Monkey Business
August 24, 2012
I hesitate to assert that my wife and I are hikers, but we certainly are avid walkers. Walking is a routine of our daily life; and it’s a highlight when we travel. Walking is the means by which we absorb the sights, sounds and smells of each locale, while faster modes of tourism pass us by.
One of my wife’s delights as we travel is to discover monkeys in the wild; so sometimes monkey sighting has been the goal of walks, for example, in Costa Rica and Panama. This has made us familiar with howler monkeys; and I’m sorry to say, it’s caused me to see parallels between howler monkeys and modern media.
The growls of the howler monkeys send messages through the treetops. One howler begins, and others forward the message for miles. I’ve been told by locals (I’m no expert) that the monkey culture doesn’t reward creativity and that there’s an expectation that the message at the end of the line is the same as it began.
Sort of like forwarding an email, photo or video; or sharing a posting on Facebook. Or like the wire services’ distribution of news through traditional media. It’s rare that anyone vets the information; and retractions or corrections are even rarer.
I read in Barbara Kingsolver’s novel The Lacuna that the most important thing about a story, and about a person, is what you don’t know, which gets to the heart of the weakness of much of modern media. Yes, because of the volume of information in today’s 24/7/365 “news” cycle with thousands of channels and the universal access to reporting news through social media, we’re likely to get most of the facts, eventually; but the salient and true facts are likely to be lost in the rush and the clutter.
Set at a time before television, Kingsolver’s protagonist in The Lacuna writes in 1946: “The newsmen leap on anything . . . The radio is the root of the evil, their rule is: No silence, ever. When anything happens, the commentator has to speak without a moment’s pause for gathering wisdom. Falsehood and inanity are preferable to silence. You can’t imagine the effect of this. The talkers are rising above the thinkers.”
However real that observation would have been then, it’s clear today that cable television, talk radio and the Internet have raised the talking-without-thinking effect to heights that would have been unimaginable in the 1940s.
Our Place in the Sun
August 22, 2017
Today’s blog was written by MHSAA Website and Publications Coordinator Rob Kaminski
Millions of people across the country yesterday were mesmerized and fascinated by a once-in-a-lifetime show staged by the solar system: a total solar eclipse, which spanned the contiguous United States from Oregon to South Carolina.
The “Great American Eclipse” (because everything needs a title these days) was preceded by countless hours of coverage to prep enthusiasts on a variety of topics: the best places in which to view “totality;” the time frame in which the phenomenon would occur; the manner in which to view the orbs without damaging retinas; and, for the more scientifically inclined, detailed explanations as to the cause of the event.
It is somewhat ironic that this temporary traveling blackout began in the Pacific Northwest where people often yearn for even a glimpse of the sun over periods of time, and ended off the coast of South Carolina where residents have endured more than their share of weather disasters and a day of total sun would have been greatly preferred. At widespread locations in between, how many citizens beg for just a little more sunshine each day when the clock runs out on Daylight Saving Time?
The attraction to Monday’s event, of course, was its rarity. Its peculiarity. Its deviation from the norm. The last time a total solar eclipse could be seen anywhere in the United States was 1979, and the last time it went coast to coast was 99 years ago. That was the hook. It was darkness’s day in the sun.
Another MHSAA football season kicks off around the state Friday just clear from the shadows of Monday’s historic, but fleeting, happening. The school sports spotlight shines brightest on fall Friday nights and has for decades, not only in Michigan, but also from shore to shore across the country. It is pep rallies and parades; pizza parlors and burger joints; neighborhood caravans and tailgates; perhaps even a Friday cross country meet or volleyball match, all leading up to the football game, for many years the only game in town.
Now, as college football continues its attempt to upset the natural balance and create its own eclipse, it is our hope that high school fans from state to state will consider this movement a fleeting attention grab. It is our hope that the people who have fueled our product over the course of time will turn their heads and focus on the brightest Friday night stars in their own back yards.