree as what are the odds that two things that never happen, happen on the same day?

After all living persons are cleared from the building and the bomb squad X-rays the bag, we learn that what looks like a grenade is actually a chunk of coral. We also learn that the aforementioned explosives are actually residue from when the bag’s douche bag owner transported guns and ammo to a gun range. Seriously, Dumbass, thanks for wasting everyone’s time.

The narcotics, however, turn out to be residue of previously transported marijuana. This douche bag is detained by the police and questioned. The nineteen year old answers that he does not remember what drug was in the bottle (the narcotic-smelling article in question is a prescription drug bottle), and the police officer cordially offers to test the residue in his handy on-the-spot testing kit (whereupon we learn it’s marijuana).

Cut to nineteen-year-old Douche trying not to look worried.

Commercial break (Seriously, Extra. Snack? Gum as a snack???)

At the end of the show we learn that Narcotics Douche is sent home with a slap on the wrist. What could have been a $5,000 fine, has now been turned into a lesson learned for all of America’s Port viewership.

Overall, the show has merit, though I do not enjoy the narration of Thom Beers. His voice does not convey the proper emotion and drama that Mike Rowe so easily does in Deadliest Catch.

I give it 3.5 stars out of 5.

Blue Collar Reality TV

I have a confession to make.

I am addicted to a television show.

The show? Deadliest Catch.

I don’t know what it is about this particular Discovery Channel gem that has me hooked. The drama? The intrigue? The death-defying antics? The Bon Jovi theme song?



All I know is that I cannot get enough of Phil’s sailor talk on the Cornelia Marie, or Sig’s temper tantrums on the Northwestern. Even Jonathan’s antics aboard the Time Bandit crack me up.

Perhaps it is because I highly appreciate the “suck it up” mentality the men have for their work.

Dismal fishing and 80 pots to pull and stack? Well, suck it up and get the job done, Wussy.

Toothache bothering you and you can’t eat anything? Get out the pliers and play dentist.

Do something stupid and fall into the ocean without your survival suit? Well okay, that’s cause for some concern.

Who thought that watching a bunch of crab fisherman fish for crab would be a veritable gold mine for Nielsen ratings?

Hoping to cash in on this trend of blue-collar worker turned television documentary subject, the History Channel premiered a new show called “Ax Men” which depicts life in the logging industry.

I highly enjoy History Channel’s Ice Road Truckers (again, who knew watching men drive semis on ice would be entertaining) and figured Ax Men would be the next big thing. In hopes of finding a new addiction, I tuned in last night.

Turns out I was wrong.

After watching ten minutes of the uninterrupted clear clutting of majestic pines in the Pacific Northwest, I was visibly traumatized, and had to change the channel to ABC’s Brothers & Sisters (whereupon seeing Justin fight feelings for his sister Rebecca, traumatized me a little bit more…turns out their not biologically related. *whew).

With all the talk of Sustainability, Environmental Efficiency, Global Warming, Recycling, etc, it surprises me that The History Channel would take such a gamble with Ax Men.

Green is the new black, and I find it hard to believe that other viewers are not similarly put off by the rampant destruction of a pristine forest.

One of the advertisements for the show has a man interviewing that this show is real, and it portrays an industry that has been around for centuries. This, of course, is true, but the logging industry hasn’t always been operating in a society that is riding the wave toward Environmental Consciousness.

And while I’m sure there are over 1,000 ways to get killed on any given day working as a lumberjack, I somehow wish they still transported logs by floating them downriver. Now that would make for creative film techniques.

So I am not a fan of Ax Men, and will probably never tune in again as I do not wish to fight a wave of depression. I will stick with Deadliest Catch and Ice Road Truckers as my blue-collar reality shows du jour.

My next foray will be National Geographic’s America’s Port. Stay tuned for a thorough review.

Things I Learned on the Other Side: Easy Living Segment

Busy-ness-itis is a disease that is plaguing the American workforce. I have recently succumbed to it and am in the middle of a four-week bout. Painkillers are of the Happy Hour variety, which, combined with sleeping through my alarm clock every morning, have conspired to plunge me ever deeper into the disease’s evil clutches.

As such, I have not had much time to dedicate to this little blog, and for that I apologize. During my healthy moments I have a never-ending supply of ideas for great, witty posts, but then an episode of Busynessitis will set in and all thoughts begin to tumble in my head like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free. This creates a sort of writer’s block that leaves me frustrated and annoyed.

Thus I bring to you my first post in a new series called “International Flava.” For those of you who do not know, I spent a bit of time in Eastern Europe teaching English. While there I took note of the many cultural and lifestyle distinctions that make the peoples Across the Pond so different from us Americans. This series is my commentary on these distinctions, and will serve us well until I can return to present-day social commentary once Busynessitis recedes.

