"tHE mEDIA"

I know ya'll hate "The Media", like it's some big conglomerate with the single purpose of destroying humanity, but can I be honest with you? That's not true. In fact, it's FAKE NEWS. "The Media" is not the "Enemy of the People", as some would have you believe.

"The Media" is actually a grossly inaccurate term. The Media can be any information you consume on a daily basis. Facebook is SOCIAL media. So is Twitter, Reddit, YouTube, Twitch, Pinterest, and any other online entity. It's all media. Every post you make, every meme you share, (I'll be watching you) it's all digital information disseminated to millions of people worldwide. And there's the rub. Sites like "Occupy Democrats" (obvi lefties) and "Occupy Democrats Logic" (a right wing site), are considered media. And they're horribly biased. The names give that away. And yet you eat it up. You follow those pages and share their content, and then bitch about "The Media" being biased. You can't have it both ways.

Let me tell you something about "The Media". I am the media. I am a career journalist, for 20 years now. And I have seen shit that would make your blood run cold, and make you want to hug your momma. I have had complete breakdowns sobbing in the bathroom at work because of what I've seen, and then picked myself up and did my damn job. It's my job to see it, and then tell you about it so you don't have to witness that horror. Funny thing is, I didn't set out to be a journalist. I fell into it, because I needed a job, and -- as with most things in my life -- it seemed like a good idea at the time. But most journalists, they love it. You can't imagine their passion and intensity. They're borderline insane, for realz. They live and breathe the news. Newshounds are always looking for a good story, the breaking details, and the story behind the story. But what I've noticed is, they love humanity most of all. They want to bring the news to life, in a way that touches you intimately, in a way that relates to you and makes you want to get out there and do something about it. They are warriors, on the front lines, chasing down Senators who don't want to explain their positions (which I have done myself), questioning the White House about policy decisions, and risking exposure to a deadly bacteria by going into the Brentwood Post Office during an Anthrax scare (which I was a part of, in my time in D.C.). They are fearless, and ask what you want to know, even though most of the time they don't get answers. But they keep trying. Because they love it. They live for it. And you lump them in with far left sites like "Occupy Democrats" or far right sites like "Uncle Sam's Children"? That is unfair and downright cruel, given what they sacrifice for you.

Don't bitch about "The Media". There is no such thing. We are journalists. And yes, journalism is going to be biased in some way. Because we are humans, and humans are inherently biased. But as journalists we do our best not to be. Some news outlets cater to the left, or the right (I'm looking at you, MSNBC and FOX), but for the most part, we try our damnedest to give you just the facts, without bias. Cable news, unfortunately, is pretty biased. It has to be, to appease shareholders and survive the 24-hour news cycle. It's brutal, and needs those folks who have it on all day as background noise to survive. Let me tell you a secret: any show with commentators is biased. Period. A show with politicians as guests, is trying not to be....but Democrats rarely appear on FOX, and Republicans rarely appear on CNN, so take that shit with a grain of salt.

In my 20-year career, I have refused to write exactly TWO stories, because they were so biased I couldn't bring myself to do it. I remember them both. I simply said, "I can't write this", and they had someone else do it. Bias and all. But I, the accidental journalist, had the integrity to walk away from it -- and most true journalists do. Why do you think some reporters leave one network and show up on another? Sometimes for money, yes, but mostly because they have integrity.

We are not your enemy. We don't report "fake news", that's another stupid made-up term, like "The Media", or "alternate facts". None of that is a thing. Please stop lumping us together with the horribly biased sites you get your "news" from, the sites with things you want to hear to make you feel better about your opinions. They are opinions, and you know what they say about those. Er'body got one. They are not facts. True journalists report facts. Respect them for the work they do -- and it is hard work; long hours, trips across country with 2-hours notice, interviewing grieving parents and angry business owners...it's not easy. But they do it for YOU. To keep you in the know. The irony is if they didn't, you'd be bitching that you didn't know about something-or-other (like COVID-19, perhaps?), and who would you blame then, for the lack of information? The government. So stop. Just stop. We're just doing our jobs, man, telling it like it is; it's not our fault if you don't listen, or if it doesn't fit with your personal opinions.

