Category: Media Watch

Like most of you, I don’t tune in regularly to watch the “Mayor’s Hour” on CTTV, Channel 15. Truth be told, I mostly happen upon it when channel surfing.

Anyway, I do make an effort to watch in December. That’s when Mayor Pam Iorio invites her father, John Iorio, to spend some quality culinary time with her and the viewers. They cook and they chat and they feed each other straight lines. It’s unabashedly corny stuff, the likes of which you’d never see in most cities – let alone the hub of a major metropolitan market. But Tampa, as we know, is a city with a small town feel. The Mayor’s “Holiday Cooking Show” is a warm reminder.

Only this year, John Iorio was too ill to go on. Instead there were highlights of the 2004-05 holiday shows plus footage of this year’s Festa Italiana, featuring the dueling Iorios.

But it just wasn’t the same without the irrepressible “Red Sauce Master” this holiday season.

The word is “resegregation,” and we’ve been seeing it more and more, often in bold headlines. It has most recently surfaced in the run up to the U.S. Supreme Court’s eventual decision on the merits of suits filed on behalf of parents challenging efforts to keep schools racially balanced in the school districts of Louisville and Seattle.

“Resegregation” is front and center because — absent racial “guidelines” — serious integration just can’t happen in many school districts.

And that’s cause for alarm in some circles – ranging from liberal media to civil rights’ careerists. To them, “resegregation” is an affront to the desegregation legacy of Brown v. Board of Education. That historic 1954 decision is mocked, goes the reasoning, by all the school districts, including Hillsborough County’s, that no longer — in this post court-order era — have race ratios for their schools.

And, as a result, there are lots of schools, including a number in Hillsborough County, with predominantly minority enrollments. This, of course, is considered very bad in the aforementioned circles.

And not even gimmick magnet and “choice” programs have been able to dent, much less deter, this ostensibly insidious pattern of “resegregation.”

If ever a non-N-word needed context, it’s “resegregation.”

The very evil that was “segregation” was premised on legally codified racial inferiority. We’re talking about the morally indefensible here – and the malevolent Jim Crow extension of the Plessy v. Ferguson legacy.

No one’s re-upping for that any more than they’re waxing nostalgic for the auction block. But the knee-jerk acceptance of “resegregation” as an implicit, racist return to segregated schools circa 1950s is out of synch with reality circa 2006. Tampa’s Leto High, for example, is not Little Rock’s Central High – any more than color-blind decisions are the same as color-coded laws.

If anything, the post court-order era is an opportunity.

An opportunity to transcend quotas, social engineering and unwieldy, cost-inefficient logistics. An opportunity to halt the blatantly insulting racism that says, in effect, that quality education is incompatible with schools sporting predominantly minority enrollments. It’s still a truism that no one can make you feel inferior without your cooperation.

And an opportunity to return to meaningful neighborhood schools, where a community rallies around its own and parents are able to be more involved.

How ironic that Brown v. Board involved a black student who couldn’t go to her preferred school – one that was actually closest – because she was the wrong color.

The other day a friend, retired educator Boston Bob Norton, had one of those milestone birthdays – the kind that reflectively kicks off a new decade. He celebrated by recovering nicely from a gall bladder operation and immersing himself in the decade – the 1950s – in which he came of age.

He had help – including a disk-jockey with vintage, time-warp music. There were also a few evocative words from a guy from Philadelphia who grew up on doo-wop music and actually went to Bandstand. He took time out from waxing on about a military draft, hoping a new art museum wouldn’t be a neo-edgy, Frank Lloyd Wrong misfit and wondering if this is the year the county commission concedes the role of a hub city. He took the time to revel with a cause – nostalgia.

To give nostalgia its due requires a selective memory. In this case, it means forgetting about cramming for a trig test, squeezing a combative zit, recoiling from romantic rejection or explaining much of anything to your parents. Sure, your folks couldn’t fathom Clarence “Frogman” Henry and loathed Jerry Lee Lewis even before he married his 13-year-old cousin. And come to think of it, they always seemed like they wanted a son more like David Nelson, Ricky’s maturely dull sibling.

