Must-steer-clear TV

When did Fox News become default viewing in every public place in America?

This isn't a political question — at least, not really. The channel of choice in communal spaces used to be ESPN. Even if you don't care for sports, it's hard to hate ESPN. Whether with volume or muted, it's perfect atmosphere TV. 

Fox News fails in that regard. At best (when muted), it makes for terrible atmosphere TV. At worst, it's divisive, factually dubious partisan fare. Everything like it tends to be avoided in mixed company. So who decided that it had to replace sports everywhere?

When businesses blare the radio, for the most part they adhere to safe hit stations. The object isn't necessarily to attract music aficionados so much as to avoid irritating anyone. I'd say flipping on Fox News is like blasting a divisive genre of music like country or rap, but those forms are often likened to the CNN of their respective camps — and Fox News is no CNN.

And it's certainly no ESPN. Hear that, lobbies of America? 

Observations ascertained from driving 2,100 miles in three days through the great American southwest

• Driving 2,100 miles in three days is an absolutely insane idea.

• I'm increasingly awesome at packing a car. I'm increasingly wanting to never pack a car again.

• By the time I got to Tyler, Texas, one of my rear bumper-skirt brackets had broken and was hanging toward the ground. I had come to terms with the potential severe damage that could cause to my (or someone else's) car before it occurred to me in Amarillo to Macgyver it with some plastic zip-ties. As far as I'm concerned, it's fixed forever.

• In Tyler, my mom and I ate at Bodacious Bar B Que, a joint I remembered fondly from going there once in 1995. Surprisingly, they didn't remember me. That hurt.

• The speed limit for most of the trip was 75. That's beautiful, as long as the wind isn't blowing. Everything has a catch.

• At our first hotel, the toilet flooded on the first flush. I called for maintenance, only to be told that there was no maintenance working that night. I asked for a plunger and the desk clerk said they didn't have a plunger. She offered us a new room. I accepted but informed her that the toilet was still surging and was likely to flood the room. After several seconds of thought, this clicked with her. "OH!" She rushed to find a plunger. When she returned a few minutes later, plunger in hand, she asked me why I was there. I pointed to the plunger. "OH!"

• On the highway in New Mexico, we passed a police officer with his gun drawn. The motorist he pulled over was dropping a handgun, presumably by request.

• My mom must have asked me 45 times how to spell Albuquerque. I happily obliged every time, because I know how to spell Albuquerque and I want everyone to know it. Thanks, Weird Al and Roxanne! Albuquerque!

• I learned the hard way (and almost the hardest way possible) that the 2 and L gears on my automatic transmission are for braking the engine down steep slopes instead of the opposite of that. By all scientific accounts, I should be stranded in New Mexico right now. (On the bright side, my car is officially through puberty now.)

• At some point, there was a freshly dead deer on the road. Mom wanted me to immortalize that.

• Arizona's definition of "rough road" is just adorable.

• My goal of reaching Flagstaff by the end of the second day of driving was nearly as dead as I was — that is, until we saw the motel options available to us where we stopped. The mental caffeine of fear that resulted was more than enough to propel us to the promised land.

• "It's not as if it's going to rain or something." Yes, Clark, it did. In fact, it's stormed both times I've been to Arizona, 14 years apart. After the downpour knocked out the hotel's wi-fi and I blamed myself for bringing the weather, the clerk thanked me because "we needed the rain." You're welcome, I guess?

• Mom and I stopped at the Hoover Dam, on occasion of my first-ever trip into Nevada. Because I had so much stuff packed in my car, buried under a Saints blanket, I was subject to a search by several security agents. As they approached, Mom began jokingly calling me Clark. (Griswold references haven't stopped yet on this trip, and every one of them is appropriate.) After I explained to them that I was moving to Reno and a closed box contained my modem and a Wii, they let me go. I parked in the wrong parking lot and realized afterward that it was in California. That meant a lot to me.

• Mom took a lot of dam pictures of me. She declined my offer to take any dam pictures of her.

• We crossed paths with a girl who collapsed from what I thought was heatstroke. As it turns out, she had injured her leg and was otherwise OK. "That's a relief," I said to Mom. Really, Ian?

• Despite its breathtaking mountain view, the stretch of highway between Las Vegas and Reno is a hellpit of despair and nothingness that makes you appreciate speed traps, the majesty of freak flash floods and the sensation of not-wind, just because they break up the monotony.

• During this stretch, my sister called and asked how the trip was going. "DON'T EVER DRIVE HERE!" I yelled toward the phone. "Fly in! FLY!!"