It's YOUR job to do your research, and stay informed. Use multiple, reputable news sites, not just your favorite Facebook meme site. Make an informed opinion. But don't hate on us if you don't like what you hear; it's just the facts, ma'am.  To quote the late great Edward R. Murrow (of whom I have an award in his name for my work, you heathens bitching about "The Media"), "Good night and good luck".

Can Katie come out to play?

I was just sitting outside on my patio, absently looking at the lights wrapped around the railing, when I remembered something. I sat back and squinted my eyes, blurring the colors slightly. I did this as a kid, sitting in a rocking chair in the dark, blurring the colors like that. And I remember thinking, "I want to remember this moment. I want to remember this feeling." And I do. Mostly. I remember thinking that, and I remember the moment, but I don't remember the feeling. It's gone. I betrayed myself. But I don't think that's entirely my fault. For the most part, adults can't feel what children do. There are probably 101 ways to argue why that is: we're too jaded, we're wiser, we're emotionally mature (yeah right), we see how the world works now; our eyes are opened. I call bullshit.

We all have to grow up and do adult things. Pay the mortgage, take out the trash, take the dog to the vet, etc, etc, etc, ad infinitum. But there is a part of us that never grows up. It's not meant to. It's meant to stay a child. Yes, I'm talking about your Inner Child, stop rolling your eyes at me. You can call it baloney or Voodoo magic, but it's there. It's the part of you that every once in a while wants to throw a carrot at your wife while you're making dinner, or sneak up on your boyfriend and roar like a T-Rex. That simple, carefree little feeling you get; that silly little grin on your face when you do that, that's your Inner Child. And we all send it to its room too often.

The reason is multi-faceted. It's not our fault that we must fit into modern society to survive. It's a necessary evil. You have to shove that Inner Child down because no Kate you CANNOT skip down 6th Avenue right now, this is neither the time nor the place --we must. It's not our fault. But keeping it chained in the basement, never to see the light of day, well, that's on us. The problem with not allowing the Inner Child to play, is that it's meant to play. Everything else has gone all Adult, taking on responsibilities and shit; but not that part. The Inner Child stays innocent and pure. That part will always look at the world with a sense of wonder, and have an eagerness to explore it. That part will always see the magic in Christmas, will always relish tearing away that wrapping paper to see what treasure is inside. Granted, the contents will change (I got a set of Henckel knives) but the feeling stays the same. It happened to me today. My voice hitched a bit higher and I said with awe and excitement, "Really???" as I tore away the rest of the paper. I wanted the knives, but wasn't expecting them. My Inner Child got so damn excited at the unexpected surprise. I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time. Pure joy; Excitement; Wonder. For just a moment or two, I was 11 getting a Nintendo Game Boy. The feeling lingered a while, then faded away. But man, was that awesome.

Suppressing the Inner Child all the time is what's wrong with us; all of us. The entire human species. Because the Inner Child is the creative part. It's where we experiment, where we aren't afraid to fail, because we understand failing isn't really a thing. Failing is a thing we make up in our own heads, some random expectation or boundary that doesn't even exist. There is no such thing as failure. And that's the part of us that knows that. It's the loving part, the empathetic part, the curious part. It's where our dreams live. It's where they thrive.

Do you remember your dreams as a kid, your aspirations? I don't. I no longer remember what I always wanted to do, the thing that would make me happiest in this world. And when I came to realize this, I understood what a tragedy that is. My life is not my own. I did not craft it the way Katie wanted to craft it. I did betray myself. That's not to say I should quit my job and go hiking in the Australian outback for a year - although if that's what you really want to do, then maybe you should -- but I could nurture the parts of me that I took such meticulous care of in my youth, while still fulfilling my responsibilities. I could start painting again. I could start writing again. And I don't. Not because I won't want to, but because I shoved my Inner Child so far down that I can't find her. I don't know where she is, and that's why I don't remember my dreams; it's why I have an easel in my room, holding a canvas with a pencil sketch -- an idea, a hope, a memory -- patiently standing there as a silent sentinel, waiting for Katie to come back to play. If I find her I'll let you know, buddy. Promise.