We commence with “Things I Learned on the Other Side: Easy Living Segment,” a relevant topic, don’t you think?

And no, I don’t mean “Other Side” in that I died for five minutes and “crossed over.” When I say Other Side, I mean “across the pond,” and by across the pond I mean the other side of the Atlantic.

Yes, I spent some time living overseas. Yes, it was a life-changing experience and blah, blah, blah. But what’s really important to share are all of the insider tips. These range from cheap travel deals, to beauty tips, to easy living guidelines, and to, in general, different ways of doing things.

So let us commence with this first list of Tips for Easy Living from Across the Pond, Eastern Europe Style.

1. No Business May Be Done on Sundays Except Restaurant Business
Plan your grocery shopping well, visitors from the Land of 24/7 Supermarkets, because you will be in for a shock if you run out of food on Saturday night and think you will just head over to the market for some reinforcements. While you may find a few brave restaurants open for limited hours on Sunday, in many countries this day is truly a day of rest. So shut up and rest already.

2. All Shops Must Close at 5pm Every Night
In the vein of #1, most shopkeepers close their doors at 5pm. They have families, after all, and dinner is not going to make itself. We could all learn a thing or two from a successful business owner with a healthy work-life balance.

3. I Wish I Could Add ‘Take a Siesta’ but I Can’t Because This is Eastern Europe We’re Discussing
Indeed, Eastern European countries, while practicing a laid-back and easy lifestyle, do not utilize the Siesta. However, if you are a teacher, school ends at 2:00pm whereupon you are served lunch (no break for lunch during school hours, suck it up wussy). After school you are free to conduct private lessons or head home at your discretion.

That's all for this episode. Tune in another time when we will either continue with this list or begin another from the series "Things I Learned on the Other Side."

A Revelation Whilst Antiquing

Last weekend I went antiquing. I know, after the revelations of my Senior Moments, it almost seems a natural progression to antiquing as a weekend activity, but this particular episode was entirely coincidental and unplanned.

LB and I plan a Saturday afternoon of fun in Shorewood. Saturday arrives, and we lunch at City Market, and head down to Lake Drive for a walk filled with snide comments and inventive back-story of the mansion inhabitants.

On our way to Lake Drive we see a shop called Chattel Changers, but which will now be referred to as The Store That Changed Our Lives. Allow me to elucidate.

Chattel Changers is your garden-variety antique store with a delightful array of green Depression glass and two lovely embroidered chairs in the window display that work together to grab your attention and reel you in for further exploration.

In the case of LB and I, it worked beautifully.

We enter the store expecting high-class antiques at high-class prices (this is Shorewood, after all). However, we are pleasantly surprised to see delightful old crap (one man’s trash…) at reasonable prices.

As we explore the store (rhyme unintentional), we begin with our usual commentary, discussing the antiques, the former owners of said antiques and the like, sprinkling in a heavy dose of sarcastic and witty remarks. One piece, in particular, grabs LB’s attention.

“Ms. Quarter, I’ve found the perfect set of dinnerware for you!” LB excitedly exclaims (because really, is there any other way to exclaim), holding up a fabulous 70’s Swank teacup in a shade of butter cream, decorated with orange and green flowers.

“I’m sorry,” I sarcastically reply, “but I unfortunately do not have wood paneling in my house and so the set does not match my décor. Shame.”

After this exchange we hear a set of low snickers, and as we look around for the culprits we notice a middle-aged couple hiding their giggles behind their hands. It seems they overheard our exchange and appreciate our brand of humor.

Awash in this newfound information and what it means to our future, LB and I pay for our purchases (LB with a set of madrigal-worthy goblets, me with a set of sherbet cups) and head back to the car.

The moment we are outside, LB turns to me and says, “We’re totally as funny as we think we are!”

I reply that I was just going to say the same.

We chuckle and enjoy this new revelation.

Senior Moments

Lately I have been experiencing what I will call “senior moments.” When one happens I try to write it off as a byproduct of exhaustion or distraction, but the frequency of these moments belies a more serious cause. The question is what could that cause be?

Perhaps I should explain.

Last week I was driving home from work when I came upon a major intersection. Not your typical four-way crossing, this intersection boasted five separate streets converging through one set of traffic lights.

As I made my typical left-hand turn I thought naught was amiss, that is, until roughly five blocks later when I realized that my blinker was still blinking. It’s flashing green arrow on my dashboard cruelly reminding me of all the times I accusingly labeled a fellow driver “Senior Citizen” simply because they had done the same.

Forgetful moment? Temporary deafness (in all fairness, how can anyone hear that pitiful clicking noise over Green Day)?