• At one stop, a woman who'd driven down from Reno strongly suggested I not continue my travels, because a hailstorm and a bad accident virtually guaranteed I'd get stuck in the void. Bummed out by this advice, I decided to ignore it. Aside from some initial concern and a police officer who waved me through some mud, I encountered absolutely no obstacles (and saw no wreck) and made it all the way to Reno. I learned something from this: never trust the locals. Sound advice.

• When your town's store's name is "The General Store," you're probably safe from encroaching Walmarts.

• I made only two wrong turns on the entire trip — until I got to Reno, when I promptly made 75. Our first peek at the bright casino lights of downtown Reno was when I was trying to find my way back to the highway, by which time Mom and I were both cranky as hell.

• Both Reno's and Lafayette's public-radio stations are on the same frequency — 88.7 FM. That's one fewer preset I have to redo.

• Everything in the mountains is beautiful. Everything. I'm excited to be here.

• We will never take a toilet for granted again.

The free price of friendliness

Yesterday, I found myself at a crowded walk-in clinic. It was so packed that some people were standing outside because, in their own words, they were worried about the fire marshal.

The check-in window had two lines. As I waited in the left slot for a friendly nurse to process me, a very grouchy woman beside her called for the next person. I stepped aside to let the guy behind me step up, smiling politely. The woman glared at me and barked, "YOU STAY WHERE YOU ARE!" Smile instantly ripped off my face, I stepped back exactly where I was going to step even before this grump decided I was an unruly 5-year-old.

It's not that I take it personally, because I realize this woman deals with calamity every day. But is it really necessary to act this way? I've been on her side of similar calamities in my life and I found that how it panned out depended hugely on my attitude. If I let things get to me, then I barked at other people; but if I made a point of keeping my cool, everything turned out fine, with the added benefit of lifting some people's moods. Which, in turn, would further lift mine.

Such surliness is an unfortunate consequence of economics, as I've seen time and again. The less privileged one is, the more likely they are to patronize overcrowded and underfunded facilities of any kind. There, the staff is likely to think of them as uneducated cattle in need of herding. This makes it a difficult experience for everyone involved. It's something that most well-to-do people aren't likely to encounter or understand. And yet, it's such an inextricable part of life for struggling people that its effect can't be dismissed. Such treatment is part of a reality where indignity is the price of being broke.

Being nice doesn't cost anything, but it might make life richer for those most in need of a smile.

New Rules

Rule #235: Race to judgment

If you're about to share an "unreported" story of black-on-white crime as a way of exposing the bias of the media, don't. This goes double if the picture shows the assailant heading to jail. The fact that such a picture exists is proof that it's nothing like the Trayvon Martin case. It's also telling if the crime is considered a "hate crime" when no suspects have been arrested. As determined as you are to make that point, you should at least have a story that backs it up (not just one you wish did).

Rule #236: Fantasy football

Everything the pundits are saying about the upcoming NFL season will eventually be ridiculously outdated. No one ever gets it right. Take it for what it is: time-killing conjecture by people who should get more into baseball.

Rule #237: The first rule everyone can agree upon

Spinal cords and nerves should be able to regenerate.

Old New Rules

Live-blogging the royal birth

It's a hot day today in Lafayette. We've had some scattered showers and that only added to the stifling humidity. Just the act of hauling my bicycle from the car to the storage shed was enough to make me feel like I'd ridden it for 20 miles.

After that I visited my mom at work and discussed with her some pressing matters. Then I came home, ate a plum and read stuff on the Internet. But not too much stuff, because it can mess with your head, especially if you take it at face value. I often have to remind myself that the people most eager to rant online are those with the worst things to say. Come to think of it, I am the author of thousands of Internet pieces. What does that say about me? I can only speculate.

I have a box of Reese's Puffs cereal next to my laptop. It reminds me of Peanut Butter Crunch. Once in the 1980s (I think it was 1987), I got a new plastic foot truck and a box of Peanut Butter Crunch from Kmart. I spent the afternoon sitting on the truck, munching on the cereal and watching a rerun of Sanford and Son. Why do I still remember that? I can only speculate.

This box of Reese's Puffs had in it a Minion toy from Despicable Me 2. It's cute. I'm glad my brother has kids so I could know the joy of these films. 

Is it just me, or do sequel titles seem especially clunky this year? Despicable Me 2. Red 2. Kick-Ass 2. The Smurfs 2. Grown-Ups 2. I get that it's a brand thing, but all of those titles should have stood alone. I'm sure I could come up with better sequel monikers that pay tribute to and improve upon the originals, but this is supposed to be a live blog. For now, there's only time to speculate about those potential titles.

