"This week I watched two films that are frighteningly contemporary in their subtext and declaration of attitude. Idiocracy by Mike Judge is supposed to be just a fluff of a comedy about below-average types Luke Wilson and Maya Rudolph conned into an absurd year-long cryogenics experiment, but instead wake up 500 years later to find themselves the smartest people in the dumbest country. The sharp jab to the jaw came in its frightening dead on commentary of where we could be heading, post November 4th. Will we end up with a President who has a highly evolved sense of what needs to be done to undo the damage of the past 8 long, dumb years or will we end up with a family in the White House that includes a teenage mother married to a high school dropout? In short: breed, smart people, breed!"
Like Governor Palin, I have my own tanning bed, too.
Here's a photo of it:
It's the biggest tanning bed in the world, passes through almost every coastal country, and in my grand beneficence and generosity, I share it with the peoples of this earth.
And why not? After you Field Hands just bought four battleground states for me in 24 hours (thank you very much, and if you were still planning to toss a coin into the cup, it's never too late!), I can afford to share and share alike.
For those that might be interested, let me share a little bit of what I've learned about authentic journalism and media viruses, using the tanning bed story's trajectory as Exhibit A.
As a full-time newspaperman in the 1990s, I began to ask myself why some of the stories I had reported were picked up by other newspapers, TV and radio media, caused national and even international tremors and the occasional quake, while others that may have been more important or interesting to me never quite captured broader attention and imagination.
In that quest, my curiosity led me to a book by a then-35-year-old writer, Media Virus: Hidden Agendas in Popular Culture, by Douglas Rushkoff (1996, Ballantine Press). It charted how new concepts and pieces of information first enter the public consciousness as "memes" (the basic building block of an idea) and they spread throughout the "datasphere" much like a virus propagates. And like living organisms, news stories can mutate and come to mean something different to people or even opposite of their original truths, like a gigantic multi-dimensional game of "telephone."
Just ask Fatimah Ali, the Philadelphia columnist whose use of the words "race war" two weeks ago certainly got a lot of attention; but probably not in the way she had hoped. It's a problem for a lot of journalists and bloggers: they can write a perfectly legitimate and newsworthy story, but by the time the media machine chews it up and spits it out the message is distorted, and often runs contrary, to the original one.
Four days after its publication, the tanning bed story has indeed replicated far and wide, but still remains intact, true to its original facts, more like what chemists call a catalyst: "that which changes the other but remains itself unchanged."
My experience is that media viruses can be crafted carefully enough so that they are more likely to multiply and mutate in intended ways. Responsible and factual reporting is, increasingly, just the first half of the work. If the story just sits there and doesn't draw in the public imagination, then what have we accomplished?
In the new media age, a journalist (or blogger, or communicator of any kind) now has to also anticipate how his or her story is likely to bounce off against other agendas and realities in society (and has to keep abreast of what those currents are and in what directions they push). Writing a story has become more of a challenge, like playing chess, that requires anticipating the counter-moves, steps in advance. A good story must now come with its own built-in "immune systems" or "antibodies" to best program its mutative potential and direction.
A dozen years into this revelation, and after a lot of trial, error and practice, this task is fairly routine for me. One develops an eye for which stories have potential to attach themselves to other media and get spread farther, and how to construct them so that they don't implode or backfire (hint: that still includes the absolute necessity of getting the story right, because any falsehood or error in a story, no matter how small, becomes the weakness through which it can be mutated to turn against its original message. Not only that, but some of us do believe in that old fashioned moral called "telling the truth."). I've also learned through experience how to attach small, unfinished sub-plots - open questions as shining baubles - to a story line that other media won't be able to resist latching onto and trying to complete. It's like leaving a few pieces of a mostly-finished jigsaw puzzle on the side of the board to entice others into joining in the quest to complete it.
Our story on Monday, Palin's Private Tanning Bed in the Alaska Governor's Mansion, co-authored with ace investigative reporter Bill Conroy, included some of those "shiny objects" to wave before a hungry media like a bag of crack tossed into a drug treatment center.
Within hours, the story ricocheted first through the media of the "low information voters" - gossip columns, entertainment magazine websites, and others that speak to voters that don't pay attention to "serious" political news, but nonetheless many of them vote - and quickly developed enough steam without becoming mutated off its essential truths to be picked up by the "serious" media. The "tanning bed" meme is now genetically spliced onto Governor Palin's biography and profile. It will be mentioned in most media profiles of her. She might as well have the image of a tanning bed tattooed onto her forehead.