In shame I clicked off my signal light, and slouched down in my seat, silently apologizing to the driver behind me for committing my faux pas. For if there is nothing else that annoys me about today’s drivers (and there is plenty), it is the glaring lack of turn signal usage that plagues our streets.

In another, seemingly unrelated incident, I went to the store to buy a battery for my malfunctioning garage door opener. On my way back I was singing along to my iPod (Hawk Nelson this time), when a sign on the right caught my eye.

“Sheepshead Tournament,” it proclaimed, and I got excited at the prospect of playing an old family favorite card game.

No doubt, when members of my extended family get together Sheepshead is known to take us into the late hours of the night. Many a hospital waiting room has seen us counting trump, and airport lounges are excellent places for our own rule-breaking versions of the game.

I do not know many folks my age who even know of the game, and so I was intrigued at the prospect of trying a hand or two. Wanting to know more, I quickly scanned the sign for dates and times, only to find that the sign was outside the local VFW.

My interest waned as I pictured myself in a room full of grandfather-types who smoke Marlboro’s and drink High Life whilst calling me “Girlie” and teasing me about not having a “fella.”

Some of my interests, dare I admit it, are more of the “senior set” than others. I need not mention the golf league I am joining, nor the quilt I am stitching, but I will anyway for argument’s sake.

My latest senior moment happened just this morning. Yesterday, in a show of productivity, I cleaned my humble, dust-ridden apartment, and ithe process of cleaning my coffee maker, I left the filter basket to dry next to the kitchen sink. This morning, bleary eyed and zombie-like, I readied the coffee maker for my usual four cups of brew.

In went the water. In went the cone filter. In went one large scoop of Starbuck’s Breakfast Blend and one large scoop of decaf.

The minute I pressed the on switch, I heard the sizzle of water under the carafe. I realize that I put the filter in the coffee maker, but forgot the filter basket underneath. The coffee was subsequently dripping everywhere, and coffee grounds were escaping into the carafe at an alarming rate.

Turkish coffee, anyone?

All of these senior moments have one thing in common: they have happened within the last month. The month that just happens to lead into my upcoming birthday, whereupon I will officially leave the first Quarter Century of my life.

Perhaps, in preparation for what is to come later in life, my brain is giving me a taste of what my senior citizen days (daze?) will be like. In this way I will get used to the forgetfulness, being hard of hearing, and also learn to enjoy pursuits previously labeled Geriatric.

Perhaps I'm merely losing my mind. Only time will tell.

A First-Timer’s March Madness – The Results Show

For those of you who watch Dancing with the Stars (I’m talking to you Drew Lachey) you know that they devote a full hour of prime time to what they call The Results Show.

For those of you who read this blog (you know who you are), you know that I recently joined the Hoops Hysteria that is March Madness for the first time ever.

“How did it go?” you anxiously ask.

Go ahead. I’ll wait.

Well, I am glad you asked, because let me tell you it was a feat to make my momma proud.

No, I did not win my bracket, but I beat out eighteen (18) other folks to take 5th place. Furthermore, I was one of only two people to pick Kansas to go all the way, the other person winning first place.

I also took 3rd place in my Facebook bracket group, the winner being my cousin who happens to be a professional ball player, thus cancelling him out and making me the 2nd place finisher. This group, however, did not have any money on the line.

After this experience, I have decided that they (whomever “they” may be) should have bracket groups categorized by skill and interest level with novices (me) competing against novices, whilst veterans compete against veterans.

My other cousin’s bowling league is organized like this, and I don’t see why a CBS Sports Bracket cannot be also.

On the Subject of Branding

No, I am not talking about your garden-variety cattle prodding. I’m talking marketing. Specifically, organizational identity as affirmed through a strong brand awareness (garnered by use of logo, color scheme, mission statement, etc).

Mayhap I should explain.

In addition to my full time job, I volunteer my services to some local nonprofits. I sit on the Board of Directors for one in particular, and this local nonprofit is part of a larger national organization.

This weekend in Chicago was a conference for board members of all local chapters for this national organization. We met. We conferenced. We work-shopped. In all it was a productive sharing of best practices across chapter leadership.

I co-led one of these workshops, our topic being the development of a successful marketing strategy. What steps do you need to take before jumping in the deep end that is graphic design, logo standards, and shades of Pantone color processing? Well, our chapter had been through just that and we thought to help others strategically think through their plan.

In outlining these steps, a disturbing line of questioning rose to the surface. Is there a national brand all chapters must follow? How do we keep our local individuality while also adhering to the national standard? How do we balance creating a strong local brand and awareness while also contributing to the national organization?

At these questions we waited patiently for the national cohorts to pipe up and explain their stance. Cut to blank stares all around.

