no.58 - CNN

Despite the fact that it has sucked for a very long time now, I still find myself visiting the CNN website for news from time to time and I am sorry for it.

It must be a habit from before the days when CNN stooped to the gritty, gutter slime level of FOX news, when it was a well organized if unremarkable news site. At some point it seemed to have most of the major news stories from around the world with the unfortunate, but not unexpected slant towards events in the U.S.

Now, however, a visit to CNN brings mostly stories like "9.5-foot snake swallows family's kitty" and "Mini-Me sex tape banned" (I wish I was making these up) while information on yesterday's supreme court decision on the Second Amendment is almost impossible to find.

I don't need to ask what is wrong with CNN. It is obvious they are following the clicks. People like stories about kittens, even if those kittens are being eaten. (or perhaps even more so.) What I need to ask is what is wrong with me? Why do I think it's going to get better?

It isn't going to get better.

UPDATE:
After twenty-four hours, I've had a huge spike in people visiting this website. The reason? They are searching for footage or pictures of the cat being swallowed by the nine foot snake. I guess CNN wasn't gruesome enough in it's tabloid reporting.

I need to remember to blog about the demon of the lowest common denominator soon.

no.57 - Little Kid Cough

My daughter has quite a sniffle. She's been under the weather for a few days now, making a sound my brother refers to as "Little Kid Cough."

Even if you don't have children, this sound shouldn't be difficult to imagine. It is a heartbreaking little noise. Even when it is deep in the lungs and rattles her body, it is still small and helpless - especially when heard deep in the night.

After at particularly rough coughing jag yesterday, I told my daughter that I was sorry she wasn't feeling well and that I wished there was something I could do to make her feel better. She looked up at me with her red watery eyes in disbelief.

If I could not do anything to fix this, who could?

It is little wonder she woke up this morning and difficult and angry, trying to smooth a wrinkled drawing of her favorite frog. She refused my help. Her frustration was immense. All too soon, I am afraid, she will discover the world is full of things none of us can fix, like a small rasping cough pitted against a big, nasty cold.

no.56 - The Bigger Demon

In my suggestion box today, I found an anonymous comment signed "the legion" urging me to abandon my petty grumblings and take on "the demon lurking three levels deeper".

Before I chuck down into the deeper soil and rage at the biggots, the homophobes, the killers, the holocausts, the ravaging of our planet, and the selfish manipulative human heart, I must tell you...

The bigger demon is here.

And the bigger demon is lurking in all those posts you think relate only to those who lead charmed lives.

The cruelty of those who prey on warped self-image is powered by the same unthinking engine of greed that has left a trail of casualties among the young women of America for the past forty years.

The thing that allows the Litterbug of Fayette to toss her trash out the window is the same sad failure of the imagination to see consequences that has nearly raped our planet to death.

The desperate need to believe in the irrational has billions of minds clinging to irrational and frequently dangerous modes of thought.

Perhaps my posts about beer trickery and wanting to share more of the world with my daughter are indulgences, but this blog is not Night, it is an exercise and it will have flaws.

As I "casually circle my shallow ring of hell complaining about friends I can't find on the internet" you should know that I am sad not to know my friend any longer. If I did not address the bigger demon, perhaps you should consider that not every demon is mine to offer.

no.55 - Musical Infatuation

Every once in a while a song comes along that stops me dead. I hear it, mesmerized, and I have to hear it again. It is so good, so delicious, so inspiring that I crave it in my blood.

The second listening is sheer joy, fulfilling my need, but still filled with the delight of anticipation.

The third time I hear it is perfection. I feel that not only is the song great, but music itself is humankind's greatest gift.

I recently found such a song, and walking along I was filled with inspiration and joy. For three minutes the world was filled with possibility. I could be and do anything. It was, without question, a high. Then, as the song sounded its last note I remembered what comes next...

I know from experience that I will never enjoy this song that much again.

This demon almost always resides between the third and fourth listening, where surprise wanes and focus diminishes. The song is still good, but the gloss is just a little worn. In the worst and most frequent cases, the pleasure of the song will eventually be replaced with the tired feeling of having heard it too much — a feeling that can persist for years (especially if I have exercised no impulse control and listened over and over despite myself).

I can do nothing to control this phenomenon. Many songs will wane quickly. In retrospect some of these songs are deeply embarrassing choices (I'm looking at you, Men Without Hats). Others songs I will always love... even if the honeymoon is over.

no.54 - The Smoky Folder

A few weeks back, one of my students on Saturday was not doing much in the way of homework. I never let this upset me as a teacher, because as a student, I rarely did the work I was assigned.

I asked him to bring over his folder to me and when he opened it, a sad little story wafted out.

The folder smelled of stale cigarettes. The odor was strong, as if the kid's work had been kept under an ashtray for the week. The student appeared to be unaware of the smell, or the life it transmitted to me.

What I pictured was surly more dramatic and judgmental than the truth. What I pictured was his mom in curlers, chain smoking her way through the week, untroubled by modern science's findings on second hand smoke. Smoking before and after dinner. (Not during, that would be rude.) Smoking while watching Oprah (where she either missed or dismissed the episode about the dangers of second hand smoke.). Smokin' in the car while dragging her kid to our Saturday program, because it starts so friggin' early. puff. puff.

The lingering smell in my class felt more obvious and embarrassing than a monstrous burrito fart, though no one said a word. A fart is an easy target, classic in its hilarity. But even a fourth grader knows that a smoky folder is just sad.