a tale of two georges

Last night, Rachel and I watched Outfoxed: Rupert Murdoch's War on Journalism. Much like Fahrenheit 9/11, Outfoxed left me enraged at their target, dissatisfied with their film-making, and stewing over what to do next. Both films suffered from heavy-handed elements bordering on manipulation (Fahrenheit more so than Outfoxed), but ultimately demonstrate that bullying and spin have replaced debate and investigation as our modern political discourse. And no media outlet embodies this trend better than Fox News.

In between clips of Bill O'Reilly's blustering slander and Sean Hannity's partisan lies, it finally sunk in how much Fox News has abused and redefined journalistic standards. They have become our capitalist Pravda, using a singular voice and brazen disregard for facts to turn policy into truth and opinion into information. I used to find Fox News an amusing diversion akin to reading the opponent's playbook, but now I realize that this is all a bit more serious.

I tossed and turned all night, and awoke thinking about the similarities between our current media environment and George Orwell's 1984. Big Brother uses the threat of an ongoing war to unite Oceania, while today we have a never-ending War on Terror. The enemy of Oceania shifts to suit the needs of the Inner-Party, while our current war with Iraq places us against weapons and soldiers propagated by decades of US foreign policy. O'Brien refuses to accept any truth beyond that which the party dictates, while George Bush and Fox News continually demonstrate their disregard for debate and contempt for dissent.

Just as I was poised to go further with this comparison, I found a similar piece published in 2002 on AlterNet and another website dedicated to modern comparisons. So while mine is not a uniquely original supposition, I do have two observations to add to the Orwell discussion.

I generally associate the misuse of innocuous words with the military, where terms like "collateral damage" and "neutralization" are tossed about to obfuscate negative concepts, and corporate marketing that refuses to acknowledge negativity. But the modern Republican demogoguery has taken modern newspeak to a new low. According to Fox News, someone who disagrees with the party line is not a "conscientious objector" but is "unpatriotic," if not a "traitor" or "terrorist." Thanks to Rush Limbaugh, the term "Liberal" has long since lost its progressive meaning, but in the O'Reilly vernacular it also means "fringe" and "radical." This debasement of terminology inherently eliminates the vagaries of discussion and turns every issue into a black-and-white, us-versus-them affair. It may not qualify as a newspeak deconstruction, but the effect is the same -- the language gets smaller, nuance is destroyed, and thinking is limited.

There is one gaping difference with our current society, however, in that the poverty and hardship of Orwell's society has been supplanted by unmatched prosperity and consumption. Previous war efforts have had economic consequences, from the rationing of World War II to the inflationary 'guns-and-butter' period during Vietnam, but today's economy seems preternaturally healthy coming in the midst of massive operations in Afghanistan and Iraq. Our conflict has destabilized oil prices through the roof, yet Hummers and Suburbans squash the sales of fuel-friendly alternatives. How can this be?

Like most American families, the Bush administration is financing a geopolitical lifestyle on credit. While billions of dollars are spent for off-budget military operations, George plays the tooth fairy and leaves tax cuts under our pillow at night. No matter who you are, when expenditures exceed income, the bill must come due. But since the timing of the piper is uncertain and the amount to be paid exists only on paper, the economic rose-colored glasses remain firmly in place. It's genius, really. Instead of bludgeoning the proles into workaday submission, they get SUVs and McMansions bought cheap on long dollars to salve the pain of discontent. With so much pursuit of happiness around, nobody gets too bothered to ask the tough questions about life and liberty, especially for those who talk funny and don't watch the Final Four.

While Fox News is the most obvious and aggressive manifestation of this debasement, they are simply the logical outgrowth of a system in which media conglomerates battle for the attention of the lowest common denominator. It's hard to tell the difference between CNN and ESPN most days, except Outside the Lines occasionally hits harder issues than Larry King.

Orwell's dystopia was a society of intent, but ours is a society of neglect. There's no Big Brother who has tightened the noose, rather we have cut loose the reigns of media responsibility and let them entangle haphazardly around our democratic necks. The media conglomerates were supposed to keep an eye on the government for us, but you can bet that Rupert Murdoch's not watching your back unless there's a hundred dollar bill on it.

So, what to do about all this stewing? First, writing this piece helped get some of it out of my system. Second, I'm finally going to support NPR during their next pledge drive. I may get tired of the overly-humanistic profiles of everyday nothing, but at least they care put a premium on discussion over bombast. And third, I'm going to do more to call Fox News and their Republican sycophants on partisan bullshit posing as fact. It's not becoming to tell them to shut up, but it would be doubleplusgood to see them forced to face reality every once in awhile.

idiot contrarian loser alert

Someone who clearly enjoys being a pointless ass has been running a Make Austin Normal blog. I'm conflicted on linking to the site, because I don't actually want you to visit it and boost this idiot's hit count. But on the other hand, hopefully visiting the site will reinforce your ire against the forces of conformity and blandness that this bumblehead embraces.