At least today I finally fulfilled that promise to myself. Sure, I remember that moment; I do every year, when the Christmas lights go up, but it is void of feeling. That is a betrayal. But today, what I felt when I opened that package (a set of knives, for fuck's sake -- how old am I??), those few seconds that everything I ever worried about melted away, and I literally felt nothing but the sheer joy of the moment -- I finally honored that pledge. And, even if for just a fraction of a second, Katie got a chance to play.

15 Years? I call bullshit.

I got a flyer in the mail the other day from my Alma mater about homecoming, in November. I looked at it fondly, smiling, thinking of the best days of my life, and I noticed that there would be a special gathering for the class of 2005, because it's their 10-year reunion. And it hit me. My heart dropped into my lower intestine, my jaw fell open and I grabbed my throat as if to stifle a scream. My boyfriend grabbed my arms in fear and asked what was wrong, if I was OK...

I closed my mouth, swallowed, and nodded slowly. I walked into the living room with my head bowed, stopped, turned around slowly to look at his concerned face, and finally spoke. "I just realized. I graduated college 15 years ago. 15. 15! Fif-fucking-teen! No. Nope, no, nuh uh, nope, no no no no no. Not possible. Nope" etc, etc. 

Seriously, it went on for a while, me just repeating the word "no" while shaking my head and pacing the room. I looked like Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man, except there is no more Wapner to watch. It would have to be Judy. Or Alex. What the hell, TV judges don't go by their last names anymore, like Judge Wapner. I don't think I even know his first name. He looked like a Bubba. Bubba Wapner. Or maybe Mitch. Mitch Wapner. Short for Mitchell. But he still went by Bubba. Because he just looked like a Bubba, and I bet he had a shotgun next to his bed. TV judges today only go by their first names. It's all very informal. Where's the mystery in that? Part of Bubba's appeal was that he was mysterious, and a bit scary because you didn't know his name. He was like a terror for which you have no words. And if they did tell you his name I don't remember so don't fucking tell me, because I don't want to know it was some bullshit name like Jonathan, or Timothy, or Alexander. Fuck that. He was Bubba. Bubba Wapner. So bite me, Judge "Alex". 

Wait, where was I? Oh, right! Fif-fucking-teen. My 28-year-old boyfriend shrugged and said, "Well you're still my college girl", which was terribly sweet, because he actually meant it (love is apparently completely blind), but it didn't help. He doesn't understand. How could he? Yet.

Has it really been that long? It feels like yesterday I was running onto the field at the Orange Bowl for the first time, at my first college football game with thousands of people watching me. (Well, kind of. People don't exactly watch the marching band. But the OB sold beer, and drunk kids cheer for anything, so it was still pretty intense) I thought I was going to have a heart attack. My heart was pounding in my chest and I was high on adrenaline and could barely breathe. Which doesn't bode well for a horn player, by the way. My legs felt rubbery as we started to run, and I told myself, "remember this moment", this moment of terrifying euphoria, because it was like nothing I'd ever felt before. And for once I actually listened to myself and I do remember that moment. Vividly. Although that was freshman year, so that technically would've been 19 years. Nine-fucking-teen oh sweet Jesus let's go back to 15, shall we? But it really does feel like maybe it was a year or 2 ago. My friends, well I just saw them not too long ago, right? Most of them are now married with children, but it was only a few years, right? Like 3, maybe. Right? Shit, I'm having another heart attack.

