A Welcome Change, Online

This, I must say, was a truly wonderous and pleasant surprise — The Charleston Gazette shared these words with the public yesterday:

The Gazette values readers’ comments and insights.

So, to create a more constructive and civil setting for readers, we’re making a few changes. Comments will no longer appear immediately, but will show up after they have been reviewed and approved. Also, we will be more selective about comments that we approve.

We welcome wit and wisdom and, yes, dissent, but personal attacks, remarks in poor taste or those overly critical or irrational will not be published. We encourage you to keep posting. We just ask that you keep it civil.

When I checked the link just now there were 49 comments on the new policy already.  As one might expect, there is a balance of “Hallelujah” and “I’m calling the ACLU!”

Esse Diem examined this issue earlier this month, and at the time it was one of the blog’s most-read posts.  The newspaper should be commended for refusing to cave to online bullies and cowards, and for creating consistency between standards for its print and online comment policies.  Those who cry censorship need to do some reading on what that actually is, and how the First Amendment is involved regarding freedom of the press.

I can’t even address how ludicrous it is to compare government censorship of journalists with a newspaper voluntarily setting civility standards for itself…….hopefully this sentence is sufficient to convey my thoughts.

It’s no small thing what the paper has done.  On behalf of a society weary from being bashed about the head by angry, irrational people looking to validate their behavior, thank you.

(p.s. Today I updated the “Who” page on this blog as a way of meeting my own challenge to be more transparent online.  It’s no longer a disclaimer of who I’m not, and lot more about who I am.  I hope you enjoy!)

I Didn’t Do Anything! Did I?

One of my favorite American short stories is Stephen Crane’s The Blue Hotel.  Some people think it is very complex, some think it is very simple.  But most critics and scholars agree it is a terribly important piece of literature.

I’d be lying if I said I “enjoyed” reading it.  I really didn’t the first time or since.  But the theme of shared responsibility for the very things we decry made an impression on me that has only been strengthened with time.

It’s especially significant in American storytelling because it pokes around in our avoidance of shared responsibility for tragic events and human suffering.  Our national story is more exhuberant and fun when we focus on individual responsibility.  It’s also often more hopeful.  If I can focus only on myself, and my exclusive responsibility for my future, things seem more manageable.  If others do the same, we should all be fine as wine.

I think about this story often, and today it came up to shine a mirror in my face as I criticized The Charleston Gazette for not better policing their online comments.  I swear that site has turned into some kind of Roman coliseum, but all the gladiators and spectators are wearing hoods over their heads.  Only the prey in the center are identified by name.  A series of recent personal and cowardly attacks on individuals finally pushed me to ask “out loud” on Facebook, what the hell is going on?

One journalist who I deeply admire took the time to write to me in private and encourage me to contact executives at the paper.  S/He said they do care what readers think, but the new world of making a living at a newspaper is creating stress and strain for everyone.  Website clicks create statistics that help sell advertising.  People are prone to click on controversy and, let’s face it, ugliness.  There is a degree to which this knowledge and the need to put food on the table sometimes overrides the decency that is most people’s hearts.  It’s a very difficult situation.

I had to ask myself, what do I proactively do to support the newspaper financially?  Nothing.  I no longer subscribe to the paper because I can “get it” for free online.  I don’t buy ads.  I don’t donate.  I don’t give them any financial support at all, and yet I am free to criticize.  And how do I know about the troubling comments?  Because I click on the comments section.  Crane concluded this in his short story:  “Every sin is the result of a collaboration.”

It’s a new world for newspapers.  I don’t have the answers.  But I think it starts with holding online comments to the same standards of printed comments.  Who are you really, not what cute online code name do you use?  Expect that your actual identity will be attached to what you say publicly in our newspaper when you comment online, just as it is when you comment in print.

From the last lines of The Blue Hotel:

Fun or not,” said the Easterner, “Johnnie was cheating. I saw him. I know it. I saw him. And I refused to stand up and be a man. I let the Swede fight it out alone. And you — you were simply puffing around the place and wanting to fight. And then old Scully himself! We are all in it! This poor gambler isn’t even a noun. He is kind of an adverb. Every sin is the result of a collaboration. We, five of us, have collaborated in the murder of this Swede. Usually there are from a dozen to forty women really involved in every murder, but in this case it seems to be only five men — you, I, Johnnie, old Scully, and that fool of an unfortunate gambler came merely as a culmination, the apex of a human movement, and gets all the punishment.”

  The cowboy, injured and rebellious, cried out blindly into this fog of mysterious theory. “Well, I didn’t do anythin’, did I?”

Mr. Short-Term Memory

Tom Hanks created Mr. Short-Term Memory on Saturday Night Live probably 20 years ago.  The “Blind Date” episode is a classic — it’s over 5 minutes long so if you don’t have that kind of time, just fast foward to the last 90 seconds…..trust me.

Mr. Short-Term Memory spits out his poached salmon into a napkin in horror, claiming to the waiter that someone has put “already chewed food in my mouth!”  It cracked me up 2 decades ago, and today it’s still funny, but not in the same way.  The first time I saw it I thought it was obviously an over-the-top joke.  Today, it just seems like a thinly veiled reference to how dumb we are when it comes to recognizing the obvious.

This country is getting sicker and heavier and more depressed.  West Virginia is leading the pack, but apparently we can’t agree on why or what to do.  How about this?  We feed our kids toxic garbage.  Those kids grow up, they keep eating that way, and they teach their kids to eat that way.  Currently the Kanawha County Schools can’t conclude that “flavored milk” is a bad option for kids.  A packet of ketchup is passing for a serving of vegetables.  And the “super donut” is being served for breakfast in my daughter’s child care center.

It is right in front of our eyes, and we think someone else is chewing up this food and putting it in our mouths.  Ad men who hock trash to eat are lauded as creative geniuses, as if what they are peddling and to whom doesn’t matter.  We wring our hands about how hard it is to “eat right.”

Since someone else is chewing it up and putting it our mouths, I guess we don’t have much choice.

Score, Mattel.

I am in a death match with Mattel over Barbie.  It is what it is.

All of the arguments have been made, so I won’t rehash here.  I will simply say that I’ve always believed that there is a room somewhere in California where shiny new marketing grads are tasked with how to get me.

I’m the little girl who fell for Barbie as a kid, but grew up into the woman — the blonde woman — who is very, very unhappy with Barbie’s legacy.  The woman who now has a blonde daughter who loves shoes and the color pink.  The woman with just enough disposable income that she could be brought back into the fold right quick if only we could figure out how to get her back.

Damn it.

Barbie as Joan Jett, Ladies of the 80’s series.  I’d be okay with my daughter having this doll.  I think.  I might even want her to have it.

I love rock and roll. I hate Barbie.

Coincidence that I started phasing my lifelong blonde to brunette this week?

Put another dime in the juke box, baby.  We’ll just have to let this one play out.