Note to the author and visitors of the MAN blog ... "whine" is not spelled like the alcoholic drink.

song of the sausage creature

Hunter S. Thompson's entertaining intersection with modern sportbikes is archived here. At least now he's met the sausage creature on his own terms.

goodbye HST

It's a bit belated, but of course last Sunday marked the passing of Hunter S. Thompson. I don't need to add another fawning retrospective about HST's influence on my writing / politics / lifestyle, because the appeal of outlaw journalism is obvious to anyone who prefers the subversive to the established. What has moved me to write is an apparent misunderstanding, or perhaps a revisionist wave, that is gathering momentum following the author's death.

Some reviewers seem unwilling or unable to disentangle Thompson's work from his gonzo persona, dismissing the former due to the cartoonishly juvenile behavior of the latter. This is understandable, since the extremism of Thompson's alter ego often overshadowed the subjects he was covering. Invariably, much of HST's popularity came from fans drawn to his anarchic hedonism rather than his incisive commentary, and Thompson's apparent infatuation with his own legend only contributed to diluting the credibility of his work. And admittedly, an over-reliance on this persona comes across as self-absorbed and shallow in his less compelling writing.

What cannot be overlooked, however, is that this same selfish immaturity also elevated Thompson's writing beyond mundane observation into a personalized crusade. By becoming part of the story, HST inserted a catalyst of aggressive truth that would have otherwise been hidden; the very presence of Thompson's persona unearthed reactions and situations that often cut closer to truth than anything exposed from an objective third-person perspective.

Unfortunately, Thompson's death comes at a time when his acerbic involvement is most needed. The objective journalism that he shunned has become a joke where Fox News shrouds its political stripes in a contemptible sham of impartiality and every other outlet favors banality over investigation. This sad state of reporting is the logical regression of gonzo journalism to the mean. When you have an extreme personality pushing stories into improbable directions, gonzo journalism finds insight and entertainment at the fringe, hiding in a dusty corner no one has cleaned for a long time. But when average shmoes insert their opinion into a story, all we get is bland information with a bias towards the status quo, treading over the same territory we've already covered a thousand times before.

As much as we'd like to make a hero of this outlaw journalist, what truly matters is that HST found light at the murky border between fact and fiction, and shared it with us in violently exquisite prose that frightened some as much as it entertained others. The vessel he chose may have been an end (if not THE end) to Hunter, but for us it was simply a means to facilitate his mission. Hunter, you will be missed, even if you weren't ever really here.

netflix redux

Today's New York Times [registration required] has an article about Netflix's long-term viability in the face of increasing competition from Blockbuster and Wal-Mart, both of whom have copied the Netflix mail-order approach to DVD rental.

Even though both these players have massive distribution networks (the most important and costly factor in getting movies shipped quickly), I don't think either brand is well-suited to the mail-order DVD rental business. Blockbuster has alienated millions of customers like me who resent having paid draconian late fees, and Wal-Mart is just another big box retailer who has as much business renting movies as they do selling music downloads or whatever other aspect of our society they are trying to smother under their Bentonville wings.

The big threat to Netflix is Amazon, should they ever decide to jump into this business, since Amazon has serious online cred to go with their monster distribution. And even this is small potatoes compared to what happens if video on demand ever becomes a reality, at which point DVD's themselves go the way of Dodo Birds and VHS tapes. Notice how these lifecycles are continually decreasing?

treat yourself

I didn't think we'd be able to top last year's celebration at Uchi, but this Valetine's Day managed to surpass even that wondrous combination of sushi and friends thanks to the magic of Sicola's. The restaurant is a family effort fronted by Tom Sicola, co-founder of the SicolaMartin advertising firm in Austin, and their personal touch shows in every detail. Tom engages guests in various conversations and culinary recommendations in between managing the iPod-driven ambiance, and his son Stephen confers with diners about the astonishingly good dishes he prepares for them.

In between socializing, the family serve up the most extraordinarily flavorful dishes in Austin. Everything from the salmon-topped artichoke hearts to the crème brulée made my mouth water uncontrollably as it tickled taste buds I forgot that I had. The food and drink flowed together perfectly with a wine selection matched to each course. Even the haricot verts served with my steak and Rachel's snapper were amazing, convincing me that I would have grown up much healthier if I'd known that green beans could taste that good.