Speaking of titles: one of my first sports of interest as a kid was boxing. In boxing, when you beat the champion, you become the champion. So I thought all sports were like that. I wondered what the point of the Super Bowl was if the title would just transfer the first time the winner lost the next season. Fortunately my brother explained it to me before the World Series and the NBA Finals had a chance to make my head explode.

Oh, Dennis Farina died. That sucks. Such a great actor and only 69 years old. I remember some local band when I was in college taking a picture of Farina looking like the Dos Equis man and making flier art out of it. Made me laugh. R.I.P., D. You almost definitely outlasted that band.

Nate Silver is leaving the New York Times to work for ESPN. Why? Apparently we can only speculate. I, for one, am excited. His first order of business should be to tell everyone exactly how the 2013 NFL season will pan out. I need to know whether or not to buy the premium channels I'll need to catch Saints games this fall.

My guess on the royal birth: it will be a boy. Or a girl. No speculating there.

Talk about a twist

George Zimmerman helps family of four emerge from truck wreck

Good for him for helping those people. ABC's account suggests that he did so as a bystander and not as someone looking for extra press coverage. I can respect that.

But that's all there should be to this particular story. Anyone wanting to hold it up as proof that Zimmerman was a good guy all along should reconsider. I don't doubt he has a compassionate side, even if it's overshadowed by a tragic zeal. But I still think he wasn't held properly accountable for his admitted killing of an unarmed teenager. 

That said, the threats against Zimmerman are equally zealous. The system says he's a free man, at least for now, and two wrongs won't make a right. Place the blame where it belongs: with the legal system, not the man.

Either way, this story isn't a game-changer. It simply is what it is.

Commatose

Anybody who knows me can tell you I'm no fan of the Oxford comma. (At least, those who language-know me, which is still most people.) If you don't know, the Oxford comma is the punctuation mark that goes before the final item in list of two or more. For example, "Red, white, and blue."

For most of my life, I preferred the Oxford comma. As early as second grade, when our teacher let us do commas either way, I was a fervent Oxford partisan. But beliefs have a way of evolving over time — sometimes — and upon entering the wide, magic world of journalism, so did my comma stance.

Print journalism adheres most commonly to Associated Press style, which snubs the Oxford comma in most cases. AP style in general (with a few frustrating exceptions) favors brevity in copy, and people in our field use that style over and over and over and over. After enough time both writing and editing, I went from loving the Oxford comma to wishing it would drown in its own ink. That feeling suited me perfectly for graduate school English courses.

(For those of you who have never taken a graduate English course, that was a literary device called "irony.")

The debate still crops up from time to time among my friends — many of whom are teachers, librarians and other language people — and I'm usually very, very lonely. I understand why, because not only does literature not conform to AP style, but the comma has uses in particular situations.

This Mental Floss article touches on some of the most-cited examples, pro and con. I see the case for the Oxford comma in the pros and its clunkiness in the cons. However, most of those sentences also aren't journalistic, and some need to be rewritten regardless of context. Here's how I would redo some of those sentences to avoid the Oxford issue in the first place:

Mental Floss: "She took a photograph of her parents, the president, and the vice president." 

Me: "She took a photograph of her parents as they met the president and vice president."

MF: "Those at the ceremony were the commodore, the fleet captain, the donor of the cup, Mr. Smith, and Mr. Jones."

Me: "Those at the ceremony were the commodore, the fleet captain, Mr. Smith, Mr. Jones and the donor of the cup, Mr. Cupdonor."

MF: "Zinovieff shot over five hundred of the bourgeoisie at a stroke—nobles, professors, officers, journalists, men and women."

Me: "Zinovieff allegedly shot more than 500 bourgeoisie men and women. Among the victims were nobles, professors, officers and journalists."

MF: "There are certain places where for the sake of clarity and good form the presence of a comma is obligatory, but on the other hand a too liberal use of this form of punctuation tends to slow up the pace of the reading matter and to create confusion and hesitancy in the mind of the reader."

Me: "Oxford commas. Just more keys to stroke."

MF: "This book is dedicated to my parents, Ayn Rand and God"

(Family functions must be excruciatingly awkward.)

Me: "This book is dedicated to Ayn Rand, God and my parents."

MF: "By train, plane and sedan chair, Peter Ustinov retraces a journey made by Mark Twain a century ago. The highlights of his global tour include encounters with Nelson Mandela, an 800-year-old demigod and a dildo collector."

Me: "By train, plane and sedan chair, Peter Ustinov retraces a journey made by Mark Twain a century ago. The highlights of his global tour include encounters with an 800-year-old demigod, a dildo collector and Nelson Mandela."

See? Oxford comma or not, no confusion there. Writing!