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Update #1: The Komen Foundation backed down from its previous blackballing of Planned Parenthood cancer screening services—or did it?
Update #2: In yesterday’s rant about the Komen fiasco, I mentioned how the organization had attracted negative comments even before this. But I failed to provide a good link to those previous criticisms.
Here’s such a link. It goes to the trailer for Pink Ribbons, Inc., a National Film Board of Canada documentary investigating the group. It opened today in Canadian theaters; a Stateside run starts in March.
Director Lea Pool’s film (based on Samantha King’s 2006 book) had, of course, been shot, edited, and scheduled long before this week’s right-wing cave-in by Komen management.
The film’s gist: Komen management allegedly cares a lot more about promoting itself, attracting corporate partners, selling branded merchandise, and, of course, raising money than it is about detection, treatment, or “the cure.”
All-new item: A Seattle gun merchant announced a Komen-authorized pink handgun. Komen management now denies any authorization, involvement, or even pre-knowledge of this.
More sordid details keep emerging about the Komen Foundation cave-in to the right wing sleaze campaign against Planned Parenthood.
At least one top Komen official had resigned in protest over the scheme. Other insiders report Komen bosses had been maneuvering behind the scenes to rewrite its bylaws, to explicitly allow defunding PP’s cancer-screening programs.
Komen’s leaders, who appear to be the sort of folk who only listen to conservative-only “news” media, actually thought this would settle down.
Then again, people who’ve followed the Komen organization before all this have described an outfit that spends relatively little on screenings, treatments, or research, and a lot on marketing and corporate promo tie-ins and forging ties with conservative power players.
seattle times, nov. 24, 2001; 8 wide sections for 25 cents
The Seattle Times suddenly raised its cover price to $1 today. Retailers had been notified in advance, but readers hadn’t. Not even a bottom-front-page “To Our Readers” notice. The paper’s corporate website still lists a single copy price of $.75.
What does the extra quarter get you? Not more content. Tuesday’s paper was a recent record-low 24 pages. It had been this thin a few times in the past couple of years, but only on Mondays or post-holiday Tuesdays (i.e., days without stock listings). When you factor in today’s narrower page sizes, the SeaTimes hasn’t been this small since the days of WWII paper rationing.
I hadn’t noticed when it happened, but the Sunday Pacific Northwest Magazine section now appears to be printed on cheaper paper, the same kind of stock used by the Varsity Theater film calendar.
Meanwhile, the paper’s editorial staff has completed moving into the former furniture warehouse next to the 13 Coins restaurant. Other departments (ad sales, circulation, management) will move in as their new, smaller office spaces get installed. For now, the John Street front office and mailing address remain.
•
To try to quantify the paper’s shrinkage, I’ve been looking up its past online staff-directory pages, as maintained at the Wayback Machine site (web.archive.org).
But first, let’s review the page’s current incarnation. It lists 134 editorial employees (not counting a few executives listed twice). These include 35 local news reporters and columnists (including two listed as “on leave” (unpaid)), 35 reporters and writers in the paper’s other sections, and 12 photographers.
This is the same as the final Post-Intelligencer staff list from early 2009. (The P-I had a couple more people in some sections, a couple fewer in others; but the total’s alike.)
Remember, the print P-I didn’t put out a Sunday paper, and hadn’t since 1983. The same staffing level at today’s Times is thus spread more thinly. Especially since the Times continues to support long, research-heavy, Sunday “cover stories.”
On Jan. 15, 2009, near the time of the print P-I‘s end, the Times staff page listed 150 editorial staffers. These included 37 local news reporters/columnists, 45 writers in the other sections, and 15 photographers. The Times was about to decimate its weekday “living” section, a move planned before the P-I closure was announced.
In contrast, the Times staff page for Dec. 4, 2001 boasts a whopping 281 names.
But this difference seems even more drastic than it is.
That’s because the 2001 staff page lists several job categories that got dropped from the page in later years. They include 10 “news artists” (map makers and illustrators), plus a total of 80 copy editors, wire editors, page-layout designers, researchers, and other assistants.
The P-I‘s 2009 staff page listed four artists and 36 of these other assorted personnel. Today’s Times probably employs at least that many or more, what with all the Sunday and Sunday-preview pages to fill with wire and syndicated matter.
In an apples-to-apples comparison, the 2001 Times employed 53 local news reporters and columnists, 66 writers in the other sections, and 15 photographers.
Those included separate Eastside and Snohomish County bureaus.
They also included such now exotic sounding job titles as “home economist” (recipes editor), “assistant metro editor, metro growth,” and “director, brand and content development.”
Also remember that in a 2006 lawsuit, the P-I (which was then trying to stay in business, despite its unfortunate position in a Times-controlled Joint Operating Agreement) alleged that Times management employed more people than it had to, so the Times could claim it was losing money and thus legally kill the JOA (and with it, the P-I).
