...[T]he media's all-consuming interest in the "how" and "who's ahead" of politics, and "oh God this is boring" disdain for the "what" and "why" of public issues, has all sorts of ugly consequences. It makes the public think that politics is not for them unless they love the insider game; it makes the "what" and "why" of public issues indeed boring and unapproachable; and as a consequence of the latter, it makes the public stupider than it needs to be about the what and why.

James Fallows wrote that, in a blog post about Al Gore's recent Rolling Stone essay, the news story it became, and why we hate the media.

Having lived in China, and especially now that I've started preparing to (yikes) write about China, conversations about "communism" and "freedom" and "democracy" are impossible for me to avoid. And, while the CCP its wasteful paranoia frustrate me, I think it's important to for Americans to take note of observations like Fallows's and remember just how imperfect (and thus understandably unappealing overseas) our democracy is.

(I hand-wrote what follows at the PressFriends Annual Conference, where I gave a presentation on blogging to elementary school journalists. After we talked about how fun and useful blogging can be, the students and I all took a few minutes to write little blog posts, posts about anything. A few of the kids told me they had nothing, that nothing had happened to them, that nothing noteworthy ever happens to them. I told them to write about nothing. The looks on their faces told me that they thought I had just offered them the dumbest idea they had ever heard. So I felt obliged to give it a try.)

I have nothing to write about.

Nothing except nothing.

But what is nothing? A blank brain? Silence? No more memories?

But what's all this stuff in my head? These facts that keep flowing through my mind?

The fact that this paper is white, that this pen is blue, that this ink is black.

And that's weird. A blue pen is supposed to have blue ink.

I've been tricked, and I didn't even realize it.

A celebration of calm...

Clipped illegally from The New Yorker's Cartoon Bank.

I bet The New Yorker would sell more mugs and tee shirts (and magazine subscriptions) if they posted all their cartoons to a blog (like this one) and made it easy for people to embed and share and attribute. Just sayin.

I found out today that David Murphy, the Philadelphia Daily News sportswriter whose Phillies blog I've been reading this season, doesn't root for the team.

He grew up a fan, but he doesn't feel right, as a professional journalist, wanting the Phillies to win.

I'm a little bit shocked. And sad. And jealous that I don't get paid to write about the Phillies every day.

So I poked around the internets a bit, kicked the tires on a couple of other Phils blogs (something I've never done before, which surprises me), and subscribed to Beerleaguer.

It'll be fun to compare.

Chris Weingarten is a freelance music journalist.

He doesn't like Phish, Fleet Foxes, or the way people talk about music on Twitter.

He misses the because of professional music criticism.

He worries about crowdsourcing...

If you let the people decide, then nothing truly adventurous ever gets out.

And I think the talk he gave at the 140 Characters Conference a couple of weeks ago is worth watching.

Because I want truly adventurous things to get out.

Thank you, Stacey Monk, for writing one blog post that inspired me to write two.

Maybe I'm extra special partial to this because I've fallen in love faster with Raul Ibanez than any other baseball player, and it's a little unsettling to see him react so angrily to what I consider to be an understandably suspicious, imperfectly presented, but ultimately harmless blog post, but maybe my rapture runs deeper. Maybe the debate really does provide a totally fascinating angle from which to look at press and rumor and the evolution of information flow...

Good for ESPN for hosting the discussion. Good for Jerod the blogger for participating with cool and humility. And good for Raul for offering stool samples if requested. Radical transparency, baby.

A few days ago, the Texas Board of Education met to discuss the possibility of repealing a rule that requires that the "strengths and weaknesses" of all scientific theories be taught.

At the center of the debate is evolution. 

Creationists love the rule because it gives them opportunities to get weird in classrooms. 

People afraid of fundamentalist religious lunatics love the proposed repeal because it would eliminate some opportunities for creationists to get weird.  In state sponsored schools.  In front of children.

Here's an excerpt from an article about the lead up to that meeting:

Protesters and activists gathered nearby, fervently arguing their sides of the debate.

"My grandfather was not a monkey!" one woman shouted at a crowd before the meeting began.

I think I need to talk to the reporter.  Fervently arguing one side of the debate?  Pointing out that her grandfather was not a monkey is fervently arguing her side of the debate?  The woman clearly thinks so, and fair enough to acknowledge that.  But.  I think the words argue and debate might be feeling a little taken-advantage-of, no?

Some of my friends provide a lot of content to the Green Section of Philly.com, and, in October, they asked me to write this little editorial for them.  Apparently, the powers that be weren't impressed.  But I kind of like it.  So onto the internets it goes...

In September, People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) sent a letter to Ben Cohen and Jerry Greenfield urging them to eliminate cow's milk from their ice cream and suggesting that they replace it with human's milk.  They explained that not only is mother's milk far healthier than cow's milk, but commercial dairy farming, which ultimately consists of enslaving cows and holding them in perpetual lactation through forced pregnancy, is fundamentally inhumane.

