Category Archives: The Contrarian

The Lean News Diet (Redux)


(From the archives, and never more necessary):

My father was a career newspaperman and would turn over in his grave at what I am about to say. But he was cremated, has no tombstone and never believed in the afterlife, so fuck it.

I’m cutting news from my brain diet.

Wait, that’s not completely true; I plan to cut at least 95% of my daily news intake. So I guess I’m going to try a lean news diet.

That means no CNN. No MSNBC. NO FOX.

But I plan to go further. No evening news. No local TV news. No 60 MinutesDatelinesor 20/20s. And, toughest, no late night comedians, who have become the informational standard bearers for liberal news addicts like me.

I had been considering a personal embargo for months, when it became clear that Trump’s ouster and covid’s vaccine were not going to change the tenor of news coverage.

Initially, I could forgive the fret fixation. After all, Trump attempted an insurrection and legally challenged the results of an election. Fairness dictated we tend to worrisome matters.

But then the story morphed into chronicling America’s Bottom Third — the 30 to 40% of U.S. citizens who have turned this era into a Golden Age of Ignorance. QAnoners, Flat Earthers, science deniers and election fraud hucksters became the day’s news narrative. 

Meet the new boss. Same as the old boss.

No. Enough visual junk food. Enough Fear News (it was never fake). I’m done renting worry. 

The gamble here, of course, is the 95% reduction. My loose reasoning is based on what I learned on the cop and film beats: that important news — good and bad — filters naturally to people. Call it the theory of natural infection.

Someone got shot on your block? Your street will literally buzz with gossip. A series of break-ins in your neighborhood? Your next door neighbors are just as worried and probably clustering as threatened primates do. Global warming? A firefighter will tell you when you have to run for higher ground.

It works in the inverse, too. See a great movie? Read a fantastic book? What good is fantasm without someone to tell?

So, in that spirit:

Introducing the Lean News Diet! All the nutrients your brain needs for healthy, informed social interaction — without the bile and bitterness!

The Lean News Diet couldn’t be easier! Just turn off your TV, look only at the day’s headlines, and — Snap! — you’re done! IT’S THAT EASY!

But wait, there’s more! Order the Lean News Diet now, and we’ll double the order! That’s right, call in the next two minutes and you can turn your TV off TWICE!

Let’s see the Lean News Diet in action. These are actual headlines, not actors, unscrubbed from Apple News on the 20th anniversary of 9/11, a news day if ever there was one. See if you can complete the headline or predict the story just from the morsels of information in the Lean News Diet:

“Watch live: Biden marks 20th anniversary of 9/11 in New York, Pennsylvania a…” I’m going to go with “nd D.C.”

“End of eviction moratoriums adds urgency for 3.5 million Americans behind on rent.”Extra! Extra! America urgenter!

“Georgia college faculty, frustrated by lack of COVID…” hmmm, balloons?

“As young talents flee, Afghanistan faces a dying arts…” I’ll guess any word here except “district.” That folded in downtown Kabul during the hedge fund scandal of ‘08.

THE LEAN NEWS DIET! You watch what’s going into your body. Watch what’s going into your brain!

Order now! Operators are standing by — and very worried about it. 
(Offer not valid in Mississippi, Alabama, Texas and other American Bottom Third states.)

Putting Out Fires with Almond Milk

Fire crews battle the Kenneth Fire in the West Hills section of Los Angeles, Thursday, Jan. 9, 2025. (AP Photo/Ethan Swope)

Almonds drink like addicts, even when they’re on fire.

Every year, California allocates approximately 80% of its water to agriculture, and almonds are some of the thirstiest crops. It takes a staggering 1.1 gallons of water to grow a single almond. Pistachios aren’t far behind, gulping nearly 3.6 gallons of water per ounce.

Wildfires aren’t just fueled by dry brush. They’re fed by water shortages. Every gallon funneled into almond orchards could instead hydrate thirsty soil, dampen fire-prone areas, or sustain dwindling reservoirs.