Giving birth to a good media virus is much like having a child that is born already as a full-grown teenager: the story itself is independent enough to make its way through the world. The parent has to let go somewhat, sit back, and give the rebellious spawn room to determine it's own growth (the creation of media viruses is not a sport for control freaks; one has to resign himself to the fact that once an idea or concept is launched in the public forum, one loses most power over what happens to it. The only influence one has is during its gestation, to construct it to withstand attack and grow in alignment with its message. It helps, I think, to be a personality type that actually enjoys watching one's creation's twists and turns as competing agendas in society and media collide upon it, with the faith that one has given his virus a good enough formation, it will remain on its intended path.)
Let's look at some of the first reactions out there, along with the sub-plots that - like in the tale of Huckleberry Finn Tom Sawyer painting the fence - allowed the "virus" to be caught by other media makers who carried and further developed it, free of charge.
The first wave of propagation came from that bastion of "low information voters," the gossip and entertainment media.
What's the difference between a hockey mom and a pit bull?
A tanning bed!
..."It was done shortly after she took office [in early 2007] and moved into the mansion," Wetherell told the Narco News, who first reported the story.
The gossip page of the Denver Post couldn't resist the story, either.
US Weekly - that glossy celebrity magazine that appears at your supermarket check-out counter - ran with the story instantly on its website (and many of the other media that picked up on the story credited the magazine, rather than Narco News, which is par for the course: proud parents of media viruses can't worry too much about who gets the credit. That's part of the red flag waved before the other media bulls that causes them to charge at it: a media virus maker can't hang on to paternity claims too possessively):
Self-proclaimed "hockey mom" Sarah Palin had a private tanning bed installed in the Governor's Mansion in Juneau, Alaska, Usmagazine.com confirmed on Monday...
Self-proclaimed "hockey mom" Sarah Palin had a private tanning bed installed in the Governor's Mansion in Juneau, Alaska, Usmagazine.com confirmed on Monday.
"She did. She paid for it with her own money," Roger Wetherell, chief communications officer of Alaska's Department of Transportation and Public Facilities told Us.
Kids in my class were pretty pleased with my cell phone hand-me-downs. Quiet please, conference call in progress. At least some of the children enjoyed traditional activities today too. Like good old fashioned water colors:
Parka, Ski Cap at Odds With Solemnity of Auschwitz Ceremony
By Robin Givhan
Washington Post Staff Writer Friday, January 28, 2005; Page C01
At yesterday's gathering of world leaders in southern Poland to mark the 60th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz, the United States was represented by Vice President Cheney. The ceremony at the Nazi death camp was outdoors, so those in attendance, such as French President Jacques Chirac and Russian President Vladimir Putin, were wearing dark, formal overcoats and dress shoes or boots. Because it was cold and snowing, they were also wearing gentlemen's hats. In short, they were dressed for the inclement weather as well as the sobriety and dignity of the event.
The vice president, however, was dressed in the kind of attire one typically wears to operate a snow blower. Cheney stood out in a sea of black-coated world leaders because he was wearing an olive drab parka with a fur-trimmed hood. It is embroidered with his name. It reminded one of the way in which children's clothes are inscribed with their names before they are sent away to camp. And indeed, the vice president looked like an awkward boy amid the well-dressed adults.
Like other attendees, the vice president was wearing a hat. But it was not a fedora or a Stetson or a fur hat or any kind of hat that one might wear to a memorial service as the representative of one's country. Instead, it was a knit ski cap, embroidered with the words "Staff 2001." It was the kind of hat a conventioneer might find in a goodie bag.
It is also worth mentioning that Cheney was wearing hiking boots -- thick, brown, lace-up ones. Did he think he was going to have to hike the 44 miles from Krakow -- where he had made remarks earlier in the day -- to Auschwitz?
His wife, Lynne, was seated next to him. Her coat has a hood, too, and it is essentially a parka. But it is black and did not appear to be functioning as either a name tag or a billboard. One wonders if at some point the vice president turned to his wife, took in her attire and asked himself why they seemed to be dressed for two entirely different events.
Some might argue that Cheney was the only attendee with the smarts to dress for the cold and snowy weather. But sometimes, out of respect for the occasion, one must endure a little discomfort.
Just last week, in a frigid, snow-dusted Washington, Cheney sat outside through the entire inauguration without so much as a hat and without suffering frostbite. And clearly, Cheney owns a proper overcoat. The world saw it during his swearing-in as vice president. Cheney treated that ceremony with the dignity it deserved -- not simply through his demeanor, but also through his attire. Would he have dared to take the oath of office with a ski cap on? People would have justifiably considered that an insult to the office, the day, the country.
There is little doubt that intellectually Cheney approached the Auschwitz ceremony with thoughtfulness and respect. But symbolism is powerful. That's why the piercing cry of a train whistle marked the beginning of the ceremony and the glare of searchlights signaled its end. The vice president might have been warm in his parka, ski cap and hiking boots. But they had the unfortunate effect of suggesting that he was more concerned with his own comfort than the reason for braving the cold at all.
