Showing posts with label Heidi Stevens. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Heidi Stevens. Show all posts

Tuesday, October 12, 2021

A New Leaf

At the risk of appearing unbearably sensitive to one group and unbearably pretentious to another, I am going to admit that yes, I read poetry. It is the literary equivalent of a chef's reduction sauce; language distilled to its purest essence.

At its best, every syllable, the very sound of the words, contributes to its message. Poems are a world of thought expressed in a few dozen lines.

So it was with great relish that I read this one, which appeared in Heidi Stevens' Balancing Act column in last Sunday's Chicago Tribune. It was written by Maggie Smith and is titled Rain, New Year's Eve.  

It couldn't be more perfect for a world (and a population) as battered and broken as ours.


   The rain is a broken

piano,

   playing the same note

over and over.

   My five-year-old said

that.

   Already she knows

loving the world

   means loving the

wobbles

   you can't shim, the

creaks you can't

   oil silent – the jerry-

rigged parts,

   MacGyvered with twine

and chewing gum.

   Let me love the cold

rain's plinking

   Let me love the world the

way I love

   my young son, not only

when

   he cups my face in his

sticky hands,

   but when, roughousing,

   he accidentally splits my

lip.

   Let me love the world

like a mother.

   Let me be tender when it

lets me down.

   Let me listen to the rain's

one note

   and hear a beginner's

song.


Tuesday, June 22, 2021

Rot Never Sleeps

Newspapers all over the country are in trouble. In our slavish desire for speed, we consume news via social media. Not because it's more in-depth or more accurate, but because it's faster.

It's also unvetted. Unconsidered. Full of errors. And reliant on questionable sources. But yes, it is faster.

Playing the dragging-my-heels Luddite while the rest of the world rockets off into supersonic cyberspace is an act fraught with futility. I am not going to change a thing. The world is going to do what the world is going to do.

Sigh.

Along with internal combustion engines, record stores, grilling with charcoal, movie theaters and book stores, newspapers face a questionable future. Those that haven't already merged or consolidated are being devoured by what I like to refer to as vulture capitalists.

Like the Chicago Tribune, currently being ingested by Alden Global Capital.

Armed with vast reserves of cash, funds like Alden swoop in, buy a controlling interest and proceed to dismantle its target like car thieves in a chop shop. They sell off the components with the expectation the ala carte sale will generate more revenue than a bundled one.

It its wake are the employees—usually left unemployed with little in the way of severance or pensions. 

I'm no businessman, but I believe had the Tribune not gone public and consequently made itself vulnerable to this parasite, it would have survived. It was a formidable newspaper with a devoted readership.

Not so long ago, it would take me a morning and a good part of the afternoon to plow through the Sunday edition. It was stuffed with local and international news of every stripe, reported by a robust network of bureaus and correspondents stationed all over the world.

Music, art, film, books, sports, politics, transportation, business and any kind of conceivable feature all received similar attention. It was the world at your fingertips, strained through a now-irrelevant filter of fact-checking and confirmation.

An old saw of journalism went “If your mother says she loves you, check it out.” You know—like it was going to be on Fox News or social media or something. Newspapers like the Tribune were a gathering place, a shared link between people. They provided a sense of community.

In their place is a hopelessly fragmented media landscape playing to impossibly divergent interests. We have retreated into hyper-demographic social media bubbles which insist anyone who doesn't fit the profile is not to be trusted.

To many of you I'm just a tiresome old man bemoaning the loss of another cultural touchstone. But I'm thinking it's highly probable I'm correct about the coarse and merciless future we're building, and what role this event plays in it. 

So. John Kass, Dahleen Glanton, Heidi Stevens, Mary Schmich and Eric Zorn are gone. Alden Global Capital has paid them to go away. On the surface? A dent in a local newspaper's appeal. But taking the longer view, it is another step forward in our inevitable construction of the Tower of Babel.

It is so very, very sad. But at least Alden Global Capital will get rich(er). 

And isn't that we're all about?