Unplugged

The search for real news, plus my weekly shareables: Sturgill returns, HOMICIDE returns, and stamps in the form of a question

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

First up, a few quick DOGLAND notes, including two new event announcements:

—Remember that I’m in Athens, GA (woof woof woof) on Wednesday for a book event at ATHICA, sponsored by Avid Bookshop. I’ll be joined by my brilliant friend John T. Edge, who will introduce me and moderate the event. If you’re in or around the Classic City, come on by.

—I’ll be doing a session at this year’s On The Same Page Festival in Ashe County, NC between Sept. 17-20. I don’t think they’ve released the official schedule yet, so I’ll let everyone know soon as I know for sure. I’ve done On The Same Page before—it’s an excellent festival in a beautiful setting.

—Here’s one I’ve been holding onto for a while and am thrilled to announce … I’ll be one of four featured authors at the Opus and Olives Gala in St. Paul, Minnesota, on Oct. 13. This is a big fundraiser for the Friends of the Saint Paul Public Library, so I’m doubly honored to be a part of it. I love the Twin Cities … especially before the snow comes.

Oh, and one other thing … my friend Tom snapped this photo at my favorite bookstore, Charlotte’s own Park Road Books:

The choice is yours, America.

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I had a conversation with a friend Tuesday afternoon. Along the way she mentioned something she felt a little embarrassed about: she had just found out that President Biden had decided not to run for re-election. This was nearly 48 hours after Biden announced his choice—48 hours of breaking news alerts and front-page banner headlines and pretty much continual coverage on every news station.

My friend is not a person who tries to avoid the news. She was just dealing with a couple of family things, and working long days, and when she got home she flopped down and put on some music instead of watching TV or scrolling on her phone.

In a lot of ways, I envied her.

The Biden-Trump debate, the assassination attempt on Trump, Biden stepping out of the race, and Kamala Harris becoming the Democratic candidate have jammed about five years of history into four weeks. This tweeter got it right:

I work in the news business, so for nearly 40 years I have been on call in one way or another when breaking news happens. I’ve been awakened from peaceful dreams or robbed of lazy weekends by editors’ calls—everything from a plane crash, to the death of someone famous, to a president deciding he should not run again.

Half the time, I already know the basics. Sometimes I make the call myself. It does me a world of good to get out of the daily chatter whenever I can, but my rat brain keeps wanting to check email or social media, wondering when the next thing will happen, because the next thing always happens.

I don’t know if I will ever retire from journalism. But one day I would like to retire that feeling of always being on alert for breaking news. Because what I’d really like is to be on alert for real news.

What’s the real news? My favorite explanation comes from poet David Tucker, who was also a longtime newspaper editor and understands the rhythm of a newsroom.

When I think about the real news, I think about his poem “And This Just In”:

Those footfalls on the stairs when the night shift went home,
the sunlight fanning through the dinosaur’s rib cage,
the janitor’s sneeze – we’re asking questions,
we’d like to know more.

The moth in the clock tower at city hall,
the 200th generation to sleep there – we may banner the story
across page one. And in Metro we’re leading
with the yawn that traveled city council chambers
this morning, then slipped into the streets
and wound through the city. The editorial page
will decry the unaccountable boredom
that overtook everyone around three in the afternoon.
Features praises the slowness of moonlight
making its way around the house, staying
an hour in each chair, the inertia
of calendars not turned since winter.

A watchman humming in the parking lot
at Broad and Market – we have that –
with a sidebar on the bronze glass
of a whiskey bottle cracking into cheap jewels
under his boots. A boy walking across the ball field
an hour after the game – we’re covering that silence.
We have reporters working hard, we’re getting
to the bottom of all of it.

Man, I love that poem. Tapping into the real news is not about being unplugged. It’s about being plugged into the things that matter.

10 things I wanted to share this week:

1. My weekly for WFAE (rewritten on deadline!) was about President Biden, and the cruelty of time.

2. I really enjoyed being on the Rev. James Howell’s podcast, MAYBE I’M AMAZED. We talked about DOGLAND, writing, ideas, and a whole lot more.

3. My friend Jonathan Abrams went to the International African American Museum in Charleston … and learned a lot about his family history. (NYT)

4. I’ve already mentioned Evan Ratliff’s podcast SHELL GAME here—it’s about how he cloned his own voice, attached it to AI, and sent it out into the world—but I just have to highlight the latest episode, which ends up with one fake Evan talking to another fake Evan … and they start making plans to hang out. (I should stress here that none of this is made up.)

5. The answer is: My next big purchase at the post office. (Mashes buzzer) What are Alex Trebek stamps?

6. What a lovely tribute by the NYT’s Gail Collins to her husband, Dan. The ending, especially, is perfect.

7. HOMICIDE is finally streaming! Can’t wait for some quality time with Pemberton in the box. (Hollywood Reporter)

8. The oral history of SYNCHRONICITY, the brilliant album that basically killed off the Police. (Washington Post)

9. When I decided to name this post “Unplugged,” it made me think of all the MTV UNPLUGGED episodes I loved so much in the ‘90s. Here’s a highlight: Chris Isaak’s “Wicked Game.”
   

10. I’ve been spending some time this week with PASSAGE DU DESIR, the new album by Sturgill Simpson (under the pseudonym Johnny Blue Skies). It’s a showcase for Sturgill’s mastery of so many styles: traditional country (“Who I Am,”), indie-rock ballads (“Jupiter’s Faerie”), ‘70s R&B (“If the Sun Never Rises Again”), even a Jimmy Buffett vibe (“Scooter Blues”). The lyrics are, for the most part, deeply sad—breakups and suicided and existential longing. But like the best sad music, it’s also cathartic. And just hearing Sturgill’s voice out in the world again is a pleasure and a relief.
    
    Have a great week, everybody.

—TT