It was also an era when “Mashed Potato Time” incongruously meant burning off calories and “Get A Job” wasn’t merely a parental directive. It was a time when performers had colorful, wonderfully corny – almost chummy – names such as Fats Domino and Chubby Checker. Wonder was, there was never a Pudgy Parcheesi.

But going from Wally Cleaver to Eldridge Cleaver was an extraordinary societal transition and a unique American epoch. The hot flash crowd remembers the Cold War insecurities and sanctuaries. A-bomb drills and spelling bees. Fall-out shelters and push-up bras. Sputnik hype and sock hops. Edgar Bergen and Joe McCarthy. The Red menace and Red Skelton.

Let’s focus on a year. It’s 1959.

Dwight Eisenhower is president. Nikita Khrushchev visits the U.S. Fidel Castro takes over in Cuba. Hawaii becomes the 50th state. Vance Packard writes “The Status Seekers.” The big movies are “Ben Hur” and “La Dolce Vita.” Ingemar Johansson pummels Floyd Patterson to win the World Heavyweight Championship. The Dodgers — the Los Angeles Dodgers — defeat the Chicago White Sox of Al Lopez to win the World Series. The Baltimore Colts down the New York Giants for the NFL championship – and the 1st Super Bowl is still seven years away.

The top pop song is Bobby Darin’s “Mack The Knife” — which gives a lot of parents hope that all is not lost with the frantic likes of Little Richard and the aforementioned “Killer,” Jerry Lee Lewis. And while Philadelphia mourns the passing of Mario Lanza, South Philly’s Bobby Ridarelli, Frankie Avallone and Fabian Forte carry on the city’s crooning tradition.

Bandstand pilgrimage

It was also the year a group of 8th grade buddies (practically high school freshmen) at St. Timothy’s School in northeast Philadelphia decided to take advantage of a Catholic School holiday. We put on sport coats and ties (with tie pins); caught a bus; and took the cross-town elevated train to the nether world of West Philadelphia – home to famous, super popular, bigger-than-life Bandstand.

We arrived unfashionably early – the way tourists and nerds do – and queued up near the front of the line outside the WFIL, ABC-affiliate studio, a shockingly nondescript building in a hardscrabble neighborhood and just hoped to look 14 – and make the high-school cut. The regulars, of course, didn’t have to suffer such an indignity. They were ushered right in – after signing autographs. For the tourists.

Well, we all passed muster and were directed to the bleacher seats in a room that seemed about the size of a basketball half court. Along the way there were hand-written signs cautioning the uninitiated: proper attire required; ID might be checked; gum-chewing, loud talking and camera-hogging prohibited.

Some associate producer sort came out to reinforce the signage for the benefit of rookies and also stressed the proper, seemingly obvious, response to the flashing applause signs. The regulars talked among themselves.

This guy’s message was clear. In fact, it was brutally, condescendingly clear. In effect, he was saying: “Millions of teenagers across the country will be tuning in today – but NOT to watch you. They want to see Justine Carelli, Bob Clayton, Pat Moliteri, Carmen Jimenez, Kenny Rossi and Arlene Sullivan.

“If you MUST dance, please stay with the counter-clockwise flow and don’t look, let alone WAVE, at the camera. Try to look cool, even though we know and you know – you’re not. Central Casting didn’t send you to us, but we still let you in. Don’t make us throw you out

Amusing, on-point editorial the other day in the Tampa Tribune on clichés and hackneyed filler phrases favored by too many politicians and business leaders. It nailed some of the most irksome parlance polluters such as “wake-up calls,” “at the end of the day,” “going forward,” “it goes without saying” and “it’s not rocket science.”

But let’s not end there, lest we be accused of not thinking far enough outside the (platitude) box. There are cash cows to be milked, Kool-Aid to be drunk and pockets to be, well, out of. Doubtless, it doesn’t get much more lame than walking the walk, more unnerving than ignoring that 800-pound gorilla, more candid than owning up to whose court the ball is in and more prioritizing than grabbing all that low-hanging fruit.