Ben and Jerry responded quickly and politely:

We applaud PETA's novel approach to bringing attention to an issue, but we believe a mother's milk is best used for her child.

On their blog, PETA responded to the response:

Hey, guys, that's our point: Cow's milk is for baby cows.

And it's a good point.  PETA is absolutely right: cows are treated inhumanely, and that's something people should be working to stop.

I'm not impressed, however, with the means by which PETA is trying to stop it.

Whether or not breast milk ice cream is a reasonable or virtuous idea, it's radical.  It asks consumers to see things differently, and it asks industry to do things differently.  And, in my opinion, writing a note to Ben and Jerry, asking them to take a big business risk, and sending the letter out in a press release is not the way to make radical change.  I think it does little but legitimize the opinions of those that consider PETA an uncreative, self-congratulatory fringe organization.

And, as someone that wants there to exist a strong activist group fighting the greed and cruelty that have led humans to treat other species so thoughtlessly, I'm frustrated.

I don't think PETA has to live on that fringe, and I have a suggestion.

I suggest that PETA work to prove the concept that breast milk ice cream is both culturally palatable and economically viable.

Over two million people in the PETA community, right?  I bet there are a solid handful of pregnant women and new mothers in that group, and I bet they'd be happy to make a donation to some PETA R&D efforts.

And Ben and Jerry "applaud" your "novel approach," no?  Maybe they'd be willing to lend you a recipe or two.  Maybe they'd even lend you a graphic designer and make you up a batch of PETA branded pint containers.

Produce the ice cream, PETA.  Lug a machine into the office.  Buy some sugar.  And make a batch of vanilla.

Then give it away.  Get feedback.  Tell people about it.  Collect some data.  Make a taste test video.  Produce some more.  Send it to the FDA for testing.  Try to sell it cheap.  Get in contact with hospitals and maternity stores and online communities populated with moms-to-be, and talk to them about cost of production.  Buy from the reasonable sellers.  Produce from that stock.  Sell it at cost.  Sell it for a profit.

And then go back to Ben and Jerry.  And then explain to them why it's important and how to market it to the innovators and early adopters.  And then ask them to take some risk.

You have an idea, PETA.  If you're passionate about it, don't dump it off on other people and whine when they don't love it as much as you do.  Go make it happen yourselves.  And forget core competency.  Who cares if you produce media, not ice cream.  If you think this ice cream helps achieve the goals your organization was formed to achieve, then make the ice cream.

Note: As a totally irrelevant aside, the most adventurous dairy product I've ever consumed is mare's milk.  Fermented mare's milk.  In Mongolia.  And it was disgusting.  Disgusting in no small part because of the flies and other surprises that floated to the surface after every sip.

When my family visited me in Beijing a few years ago, they fell in love with China Daily.

They read it every day and laughed hysterically every time.  Real life comedy.  Uncomfortably real.  But funny.

Maybe Seinfeld is to The Office as The Onion is to China Daily. 

Well.  Not quite.  But if China Daily wasn't being serious, then yes.  And, after seeing the top of page headline on the website just now, I find it extremely unlikely that no one in that news and translation room isn't joking.

Americans Cut Back On Life After Bailout

I love it.

I'm reading East of Eden, and I was about to make a post about Steinbeck's incredible talent for introducing characters and how excited I am that I have 500 more pages in this beast and have only just met Samuel Hamilton, who is, already, after nothing but one of those amazing introductions, well on his way toward becoming one of my favorite characters of all time.

But then I read this, smack in the middle of another Steinbeck character introduction, and I had to change course:

I think the difference between a lie and a story is that a story utilizes the trappings and appearance of truth for the interest of the listener as well as of the teller.  A story has in it neither gain or loss.  But a lie is a device for profit or escape.  I suppose if that definition is strictly held to, then a writer of stories is a liar - if he is financially fortunate.

Think of the implications for journalism.  Think of the big newspapers, the big news organizations, and why they publish what they publish and with what extra emphases or embellishments. 

Think of selling out, of playing for the love, of the difference between an amazing debut album from a totally unknown band and the second, big label sponsored album that follows it up.

Think of Dreams from My Father and The Audacity of Hope.  Dreams is real and heartfelt and shows that Barack Obama is an exceptionally thoughtful and compassionate person.  Audacity, on the other hand, feels political and written, in part at least, in search of support: votes, money, big name stumping, etc.

And think of Steinbeck.  He wrote East of Eden in 1952.  He had already published quite a bit before that.  Of Mice and Men came out in 1937, The Grapes of Wrath in 1939.  He was already critically acclaimed, and I wonder how financially fortunate that had made him.

Maybe it doesn't matter, but, regardless, I think it's important to explore stories, lies, exaggeration, and the motivations for them all.  Accurately cataloged details don't always communicate truth as well as re-crafted narrative, but put those re-crafting tools in the wrong hands, and beware.