The Homer Simpson approach to journalism

Over at the Toronto Sun, the editorial board is decrying the media’s interest in the robocall scandal, arguing that it is yet another shiny ball that the “anti-Harper crowd” – that is the opposition, the “left-wing media,” and the Ottawa bubble people – are chasing after, “hoping this one has more substance than glitter.”

According to the Sun, this is not the first time we’ve seen this. “They love chasing shiny balls,” it states, before explaining:

“Their hatred of the Harper conservatives have had them chasing the insult of prorogation, the death of the long-form census, the so-called in-and-out scandal, the treatment of Afghan detainees, et cetera.

They might as well have been chasing their tails since Canadians obviously paid them no heed.”

It’s an interesting perspective particularly when it comes to journalism, this, the idea that rather than take interest in particular details that appear askew or ask a lot of questions of our elected officials, one ought to assume nothing will come of it anyway and, instead, simply do nothing at all to begin with. It’s to accept defeat without even starting a war.

And like so many things, the ethos behind such an approach was summed up – and dismantled – by The Simpsons. Eighteen years ago.

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On fatigue

“Fatigue is ‘groundless’. It has nothing to do with muscular fatigue or lack of energy. It does not arise from physical exertion. There is, of course, much spontaneous talk of ‘nervous strain’, of ‘depression’ and psychosomatic illness. This kind of explanation is now part of mass culture… Everyone can fall back on this, as though it were something that could now be taken for granted, and can hence derive gloomy pleasure from being a martyr to their nerves. Admittedly, this fatigue signifies one thing at least…: this society which claims to be – which regards itself as being – in constant progress towards the abolition of effort, the resolution of tension, greater ease of living and automation, is in fact a society of stress, tension and drug use, in which the overall balance sheet of satisfaction is increasingly in deficit, in which individual and collective equilibrium is being progressively compromised even as the technical conditions for its realization are being increasingly fulfilled. The heroes of consumption are tired.”

– Jean Baudrillard, Anomie in the Affluent Society

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The Oscars: A necrospective

Best Actress Academy Award

Image by cliff1066™ via Flickr

And so here we are, ingesting our yearly prescription of celebrity pornography, care of a morally questionable doctor with an attractive smile and soothing voice timber, streamlined for easy consumption by having been boiled down to a two-hour brainless extravaganza of shiny dresses, shiny skin, shiny teeth, shiny jewelry and shiny lives — an emulsified Pabulum hosted by the Good Doctor himself, Ryan Seacrest, a smiling nitwit of the highest order, successful only for being able to turn even the dullest celebrity PR bullshit into the slickest ear-warming babble, designed at its soul to cover the brain in a somastatic, intellectually-limiting poison goo that hardens instantly on contact.

And then, finally, we’re ready for the show: the longest public collective group ego wank on the Planet, designed not so much to get off on art, but the idea of art as an abstracted something, as a means, rather than an end. Rather, that is, than a substantive anything. Art that is often so meaningless, that is so much sign and so little signifier that poor old Walter Benjamin himself would likely quite happily bleed from the ears rather than even have to consider such a sad state of replicated affairs. Just a copy of a copy of a copy on into infinity, xeroxed forever in an endless nothingness of Hollywood atavism and bad, stale ideas regurgitated over and over again to young audiences as something new, and marketed equally ham-fistedly to their parents as some kind of bizarre exercise of socially constructed faux nostalgia. Just a one-note song with nowhere to go except louder, for ever and ever.

Here I am. It’s Sunday night and the Oscars shout their glitzy existence from the tinny speakers of my television. Live from Los Angeles, but it might as well be live from the End of the World, for how fucked we all are because of it.

My right arm drops listlessly off the side of the couch and directly into an open jar of Cheez Whiz that I’ve kept especially for the occasion. The more vacuous consumer paste I can fill my body with physically, the less I figure I’ll notice when my brain becomes stuffed with the vapid visual tripe I’m set to consume in the immediate future. read more »

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Top albums of 2011

Bon Iver, Bon Iver

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Best of 2011:

In no particular order after #1:

  1. Bon IverBon Iver (Best. That is all.)
  2. RadioheadThe King of Limbs (Also one of 2011′s biggest disappointments. See below.)
  3. TV On the RadioNine Types of Light (Not as good as 2008′s Dear Science, but pretty good – particularly “Killer Crane”.)
  4. Ryan AdamsAshes and Fire (Ryan Adams, not drunk. It works!)
  5. The WeekndHouse of Balloons (Out of the three [3!] albums he self-released this year, this seemed to hold the most promise.)
  6. Adele21 (I know, I know. But it was pretty good. Admit it.)
  7. Gary Clark Jr.The Bright Lights EP (On its way to being the album the Black Keys were trying to make before they let Danger Mouse fuck with everything again.)
  8. PJ HarveyLet England Shake (Not usually a PJ Harvey fan, but: Whoa.)
  9. Dan ManganOh Fortune (Not as good as Nice, Nice, Very Nice but a solid effort. Lots of sing-along-y bits and oh-oh!-ing, as one might expect and deserve.)
  10. AntlersBurst Apart (Probably here on the strength of “Putting the Dog to Sleep”. Rest of it’s pretty decent, too.)

Shit Sandwich Award 2011 (for Biggest Disappointment of the year):

The Strokes — Angles: …the fuck happened there?

Notable disappointment:

Radiohead — TKOL: In the top 10 almost entirely (but not entirely) due to it being a much more interesting album to watch the band play (From the Basement) than to simply listen to. I trust in five years, we’ll all realize this was not a complete shit show, but instead something insanely great. And if not, whatever. It wasn’t that bad.

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Canada’s new crime policy:
An exercise in pretended order

Azikim

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Very early on in Jane Jacobs’ The Death and Life of Great American Cities, she describes a housing project in East Harlem with a “conspicuous rectangular lawn” that was a source of anger for the tenants. The lawn had become a symbol for the thinking behind the project itself. Nobody wanted it, a local told Jacobs, but the builders didn’t care. “We don’t have a place around here to get a cup of coffee or a newspaper even,” they said. “Nobody cared what we need. But the big men come and look at the grass and say, ‘Isn’t it wonderful! Now the poor have everything!’”

The tenant’s assessment was more than just a comment on the misguided beautification of the area. Instead, Jacobs argues, “There is a quality meaner than outright ugliness or disorder, and this meaner quality is the dishonest mask of pretended order, achieved by ignoring or suppressing the real order that is struggling to exist and to be served.”

As pretended order was to a Harlem housing project half a century ago, so it seems to be with Canada’s Conservative government’s latest foray into crime legislation. The Safe Streets and Communities Act (or C-10 as it’s known procedurally), is an omnibus bill composed of nine different acts the Conservatives were unable to pass during their time as a minority government. Its goal is to reign in everything from child sex offenders and small-time drug dealers, to “out-of-control young people”.

Various parts of the bill have already come under scrutiny, but more important are the numbers – particularly the fact that the government seems to be ignoring them. read more »

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