When Lake Oroville dropped to historic lows in 2021, some of the state’s largest nut farms continued receiving water. Almond orchards weren’t rationed, but people were.

California grows about 80% of the world’s almonds. This isn’t just a local problem; it’s global. Almond exports rake in billions annually, but at what cost? While farmers ship nuts overseas, rivers dry up, wells fail, and forests burn.

California’s Central Valley, where most of these nuts are grown, isn’t naturally suited for farming. It’s an arid region transformed into fertile land by engineering miracles and unrelenting irrigation. Yet here we are, diverting precious water to support a crop that doesn’t belong.

Consider this: almond production uses more water annually than all the residents of Los Angeles and San Francisco combined.

For pistachios, it’s close. Nuts, in total, consume about 10% of California’s agricultural water. That’s enough to supply 75 million people with drinking water for a year.

Not all farming is created equal. California also produces tomatoes, lettuce, and strawberries, but these use significantly less water.

Meanwhile, almonds contribute just 0.6% to the state’s GDP. It’s not about feeding people; it’s about profit.

The wildfires of 2023 consumed more than 450,000 acres, destroying homes and wildlife habitats. Rebuilding those communities will require water—lots of it. Yet California remains stuck in a paradox: prioritizing water-intensive crops over public safety and environmental health.

The wildfires of this year will look, well, nuts in comparison.

Nuts are a luxury, not a necessity. There’s no world where almonds take priority over drinking water, firefighting resources, or ecological preservation.

California’s water crisis demands a rethink of agriculture. We can’t pour 4,000 gallons of water into a pound of pistachios while fires rage and reservoirs run dry.

Water is life, not profit. It’s time to decide which we value more.

Raging Against Machines


There’s a moment in the Netflix documentary ‘I’m Tim’, about Avicii, the Swedish DJ and producer, where you see him meticulously layering loops, samples, and beats, building what millions have danced to as electronic masterpieces.

It’s impressive, but as I watched, something unsettling crept in: where are the instruments? The lyrics? The human element?

I’m not naive. Technology has been a part of music for decades.

But as I sat there watching Avicii tweak yet another sample, I realized something: the heart of music has shifted from the garage to the laptop. Grunge died in the mid-’90s, and with it, a visceral kind of authenticity. No rock genre replaced it.

Sure, some will argue rock never really dies. Bands like Foo Fighters still fill arenas. Greta Van Fleet tries valiantly to resurrect Zeppelin. Even My Chemical Romance managed a triumphant return.

These aren’t flashes in the pan—they’re acts that remind us of what rock can be. Raw. Sweaty. Alive.

But these are exceptions, not the rule.

For most under 30, guitars are relics, and lyrics are just hooks to frame beats. Producers like Avicii—rest his soul—have become the new rock stars. They sell out festivals, collaborate with pop icons, and dominate global charts.

What they don’t do is play instruments or write melodies from scratch. What they create is built on layers of digital perfection: loops clipped and polished, beats algorithmically aligned, and voices autotuned into oblivion.

I don’t say this as a cranky purist longing for the days of Kurt Cobain’s jagged screams or Eddie Vedder’s gruff poetry. I say this because we’ve lost something essential in the transition.

Music used to be messy. Bands recorded in basements. Guitars wailed, often out of tune. Lyrics stumbled and faltered but said something.

Now it’s all about precision. Streamlining. Hitting the dopamine centers in three minutes or less.

Even rock bands that manage to break through today feel sanitized. Compare Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit” to, say, Imagine Dragons’ “Believer.” Both are hits. Both lean into angst. One, however, feels like an explosion; the other, like a PowerPoint presentation set to music.

Am I saying music is dead? Of course not. But rock as we knew it—the rebellion, the grit, the imperfections that made it human—is gone.

Avicii’s music moved millions, and his talent is undeniable. But as I watched that documentary, I couldn’t help feeling like I was watching the future devour the past. A future of loops, not lives. Machines, not bands.

The machines have taken over. And no one is fighting back.

That’s just not the rock and roll way.