60 Minutes: A Dichotomy of Demographics
My grandfather doesn’t watch 60 Minutes. I do. In fact, he doesn’t watch national television news in general. The bulk of my television viewing is news, be it local, national or international.
Network brass will tell you a program like 60 Minutes — on the air since 1968 — appeals to an older demographic, a generation that grew up when television was still in its infancy. Experts say advertisers don’t like spending money on that demographic because they don’t have much disposable income. Au contraire, I’d say. Grandpa does; I don’t.
60 Minutes is consistently the smartest, most thought-provoking, most insightful hour of television in this country. It’s been a stalwart for CBS, and has enjoyed a ratings renaissance in recent years. The show appeals to a broad base, allowing generations of viewers and consumers to share a common viewing habit.
Except my grandpa and me. We have other things in common, of course, and I count him among my closest of friends. But the theory that older people watch news while younger people enjoy Jersey Shore and other vapid programs is outdated, draconian and downright offensive.
I enjoy 60 Minutes. For as long as it continues to air, I’ll be a loyal viewer.
Obviously, my grandfather and I are anomalies. We don’t fit easily into any stereotype or pre-conceived notion. We can’t be labeled. We’re independent, out-of-the-box thinkers.
We wouldn’t have it any other way.
Chris Brown is a Punk
We’re in the midst of a great war. A war of words. A war of words being carried out entirely on Twitter.
Domestic abuser, ersatz singer, doesn’t like CM Punk, a professional wrestler. And Punk, currently the WWE Champion, hasn’t held back his disdain.
Punk fired the first salvo in the war on February 12, tweeting the following:
I would like @chrisbrown fight somebody that can defend themselves. Me curb stomping that turd would be a #wrestlemania moment.
Brown responded. Much of the exchange can be found here.
Professional wrestling has a well-documented history of celebrity involvement. Some celebrities have crossed over and wrestled on pay-per-view. It’s always been to the mutual benefit of all parties involved. There’s no benefit here. WWE might score some mainstream publicity, but the consequence would be bringing Brown back into social relevance.
Punk throws fake punches in a fake sport. Brown likes to really hit women. He’s a punk, no pun intended.
Still, I’d pay money to see anyone punch him in the mouth.
The Three Stooges Movie
Have you heard the word? There’s a Three Stooges movie coming out this year. Here’s the trailer.
I’ve been a fan of theirs my entire life. In fact, I know an astonishing amount of Stooge trivia and history. I remember the multiple inaccuracies of Mel Gibson’s 2000 film about the legendary comedy trio, so I was slightly hesitant to watch the trailer last year.
It actually looks good. And the actors portraying Moe, Larry and Curly actually resemble their real counterparts.
Judge for yourself.
Above: the actors in the forthcoming movie.
Below: the real deal.
The Write Way
The operating thesis for this essay is the following quote:
“Writing is easy. All you do is stare at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead.” – Gene Fowler
Writing isn’t easy. Anyone who says otherwise isn’t doing it right.
I’ve been writing since I could put a pen to paper, but I became far more serious about the craft of writing many years ago. My 11th grade English teacher inspired me to admire and appreciate the beauty of the written word and the troubling nuances of the English language.
In short, she inspired me to write.
Professionally, I’m a news writer – itself an art, albeit in a more truncated form. Writing news for radio is fraught with perils not shared by my literary contemporaries. Consider this: when you listen to the radio in the morning, what else are you doing? You’re getting dressed, eating breakfast, preparing for the busy day ahead. You aren’t sitting around listening to every word. Thus, the radio news writer must employ an economy of words – and write conversationally, as if we were sitting together at your kitchen table.
The listener can’t see my script. Puns and wordplay become the enemy of clarity. I was guilty in my fetal days as a news writer of trying to be too clever.
There is another enemy that isn’t exclusive to broadcast news writing: distractions. I’m easily distracted. Quite often, a banal distraction rapidly derails my thought process. Ironically, this essay was born out of a distraction. Distractions aren’t necessarily a bad thing – sometimes stepping away from writing can be a long-term benefit – but they should be minimized when possible.
Fowler was right. Writing is easy when all that’s staring back at you is a blank page or screen.
My Friend Dan
Dan is my best friend.
He’s enjoyed that status for nearly two years. I’ve had a best friend before him, and I’m positive another will fight for his spot on the mantle, but for now he’s number one.
We weren’t always best friends. Once we were lukewarm co-workers who treaded gingerly around inane chit-chat as we groped blindly through our promotion at a job neither one of us liked. In fact, we didn’t like each other at first. Somehow the ice was broken, and a friendship was allowed to blossom.
I’ve watched as Dan entered fatherhood. I’ve watched as he struggled to rediscover his place amidst the workforce as we — along with over 100 of our subordinates — were laid off in late 2010. We’ve shared laughter and a couple of tears, several cups of coffee and a few glasses of beer.
Dan has since rejoined the ranks of the employed, as have I. But there’s now a significant distance between us, one that has not tempered our status as each other’s best friend. I’ll be there when he gets married, just as he’ll attend my funeral.
If I ever enjoy fabulous wealth, I’m inclined to share some with him. Then I’ll change my name, move to a foreign country and sever all ties with everyone.
Until then, Dan will still be my best friend.
Three Years Later
Every person in their life will arrive at a crossroads, and the direction they choose will ultimately prove a great success or spectacular failure. Three years ago I faced a crossroads. I had gone as far in my career as I thought possible, and I was hungry to take a risk and enter alien territory. So I took a leap of faith and gave up a familiar life for the instability of the unknown. That was three years ago today: February 13, 2009.
Enough time has lapsed from my first writing on the subject of what was a painful breakup that I can look at the complete picture with fresh eyes. I no longer feel shackled by the chains of despair or despondency. It’s like reading a sad story, then returning to it years later and not feeling overwrought with anything.
When you dive head-first into a question mark, one of two things will happen: either you’ll swim to safer waters, or you’ll drown. I drowned. Then I was brought back to life. Wasn’t there a religious parable about a man resurrected? In my sorrows I took refuge in the written word, and began writing. A lot. Most of it I tossed in the garbage. Just being able to transfer all of my anguish to paper was enough to unburden myself. I didn’t read any of it. I didn’t need to; therapy isn’t always about confrontation, it’s about letting out steam. I’m not a confrontational person. I’m a writer. I express feelings, thoughts and emotions through the written word. That’s my therapy. Doesn’t cost me anything.
Now that the darkness is behind me, it’s important to note that the dramatis personae in the saga which played out over the pursuing years are now shadows in my mind. They exist only in the fog of what once was. Their contributions are noted for the record, but their presence is no longer necessary, wanted or desired. Eventually their names and faces will melt into the flaccid realm of the mind where our recollections are misty.
So, what’s changed in three years? I’m three years older, three years wiser, three years stronger, three years better. And now I’m sitting on the cutting edge of a brand new chapter, one that excites me to no end. The best, as the saying goes, is yet to come.
Santorum Wins
A funny thing happened on the road to the White House. Rick Santorum rose from the dead and stunningly won Colorado, Minnesota and Missouri.
The former Pennsylvania senator said that following last night’s thrashing, his campaign gained some $250,000 in donations.
Two obvious questions come to mind: exactly how did Santorum pull off the impossible, and whom will Republicans look at as their frontrunner? I can’t offer an answer to the former, but the latter can be summed up in a hopeful wish: support Ron Paul.
The Day After Superbowl 46
In my zeal to avoid football as much as possible yesterday, I neglected to post this timeless gem. It’s Andy Griffith’s comedy routine about a country boy witnessing a football game for the first time. Enjoy.