And sometimes it just takes a world-class effort to avoid pro-active, hands-on envelope-pushing. The result: either a win-win situation or everything ass backwards.

But in all honesty, will any of this cutting-edge, linguistic introspection help – let alone generate traction?

Obviously, that remains to be seen.

Last week the University of South Florida’s Lecture Series brought in Aaron McGruder, the creator of the controversial comic strip/cartoon “The Boondocks.”

McGruder, who spoke to a gathering of approximately 500, gave no prepared speech – instead engaging the crowd in a question-and-answer session.

A more typical “lecture” presentation, especially those that command $25,000 fees, is a prepared address followed by some Q&A. To go right to the Q&A means no preparation time for that 25 K. A great deal if you can get it. He got it.

Remember the front page? You know, the really important stuff making headlines across your morning newspaper.

If there were a recent story more unworthy of page-one, above-the-fold status than the dumpster-diving at Mel Sembler’s, then it was surely the bloated feature about long lines for PlayStation at a Best Buy store. One ( St. Petersburg Times ) seemed a blatant device to pump up circulation, the other ( Tampa Tribune ) Exhibit A for the trivialization of the news.

“With all due respect,” Mr. Dangerfield.

Ever notice how often that rhetorical device seeps into the line of questioning — especially of an authority figure? It was never more apparent than at President George W. Bush’s day-after press conference last week. More than a few Washington press corps queries — and follow-ups — had that same preface.

Just out of curiosity, when was the last time that phrase was ever followed by anything even remotely resembling respect?

Last week the top grossing, as it were, movie was “Borat: Cultural Learning of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan” at $26.8 million. I have no plans made for to see it.

Not that the critics are panning it. Quite the contrary. Across the board, those, for example, representing the New York Times, Boston Globe, Philadelphia Inquirer, Atlanta Journal-Constitution, USA Today, St. Petersburg Times, Entertainment Weekly and Metacritic.com have rated it “Don’t miss.”

So maybe this is my loss, but I’ll chance it. I was ultimately deterred after reading the review by Bob Ross of the Tampa Tribune, who thought “Borat” worthy of a B+ — whatever that means these days.

“If racial slurs, gratuitous nudity (we’re talking nude male wrestling) and disgusting body-waste jokes nauseate you, don’t come to this one without a barf bag,” suggested Ross.

Thanks for the bag-of-barf head’s up, Bob, as well as further convincing that I’m an alien in my own mainstream culture.

It is over, isn’t it?

Apparently we’ve all survived another cycle of campaign waterboarding -cheap-shot, political attack ads that demonize opponents and insult voters. And don’t forget direct mail detritus and the loop of interrupting, pre-recorded “robo calls” that make telemarketers sound sincere. Well, almost.

But now the people have taken a collective shower and spoken. Or at least the minority that weren’t too lazy or indifferent or clueless or disgusted to vote have done so.

That voters in this country are more renown for tuning out than turning out is an American irony and hypocrisy, given the United States’ efforts to bring democracy to other places – notably the kind with warlords and religious clans.

So, in addition to bringing back serious civics courses in our schools and instituting meaningful campaign-finance overhaul, what else can be done to foment more interest in important elections? Shy, that is, of political parody from Barbra Streisand.

Arguably, more than good intentions. That’s the purview of editorial pages, the League of Women Voters, community television and PBS.

Since we are a media immersed, celebrity-driven culture, that means going pragmatic. As in infotainment journalism. Cable TV pundits and talk radio partisans.

Enter Chris Matthews of MSNBC’s “Hardball” fame, who moderated last week’s gubernatorial debate on WFLA-Channel 8 among Charlie Crist, Jim Davis and Max Linn. Besides a reputation for an in-your-face inquiry style, Matthews also brought the prospect of higher visibility. Indeed, the debate drew more viewers than that 7-8:00 p.m time slot normally gets with “Entertainment Tonight” and “Extra.” Moreover, it doubled the audience in the Tampa market for the first debate, which was televised on PBS affiliates.

