Do They Ever Listen To Themselves?

It's no surprise that the phrase "broadcast journalism" is an oxymoron. But the so-called reporters ability to even use the English language seems to be getting worse every day.

If they'd take a few moments to listen to themselves maybe things would improve.

Latest egregious phrasing: Reporting on the successful completion of the Wounded Warrior's trek to the South Pole, this clown said: "They trained for the worst, and they got it. Rough terrain, storms, extreme cold made the South Pole seem like the end of the earth."

You want to play that again? The south pole isthe end of the earth. There's no "seems" about it.

A small thing, you might think. But the fact is, these idiots have contributed more to the dumbing down of America than all the text abreviations ever devised.

............Bit isn't 'the end of the earth' in America? .....like everything else   (Except 'Middle Earth' and everyone knows that is here in NZ) .

Friend Wife is one of those people who can't stand a totally quiet room, so the TV goes on to provide white noise. Every once in a while, as in this case, something penetrates and I pay attention. 

I bask if I find myself in a room with only the sound of a quietly ticking clock.

Funny story about birds et als.

First time my sister came to visit she complained about all the noise. Understand, she lived on the flight path of the Concorde at the time; you could watch it drop it's articulated nose from her living room. Then it thundered by, maybe 200 feet over her apartment.

Innocent me inquired, "what noise?"

"For starters," was her serious reply, "can't you do something about that gurgling creek? And the damned crickets?"

But the killer was the owl that had taken up residence in one of our trees. It kept up a conversation with another one up on the hillside. She was convinced that any minute that "noisy" owl was gonna come in through a window and attack her.

Iknow people who would pay big bucks for a vacation that included a gurgling creek, and crickets, and an owl outside the window. Maybe if I'd have charged her rent she'd have appreciated it.

Mebbe so, Darko.

But, somehow or other, romantic literature isn't filled with references to the bucolic sounds of the airport.

When our son, who lived in Chicago at the time, came home for a visit he'd complain about not being able to sleep because it was so quiet.

That I could understand. His subconscious missed the sounds of sirens, and gunshots, and traffic, and the constant buzz made by thousands of people.

Impressive hardly describes it, Dave. I mean, when that super-sonic praying mantis drops its articulated nose it's really something.

I'd just druther see it as a silent movie.