Apparently, the national branding of our entire organization has never before been addressed in the four years that National has been in existence.

The latest success for National is the roll out of a new technology for our online presence integrating Web 2.0. In the planning stages for this new website, I can imagine all were excited to roll out a new website for our organization, yet they never questioned if that website should have the same look across all chapters. This would have been a convenient time to have the branding discussion.

Four years ago, while establishing an entire organization (National), they never even took the time to develop a clear mission. This also would have been a prime time to discuss branding and logo standards for the entire organization.

Need I say that the lack of vision and strategic planning concerns me? I come from a marketing background and, as such, I realize I am biased toward the marketing issues, but how can you build a strong, cohesive organization without having a clear mission?

Much of the conference time was spent discussing how this national nonprofit and all of its chapters can take on the mantle of advocacy for the nonprofit sector. Nevermind that, even with all chapter membership combined, we only represent 10,000 clients. Regardless of our small numbers, how can we be an advocate and approach policy makers without having a clear, unified voice (aka: brand)?

It boggles this marketer’s mind.

Voter Apathy

I despise voter apathy.

In a country that brags about its democratic tendencies, and pushes that same agenda on to other countries (sometimes with limited success, see: Iraq), it’s rather disheartening to see a WI Supreme Court candidate beat by another with a 411,272 to 391,549 spread (note: figures taken 4/2/08, article linked 4/3/08).

Do the math.

That is a total of 802,821 votes…for the entire state of Wisconsin. The estimated population for Wisconsin, as of 2006, is over 5.5 million people (according to the U.S. Census Bureau). An estimated 23.6% of that 5.5 million are under the age of 18, thus unable to vote. Of the 4.3 million adults, those 802,821 votes represent a measly 19% voter turnout.

For a country so proudly democratic, that 19% is rather pathetic.

And potentially damaging when you consider the 10-year term granted to a WI Supreme Court justice, and the power said justice has in interpreting the law through his or her decisions.

I used to live in Hungary, and was told by my Regional Coordinator and sponsoring organization not to get involved in anything political. Unfortunately, the national presidential elections took place that year, and my kollegium was a voting station. I had Hungarians lined up outside of my apartment door (I was located on the first floor – sometimes bad, sometimes awesome), for the entirety of the day. I couldn’t leave my apartment without slamming the door into some poor Hungarian voter.

The Hungarians took to voting like moths to flame, and I wondered why most Americans do not. “I Voted” sticker not enough incentive? No Chipotle in his or her neighborhood to offer a free burrito to anyone who votes? No interest in which politician decides this country’s future?

My theory is that, quite simply, Hungarians love to exercise their democratic rights by taking part in the election process, while Americans largely remain apathetic. We must remember that Communism is still quite recent (circa 1990), and fresh in the minds of anyone over the age of 25. Many older adults remember, painfully, living in a country where they were not allowed to vote for their leaders, yet were subject to those same leaders’ whims. They now eagerly anticipate voting – the right to choose – and do so in droves.

Thus it is my opinion that we are simply spoiled. The old adage that you do not know what you have until it is gone. We do not realize the privilege we have in being allowed to vote for our leaders (electoral college and all of it’s issues aside). Until that privilege (yes, it is our right, but it is also a privilege in the sense that not everyone in the world has it) is threatened or taken away, we will never fully understand just how good we have it. And that, I believe, is the real travesty.

Observations of The Line

“Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

I think I must be asked this question at least once a month, which is quite often when you consider how rarely I meet somebody new AND spend enough time getting to know him or her in order to feel comfortable talking about this topic.

I have met my share of men in these twenty-five years - some charming, some not, most married or taken, a few not for painfully obvious reasons, and the select few who were great and not already taken (a rare find). Such Rare Finds either became my boyfriend, or most often, my friend.

Regardless of the outcomes of my few relationships, throughout my quarter century of life I began to take notice of a certain phenomenon. This phenomenon began to assert itself in my teen years, most often in observing my friends’ dating experiences versus my own (read: them = plentiful, me = scarce).

The observations continued in college and beyond, the intensity increasing with the advent of engagements and marriages amongst said friends and acquaintances. What is this phenomenon? The difference between my friends and I in the dating game?

I call it The Line.

You know about The Line.

It is the divide between the friend and the girlfriend (or boyfriend in the dude’s case). It is what determines whether you will be in the Girlfriend (boyfriend) category or Friend category.

My friends were usually in the Girlfriend category while I languished in the Friend.

Why this difference? I am sure there are innumerable answers to this riddle – several factors that make up the whole, yet the answer is probably simpler than we think. The answer, of course, is the same one that will satisfy the question above, yet is woefully elusive to this Quarter Century gal.

So until it becomes clear, I will continue to answer the above questions with this: Because I’m busy.