During the JOA, the Times had to share profits with the P-I.
Now the Times gets to shoulder its losses alone. (Be careful what you etc. etc.)
webpronews.com
The premise of Soul Train was elevator-pitch simple: an American Bandstand for soul music. A hip but authoritative producer/host. Kids, dressed in the latest teen fashions, dancing in a studio to the latest hits. Two or more in-person guests each show, performing live or lip-syncing.
Anybody in the industry, including Bandstand impresario Dick Clark, could have launched such a show.
But nobody had (on a national level) until Cornelius came along.
Cornelius had been a news reader and backup DJ on Chicago radio, and had hosted teen “record hops” in the area. He started Soul Train on a local Chicago TV station in 1970. The following year, it moved to syndication (and to Hollywood). Within a year from that, it was on in 25 cities.
By 1974, when its theme song “TSOP” became a top 10 hit, it was an institution. It easily buried the rival show Soul Unlimited (Dick Clark’s imitation of Cornelius’s imitation of Bandstand).
For two more decades, the show was the showcase for soul, R&B, and the emerging hiphop and breakdance scenes.
By 1993, rap and its related dance moves had steadily gotten more “hardcore,” far from Cornelius’s personal tastes. He hired a series of replacement hosts while continuing to own and run the show, which aired on fewer stations in more obscure time slots.
Soul Train wound to a close in 2006. Reruns aired for another couple of years. After that, Cornelius sold the rights to an outside company, which has put out DVD sets and a YouTube clip channel. (Cornelius had tried to keep Soul Train performances off the Internet, employing staff to hunt down, and order the deletion of, any such clips.)
In his later years, the man who’d preached prosocial messages to his young audiences was accused of domestic violence by his estranged second wife.
But the legacy of his career shines on.
“And as always in parting, we wish you love, peace, and soul!”
crypt-orchid.blogspot.com
Today marks David Letterman’s 30th anniversary on late night TV.
Appropriately enough, his principal guest last night was Bill Murray, the first guest on both his NBC (1982) and CBS (1993) premieres.
When the NBC Late Night with David Letterman began, it was a breath of fresh air. It was knowing, it was snide, it respected its audience’s intelligence and its love of the bizarre.
The premiere opened with Calvert DeForrest (descendent of radio pioneer Lee DeForrest) reciting a “be very afraid” spiel in front of the Rainbow Room peacock dancers (yes, female “peacocks,” an actual attraction at the rooftop lounge in the RCA (now GE) Building).
Then came the first mini monologue and the first studio comedy bit (a backstage tour). The Murray segment ended with him and the host suddenly leaving the stage, and the screen switching to old film of the 1973 World Series.
That first episode ended with a comedian reciting the opening scene from an obscure Bela Lugosi movie. By the time I saw that bit, I knew I’d be a fan for life.
Letterman, the self-spoofing, genre-busting insurgent, is now the establishment, and has been for some time.
A persona that was once hip-to-be-square is now the grand old curmuddgeon. In this respect, he has become more like his onetime occasional foil Harvey Pekar (as seen above).
A collection of shticks that playfully (or awkwardly) toyed with the established celebrity-talk format has become a well-tuned programming machine, that regularly disseminates well-scrubbed guests plugging their films/shows/CDs.
Little comedy bits that had been cute and playful are now trotted out with slick animated openings and pompous fanfares. More of them these days are pre-taped or assembled from news footage, instead of acted out on stage.
The biggest flaw in Letterman’s current formula is the 12:15 a.m. commercial break, following the first guest spot. It runs between five and eight minutes, stopping the whole proceedings. It essentially begs viewers to shut ‘er down and hit the hay.
Still, there are worse fates to befall a creative performer than to become the sort of bigtime mainstream institution he had once scoffed.
Letterman could have grown old much less gracefully.
Like Leno.
PS: Here are some Letterman guest spots that one entertainment site considers classics. At least one actually is an all-time moment—a totally laugh-free, in-character Andy Kaufman spot from Letterman’s 1980 morning show.
PPS: Letterman began his career on Indianapolis TV in the early 1970s. The ill-fated, Seattle-born actress Frances Farmer ended her career in the same place and time. If I ever meet him, I’ll ask if he’d ever met her.
freecabinporn.com
The law, in its majestic equality, forbids the rich as well as the poor to sleep under bridges.
boxx corp.
…play their parts in an implausible story of a world that could never exist, acting out nonexistent conflicts while delivering dialog that insults the intelligence. That’s not because they’re stupid. It’s because they think you are.
(from the Tacoma News Tribune):
An item on Page A2 of Wednesday’s paper incorrectly stated that it was singer Etta James’ 74th birthday. James died last week.
delamar apartments (built 1909); from queen anne historical society