I remember being young and stupid and trying to fit in with everybody, afraid to just be myself because myself wasn't good enough. It was ironic, because when I finally started to become one of the group, I got comfortable and would slip a little and be myself. And that's when I actually became liked, not just accepted. College Life Lesson #492. Honestly, I learned pretty much everything I needed to know about life, in college. Although I didn't realize it until about 5 years ago. (What? I'm a slow learner) Probably because I did everything wrong. Apparently, I learn the hard way. Looking back, I have so many cringe-worthy "what the actual fuck, Kate?!" moments. Many, many, many. Like, a lot. More than a normal person would have. But, I'm not normal, and that's OK. (Another lesson I learned in college, and again, the hard way.) I also remember learning how to make friends. I learned there are other silly, goofy people like me unfortunately for the rest of the world. I learned it's possible to be friends with another woman and not feel like you're in competition, because you're both just comfortable being your own weird selves. I learned a lot from the people I met. Lessons that didn't really stick then, but fif-fucking-teen years later, they've finally sunk in. Sort of.

Where did the past 15 years go? It seems like maybe 2 years ago was my last Swamp Toga party. 5 years tops. But 15? (Forgive me for repeating that number, but I still haven't fully grasped it, and it's been a week) 15. I remember being 15, for fuck's sake. That's when my brother was born. I used to change his diapers and give him baths and hold his hand walking down the sidewalk; he just graduated college. What the fucking fuck. Didn't I just graduate college? What is happening right now? No for real. I think I'm having an aneurysm.

Nope, false alarm. Just a minor stroke. You grow up hearing adults say "time goes so fast", and "they grow up so fast", and you think it's total bullshit that old people just like to say, because for you it feels like fucking forever until you turn 18 and get the hell out of the house. But now that I'm staring down the barrel of -- Jesus, I can barely type it, it seems so ludicrously impossible--40, I hear myself saying that same bullshit, and finally realize it's not bullshit. It actually does go fast. I guess it's partly because I remember those 4 years of college better than I remember the 15 years since. Everything was new then. A new experience, a new lesson I would inevitably learn the hard way, a new depth of pain, a new height of joy. Now those things I experienced for the first time 15 years ago are old hat. Those amazing new feelings and experiences are no longer amazing and new; they are just a part of my everyday existence. I guess I take them for granted, much like the time that has passed.

But every once in a while something happens and I feel that incredible joy I discovered 15 years ago. I relive the incredible sense of pain as if it were brand new. I revive the strong determination I found a decade and a half ago, and I despair under the incredible sense of helplessness that found me. And everything is all right. Even the pain, because it takes me back 15 years, only now I can experience it with much clearer eyes and a calmer mind, and I actually embrace it. Because it's part of my youth. To be able to experience something for the first time all over again is an incredible blessing. It keeps me young. Maybe that's why I forget that it's been 15 years since I first felt that emotion, or had that experience.

My grandmother used to say -- and I always understood what she meant, but now I get it -- that she was surprised every time she looked into a mirror and saw an old woman. I'm far from an old woman, and when I glance at a mirror I barely notice the new wrinkles or the gray hair that has begun to proliferate in earnest. But when I look, really look, I see it. I see the 37 years of laughter and pain and hope and despair, and I wonder, where did the girl go? I could swear she was just here a minute ago. When did this woman show up? She kinda looks like me, but her skin isn't as bright and soft, and she has some wrinkles, and quite a bit of gray hair. You see, I'm 22. My skin is smooth, I have only a few stray grays, my knees don't hurt, and I can stay up late and when I get up don't look like I got hit by a truck carrying some kind of weaponized chemical. I have my whole life ahead of me.

I still do, actually. Except now, it's shorter. That would be a terrifying thought, except...as long as I allow myself to re-experience those things all over again for the first time, I don't mind so much. That way I'll always be 22; only a stronger, calmer, wiser, kinda less crazy version. That woman in the mirror is just a better version of my 22-year-old self, and let me tell you, 22-year-old Kate was pretty fucking awesome. So I guess those 15 years were a good thing after all.

But still. Fif-fucking-teen? Jesus.