Recently we let our subscriptions to the local paper and the big city paper lapse. I have long been a newspaper holdout. I scoffed at those who only get their news online or from television. Every morning, I would read both papers cover to cover. Sunday’s were like the circus come to town for me - a Sunday morning with two, inches-thick stacks of newsprint was, to me, the best day of the week.
But it was time to let the papers go. Mostly because we recycle newspaper and with two dailies stacking up in the house waiting for the trip to the recycling center, we were in danger of finding ourselves featured on those television shows about hoarding. Seriously, stacks of newspapers next to bags of Diet Coke cans, next to trashcans full of plastics, next to piles of cardboard – well, you get the picture.
A city-wide curbside recycling program would have helped but that doesn’t seem likely. So we let the papers go by the wayside. Besides, we could always read the papers online. It’s more environmentally friendly, less danger of being crushed beneath a wobbly pile of waiting-to-be-recycled newspapers and significantly cheaper. Other than the difficulty in doing the crossword puzzles – so much for fending off Alzheimer’s by keeping my brain sharp with word games – it was a good solution.
It wasn’t an easy decision to make, however. I love newspapers. I love news in general. I’ve been writing for newspapers for more than 15 years. I’ve written primarily as a columnist but I’ve spent my time doing straight journalism as well. I’ve covered cops and courts for a daily paper, been a rock and roll radio morning-show “news chick,” written for magazines and websites, even done a few television pundit slots. I write my to-do lists according to the AP Style Book. What can I say? I like media.
I’ve covered murder trials, interviewed rape victims, gone “under cover” and auditioned for a strip club in Miami, walked the sidelines of a golf tournament (best press buffet ever. Usually you just get donuts and coffee, at Doral, we got an ice sculpture and shrimp. Whee!), tested the flammability of dry coffee creamer in attempt to see if you really can make bombs out of it (you can, and they would be good smelling bombs too, like toasted marshmallows), interviewed Bunny Wailer, Al Franken, the surviving members of the Munchkins cast and many more.
All of that in pursuit of a good story and, more importantly, a true story. I haven’t always gotten things right and for that, I apologize. But I always tried to tell a true story and to tell it well. I think most journalists do that. I hope most journalists do that.
Since we’ve gone paperless, I’ve become one of those people who get their news online and I have to tell you, I don’t like it nearly as much. It’s not just the physical loss of the newspaper, it’s the unexpected gain of the comments section.
What is it about the Internet that causes people to become jerks? Why do folks think it necessary to disagree in such a hostile and thoughtless fashion? I’m all for feedback and discussion but I have to think that there’s really no place for name calling, slurs and accusations in the forums. Maybe people don’t understand the meaning of the word comment anymore.
I’m going to have to stop reading the comments –despite the fact that I’m drawn to them like a mad moth to a flaming train wreck. I simply can’t stand it.
I’m afraid it’s time we had a little chat about the Internet. Google CEO, Eric Schmidt, famously called the Internet, “ . . . the largest experiment in anarchy we have ever had.” I think he’s right. And I think that this experiment in anarchy has proven at least one thing. Lacking any rules or guidelines, human beings have a tendency to behave badly. Please don’t misconstrue this to mean that I believe that people don’t have the right to free speech. This is not about rights, it’s about being civilized.
I realize that civilized anarchy is an oxymoron. I’m simply asking that we remind ourselves that words matter. As does spel chek.
In an effort to prevent myself from having to re-subscribe to the daily papers and risk suffocating under a deluge of recyclables, I’d like to offer up a few, let’s call them guidelines if you can’t stomach the thought of rules. Here we go:
1. If you do not know the difference between their and they’re, your and you’re, too, to and two – you should know that your opinion is automatically suspect. You clearly don’t care enough about your opinion to take the time to make sure that it is clearly spelled out and intelligible to those who’ve made it past 5th grade English class. So why should I? “Your an ignorant ass-munch” is not a statement that will advance your argument. And it doesn’t make you look any smarter than the alleged ignorant ass-munch. “You’re an ignorant ass-munch,” is only marginally more effective. If you can’t tell the difference between those two statements, well, you are an ignorant ass-munch. You really are.
2. Accusations require the assistance of facts. Facts are really simple little things. They are, by their very nature, required to be true. Facts that are not true are not facts. Ignorance of the facts is no excuse. It’s ignorance.
3. Your mama will eventually learn how to Google your name. When she does, she will be able to read nearly everything you’ve ever posted. Ever. Anywhere. Good luck explaining things to her.
4. Your kids already know how to Google you.
I guess all I’m really asking for is a little bit of civility. Leave the screaming matches to professional wrestlers and understand that a well-reasoned, spel-chkd argument goes a lot further than invective. Or be prepared to dig me out of a garage full of newspaper someday.
Lyssa Graham is based on Galveston island – where the invective flows like summer wine. Don’t send spittle-flecked emails to her at Lyssa@ LyssaGraham.com She’ll just forward them on to your mama.
