Monthly Archives: December 2019

The Politics of Peloton

Image result for peloton commercial

My father was an amateur hoarder. He kept so many things we had to alphabetize our basement shelves simply to catalog the clutter. The floors, which were not cataloged, were even cluttier.

One Christmas, my mother presented him with a non-too-subtle gift: a Shop Vac that also happened to be waterproof, so he could address the puddling in the basement. If I recall, Dad fired it up exactly zero times. But the gift amply delivered the message: the basement shit needs cleaning.I would tease mom about the romantic gesture for years, but now I see the behavior has shifted into American politics, just without the utility, need or clear messaging.

I’m speaking of the Peloton, a $2,245 exercise bike that is suddenly consuming megabytes and media space. The bike commercial, set to Tal Bachman’s 1999 one-hit wonder She’s So High, tells the tale of a husband who buys his wife a Peloton for Christmas. She seems completely surprised — she apparently hadn’t cycled before — and takes videos of her fitness journey, eventually premiering it for her spouse. “A year ago, I didn’t realize how much this would change me,” she says in the end.

The holiday ad for the luxury stationary bike company was released online in November. But this week, it supposedly took the digital world by storm and was hate-tweeted into virality. But both the online reaction and media coverage were conjured from the ether — and underpin a larger problem in politics and civil interaction.

We had a rule at the paper: one is an occasion; two is a coincidence; and three is a trend (and therefore worthy of a story). Look through any paper (or most TV news shows, for that matter), and you’ll see outlets straining for that third example to justify the piece’s existence.

Sadly, that already-tenuous rule of thumb has transferred from print to digital. And the cross-pollination of media has been catastrophic. Papers have already adopted the internet’s viewer count and click bait strategies, with tragic results: A new study by the University of North Carolina shows that since 2004, one in five daily newspapers in the nation have shuttered.

And the journalistic principles that one held governance have lost all grip. We cover the president’s tweetrants like fireside chats. We quote anonymous Twitter users. We have developed a new news arithmetic: One tweet is the internet noticing; two tweets is ‘internet backlash;’ and three tweets is the internet fully ablaze.

And Pelaton became tinder on a dry California afternoon, by media measures. Don’t believe it? Consider the Pelaton “backlash.” Several outlets, in print and on television, ran the same two tweets. The first was this Twitter image, a riff on a hostage horror film:View image on Twitter

The second was this Twitter post:

Siraj Hashmi

Embedded video

2,466 people are talking about this

I couldn’t help but notice that both postings were written by men. Isn’t that a violation of the American Woke Policy? And already, the fabricated backlash has become a real one: Peloton’s stock dropped 10% last week over the perceived outrage.

This is the Left eating itself. This is offense-hunting.  When we liberals wonder how the hell the president can coalesce a legion of followers, the hegemony of the cult cannot be underestimated. While the Right’s rejection of factual evidence puts the slippery in slope, the Left seems eager to yank the rudder just as dramatically port.

Therefore, the HB is suggesting an amendment to its Limited Twitter Policy (which calls for less coverage of what Trump sausage-pecks and more of what his administration actually enacts). In short, the amendment is this: Twitter has a character-count limit of 280 keystrokes. Stories about Twitter should be limited to the same length. After all, how many words do you need to tell readers “People are tweeting about this?”

Our over-inflation of the importance of social media is nearly as destructive as the foreign manipulation of it. The internet is the fire of 20th Century. If we’re not using it to cook the food that expands our gray matter — and instead use it to create political folly where there is none — we are just spinning our wheels.

 

 

You leap into the air and pivot a diver going up!

Dog Photography by Claudio Piccoli

A DOG IN SAN FRANCISCO BY MICHAEL ONDAATJE

Dog Photography by Claudio Piccoli

Sitting in an empty house
with a dog from the Mexican Circus!
O Daisy, embrace is my only pleasure.
Holding and hugging my friends. Education.
A wave of eucalyptus. Warm granite.
These are the things I have in my heart.
Heart and skills, there’s nothing else.

Dog Photography by Claudio Piccoli

I usually don’t like small dogs but you
like midwestern women take over the air.
You leap into the air and pivot
a diver going up! You are known
to open the fridge and eat when you wish
you can roll down car windows and step out
you know when to get off the elevator.

Photos of Dogs in Mid-Air by Claudio Piccoli

I always wanted to be a dog
but I hesitated
for I thought they lacked certain skills.
Now I want to be a dog.