That obviously wasn’t upside enough for everyone. Not when politics is involved. Matthews is not from here; his buzz-saw style grates on some; he looks like he’d be more comfortable exchanging zingers from a bar stool; and he’s not, in his heart of hearts, ideologically bipartisan. Even if no one else is either.

Granted, the Peace Corps alum and former Tip O’Neill aide and Jimmy Carter speechwriter tilts to the left, but he’s no Al Franken or Michael Moore. He’s not the liberal counterpart to Sean Hannity, Rush Limbaugh or Bill O’Reilly. Sort of a gregarious, smart-alecky Tim Russert. He’s down on the war in Iraq, but so are a lot of folks. He’s also down on political correctness run amok. He also liked George Bush – in 2000.

His aggressive manner can make for good television. But he can be a frontrunner’s political nightmare. After the Crist campaign understandably balked initially at the prospect of Matthews as wild-card moderator, the rules were modified and the more informal, “Hardballesque” discussion format jettisoned. The candidates were granted podiums. The questions and follow-ups were Matthews’.

Were they ever. And they were, frankly, more the issue than style.

Matthews did not use his time – an hour less commercial breaks and mini lectures on debate decorum to Max Linn – wisely. The critical statewide issues are taxes, insurance and education. Then add growth management, transportation, oil drilling, economic diversification and illegal immigrants. There’s your future-of-Florida debate.Philosophical underpinnings relating to Terry Schiavo and gay marriage are hardly irrelevant, just less pertinent — and more likely to result in political theater.

Right out of the blocks came a question about Iraq. If nothing else, it put Crist immediately on the defensive for what was – despite Floridians’ service and fatalities – a foreign policy question. It opened up the hyper-critical, “stay the course” floodgates for Davis.

Immediately following was one on civil unions and then a gotcha query about what kind of “conservative” and “liberal” Crist and Davis, respectively, were. Each, to his credit, deftly dodged a narrow labeling. Clearly these were questions more geared to a national “Hardball” audience than Floridians trying to assess gubernatorial bona fides. Later came questions on the election of 2000, Mark Foley and Schiavo. And trite requests to grade Gov. Jeb Bush and President George Bush. A Marion Barry reference directed at Crist was uncalled for.

Sure, there were badgering, “show me the money” questions when it came to fixing the property-insurance and property-tax crises, but nothing about preparing Floridians to compete more effectively in the global economy – given this state’s reputation as a bottom-dweller on standardized-test scores. The FCAT was referenced — typically by Davis — but as part of a “bridge” answer to a different question.

As to style, Matthews’ manner wasn’t anything that a candidate for the highest office in the state should not have been able to handle. Call it a mild mettle detector. It helps to be quick on your rhetorical feet. And you need to handle hectoring with specifics – whether it’s about statewide funding sources, a “paper trail” or where murder fits in the context of (otherwise) declining crime statistics.

There’s a place for Chris Matthews in important debates with national implications, because there’s a place for a format that doesn’t give politicians carte blanche to tap dance around tough questions and constantly “bridge” to their talking points and slam lines. But last week there was also a responsibility for Matthews to have prepared more with Floridians in mind than a national “Hardball” audience craving their political-entertainment fix.

The ground rules provided for a post-debate candidate availability in the breezeway between the Tampa Tribune and WFLA-TV 8 buildings. Such ritualistic gatherings – including significant handlers and prominent partisans – have their own bizarre dynamic: another example of the sausage syndrome. Some things you just don’t want to see in process. Just the final product: In this case, the requisite debate-reaction spin quotes integrated into tomorrow morning’s newspaper or tonight’s film at 11.

First out was Linn, an astute move. A concentric media circle about five deep raucously engulfed him. He had about three exclusive minutes to rail on about encroaching socialism, third party viability and the donation of the salary he won’t get when he’s not elected governor.

Then massive defections and dispersal brought on by the appearance of former Senator and Governor Bob (“Linn made for a more combative atmosphere”) Graham, Gov. Jeb (“