Sicola's only serves private dining, which means you'll need to organize an event or seek them out around holidays to indulge in their excellence. But by all means, make the effort. It was the finest dining experience I've ever had.

johnny law lays low

Yesterday I had my first encounter with the the Austin Police Department's new stealth cars. I had heard about them, but never seen them on the road. Of course, maybe I HAD seen one, but it was too stealthy to be recognized. *shivver*

The undercopper pulled someone over a quarter mile ahead of me, which was fortunate given my 80mph clip. At first, I couldn't tell where the flashing lights were coming from, but then I saw that they were emanating from inside this jet black cruiser. I blew by pretty quickly, but I think it was just your typical Ford Crown Vic police unit decked out with a Mother's Tint and Interior Lighting special.



Frankly, I'm not sure how "stealthy" these cars are. I usually slow down whenever I see any white, black, or champaign Crown Vic, because it's either a cop or an elderly driver. Either way, it's safest to take note and watch your ass.

trek mate

I missed this announcement last Wednesday that Star Trek: Enterprise will be cancelled at the end of this, its fourth season. Since it's become an unwritten law of geekdom that a Star Trek series must run for seven years (so at least one show can be dedicated to Pon Farr), this can only be viewed as a premature death for Enterprise and ultimate demise of the Star Trek franchise. Thank God.

As someone who grew up glued to every possible re-run of ST:TOS (that's Star Trek: The Original Series to those who have actually touched female breasts), I will always have a soft spot in my heart for the romanticism and neo-humanist optimism of the Cold War-era show. Sure, it was a low-budget affair that wielded metaphors like a gravimetric hammer, but its unapologetic sincerity was occasionally intertwined with good storytelling to create a unique bit of sci-fi that was both entertaining and inspiring. Not bad for a show that series creator Gene Roddenberry had pitched to NBC suits as "Wagon Train to the stars."

The original series only lasted three seasons because media saturation hadn't been invented in the late 60's. After one letter-writing campaign was rewarded with the abomination of Spock's Brain and other 3rd season dreck, NBC management wasn't about to be swayed by any further protests to resurrect the show. Star Trek died a quiet death, and a quality addition to the sci-fi pantheon should have been noted and promptly forgotten.

Instead of dying, Star Trek was reborn through syndication. In its second life, the show attracted a legion of new, desperate fans who enjoyed the show so much that they donned its costumes and flocked to conventions with other similarly-afflicted people willing to watch Nichelle Nichols yammer on about the minutia of Uhura's earpiece. Despite these vaguely frightening displays of Trek idolatry, the Trekkie movement was largely celebrating all that was good and pure about the show, whether it was the adventure of interplanetary exploration or Kirk's sexual escapades with alien chicks.

And then someone realized there was money to be made from this dedicated group of star-gazing saps, and a franchise was born. Aside from the lame animated series, things began promisingly enough with a couple decent movies, especially The Wrath of Khan in 1982. The New Age revolution came in 1987 with The Next Generation series, which sucked mightily for about 2 years before finding brilliance. Twenty years after its introduction, Star Trek had improbably blossomed into movies and a spin-off series that embraced the original concepts while far exceeding its execution.

The franchise was on a roll, and could have ended on a triumphant note after 7 seasons of TNG. But greed had taken hold, and The Powers That Be determined that the only thing better than Star Trek would be More Trek. And so we got Trek on a space station at war. We got Trek on a far-flung ship with a stacked cyborg and no hope of reaching home. We got Trek toys, Trek video games, Trek collector cards. [IRONY ALERT] Star Trek had thus given birth to the same superficial society it had been preaching against since the 60's, and the franchise couldn't escape its own trap no matter how radically they rescaled the Warp Factor.

Once it takes on a life of its own, the only way to feed the marketing beast is to keep churning out product, and we got a couple really terrible movies in the bargain. Insurrection actually stooped to boob jokes, so I was surprised Nemesis didn't have Worf doing fart gags. Neither film had the guts to be a real Trek movie nor the skill to be any kind of good movie, so only a dwindling number of hard-core fans (or "rubes" as we call them) paid to see an aging cast fail to be entertaining or inspiring.

With the movies dumbing themselves out of profitability, the pseudo-retro show called Enterprise represented the franchise's last gasp at relevance. The creators made all the right moves, embracing the rough humanistic flaws of the original series, hiring a commanding veteran to lead the cast, and casting a Vulcan with a gravity-defying physique. Even with its crafty marketing, this series should never have been created in the first place. It's obvious that nobody's heart is in the enterprise when flat writing and hackneyed premises are the only threads tying together numerous underwear scenes. And somehow even those got stretched out for four years.

So it would seem that Star Trek has finally been driven into the ground when it should have been laid to rest a decade ago. Hopefully now we can all have some peace to remember the best parts of the series (without having to buy one of the 49 DVD sets), and move on to a concept that is a product of this era rather than a slickly repackaged remnant from another.

At least until someone remembers that pitch about "Wagon Train to the stars."