Photos of Dogs in Mid-Air by Claudio Piccoli

Dog Photography by Claudio Piccoli

Dog Photography by Claudio Piccoli

Photos of Dogs in Mid-Air by Claudio Piccoli

Photos of Dogs in Mid-Air by Claudio Piccoli

https://youtu.be/tRv53nn_J9g

‘You Come at the King, You Best Not Miss’

Hi, my name is Scott Bowles, and I am a Dallas Cowboys fan.

If you’re even a casual observer of the NFL, you know this is no easy admission. I’m from Detroit. An out-of-towner pulling for the Cowboys is like a non-resident pulling for the Boston Celtics (which I do) or the New York Yankees (which I do not).

The Celtics are easy to explain; that’s an inheritance from Dad. The Cowboys, though, are harder to explain. Dad hated the Cowboys. Maybe it was teen rebellion, maybe it was canny teen marketing, maybe it was the Roger Staubach-signed pennant Dad got me when I was in the hospital contracting diabetes. Whatever the reason, the bond was sealed.

I know this union is morally wrong. Sometimes, I feel like Melania Trump. No matter how much cult fans chant I’m doing the right thing in the marriage, sometimes I’ve got to admit I’m with a loathsome creep.

Or was. I’m officially switching allegiances this season. This year I’m rooting for the Baltimore Ravens to win the Super Bowl. And you should, too.

I know I know. It’s heresy to switch bandwagons, especially mid-season. But hear me out. Dallas has always been known as “America’s Team,” thanks to the organization’s slick and ubiquitous self-promotion. But I suggest the Ravens best represent this country, both in toughness and underdog-ness.

Consider:

  • Miracle turnaround. No one thought the Ravens  a serious contender in 2019 — particularly when the hapless Cleveland Browns shelled them early in the year. But a turnaround came primarily thanks to Lamar Jackson, a 22-year-old quarterback who has set the team on fire. Half quarterback, half running back, Jackson was considered a bust of a draft pick last year. This year, he’s led the Ravens to a record of 10-2, the best in the NFL. He’s also the first quarterback in history to pass for more than 250 yards and run for 120 in one game. Image result for lamar jackson
  • Dethroned a king. Last month, the Ravens played the vaunted New England Patriots, home to Hall of Fame quarterback Tom Brady and head coach Bill Belichick. The Patriots, who many consider Super Bowl favorites, were undefeated at the time and expected to roll over the young Ravens. The Ravens shellacked them 37-20. Image result for belichick brady
  • The political intrigue. This is reason enough to pull for the Ravens. Traditionally, the victorious Super Bowl team gets a trip to the White House and a visit with the president. Last year, the Patriots and owner Robert Kraft happily took up the invitation. (Side note: Kraft, 78, was later arrested for asking a young masseuse to give him a happy ending. Trump is a true ally of pederasts; he doesn’t drain the swamp so much as dunk people in it.) Image result for robert kraft massage

You remember Trump and “Charm City,” as the state has nicknamed it. Baltimore was targeted by Trump in July, when the president lashed out at Rep. Elijah Cummings, a Democrat whose district included parts of Baltimore city and Baltimore County.

Cummings’ “district is a disgusting, rat and rodent infested mess,” Trump said of the city and the Representative. “If he spent more time in Baltimore, maybe he could help clean up this very dangerous & filthy place.”Image result for trump cummings

Cummings later died, but not the city’s memory of him. When Melania Trump — whose single platform as First Lady is an anti-bullying campaign — showed up in Baltimore for a photo op, the irony was not lost on residents. They swamped the appearance, delayed it for minutes with protest chants and loudly chatted among themselves during Melania’s speech. Charming? Not at all. Of course, neither is taking shots at the dead and dying (insert McCain citation here). Be best!

Image result for trump insults mccain

What theater that would make! Will he invite the team? Will the team accept? How long before Trump mistakes the team for the help?

Whether it was Trump’s diss, Cummings’ death or simply fatigue from marginalization, the Ravens have been a team possessed. Two weeks ago, when the Ravens were making a rare appearance on national television (Monday Night Football), a commentator made a brilliant observation as Baltimore dismantled the glitzy Los Angeles Rams, who hosted the game with stars in the stands and sporting flashy yellow uniforms. As the Ravens mashed the Los Angeles’ uniforms from lemon to dirt-stained coffee brown, the analyst noted “This is The Wire going up against Dancing with the Stars,” a reference to the gritty Baltimore-set crime drama considered one of the greatest shows of all-time. “And the Ravens don’t feel like dancing.”

No, the Ravens aren’t here to dance. They’re here to follow the wisdom of Omar Little, the anti-hero of The Wire: to walk with some swagger; whistle The Farmer in the Dell; and send dope boys scrambling.

You hear that, Donnie? Omar’s crew coming!