013 - Good News Is No News
How to jive and strive to stay alive in '25 (SPOILER ALERT: we're not fucked)
While catching up with an old college friend at a party in Long Island City over the weekend, he confided in me that he voted for Trump. Before I had a chance to respond he had already launched into a defense for his decision: “You know I’ve voted blue my whole life, but the Dems really lost me this time, and they forced Kamala on us without a primary, and it’s not like I LOVE Trump, but I think he can cut a deal to end these wars, and I’m a New Yorker so my vote doesn’t even —”
I stopped him mid-sentence — “That’s fine, I don’t care” — and asked him to describe what it felt like to hold his adorable newborn daughter in his arms for the first time. As a proud father of zero, I have no clue.
Talking to another friend in the DC-area on Sunday night by phone, he told me he was losing sleep over the incoming administration, that we’re about to witness in the “final season of America,” that he’s become physical ill at the thought of Pete Hegseth’s confirmation as defense secretary, that he’s worried his —
I stopped him mid-sentence and asked him to describe what it felt like to watch his beloved Washington football team upset Detroit as they make their first serious championship run since 1992. As a proud fan of the Jets, I have no clue.
There is a prevailing sense among just about everyone I know — regardless of politics, religious background, geographic location, marital status or socioeconomic situation — that, to put it lightly, we’re fucked.
I used to think that, too. For most of my 40 years, in fact. Growing up in the still-nascent era of the 24-hour news cycle as the son of two political science majors, lawyers, and news junkies — my dad Marty taking it one step further and venturing into politics himself as a Westchester County (NY) County Legislator — I was surrounded on all sides by “the news,” delivered fresh to our door each morning in multiple daily papers, blaring from each of the three always-on televisions in the house, and following me into the car via 1010 WINS or Bloomberg Radio.
I was a freshly-turned six year-old when the first ever war to be broadcast live broke out on CNN. I remember sitting on my knees, six inches from the screen, transfixed on the eerie, night-visioned coverage of Operation Desert Storm’s bombs over Baghdad. I wasn’t quite old enough to intuit that with every blaze of green light streaking the skies over the Persian Gulf, another couple hundred Iraqi civilians were likely killed or wounded, but I was old enough to understand, “This can’t be good.”
News of the Gulf War begat news of the Yugoslav Wars, which begat news of the Waco siege, which begat news of the Oklahoma City Bombing, which begat news of Rabin’s assassination, which begat news of Tupac and Biggie’s killings, which begat news of the Columbine shooting, which begat news of the Columbia disaster, which begat news of another Gulf War…
Oh yeah, and September 11th. #neverforget
Are we more fucked now then we were back then? During all of that?
Weren’t we fucked the first time around with this current Commander-in-Chief? Along with 65,853,513 fellow Americans, I woke up on the morning of Wednesday, November 9, 2016, believing I had entered The Twilight Zone upon tuning into the radio on my bedroom stereo and first hearing the words “President-elect Donald Trump” from the mouth of NPR reporter Scott Horsley. Such an outcome didn’t seem possible, and the immediate certitude of the call only heightened my feelings of shattered disbelief, distinguishing it from the protracted mishegas that marked the only other “unbelievable” election result in my lifetime, Bush v. Gore.
I thought we were fucked with that dangerously unqualified, absolutely moronic nepo baby in charge? Didn’t he steal the election and then do 9/11? Following his even more decisive — and to my anti-war, bleeding-heart, Young Democrat mind — even more implausible re-election in 2004, we were MOST DEFINITELY fucked, right? Bush Lied and Millions Died! Hellooooo???
It took me a while to figure it out, but after jumping from news cycle to news cycle, after witnessing decades of history write themselves around me and studying the many centuries of rhyming history that preceded me, I’ve come to realize the truth: we’re only as fucked as we believe we are. Being fucked is a choice, and if Nancy Reagan taught us anything other than “Ya gotta give head to get ahead” (shoutout to the Hawk Tuah First Lady), it’s that I can Just Say No.
Unfortunately, the news media is in cahoots with Big Fuckery, aka the ‘dark side’ of our psyche that feeds on fear, negativity, shame, and doubt. Media companies have long profited off of our outrage, our suspicion, our anxiety, our despair, our basest instincts and lowest vibrations.
In these first 23 days of 2025, I have received 46 New York Times “Breaking News” alert emails — from Jan 1’s At least 10 killed after vehicle drives into crowd in New Orleans to yesterday’s New fire explodes north of Los Angeles, forcing evacuations. Since inviting these alerts into my inbox nine years ago, I have had 4,965 news stories broken to me, most of them pretty, pretty, pretty… bad. Hmm, I wonder what effect this constant barrage of depressing information — which a) has no bearing whatsoever on my day-to-day lived experience, and b) I couldn’t do anything about, even in the unlikely scenario it did — has had on my mental health?
I chose not to watch Monday’s inauguration, but what trickled out from social media didn’t seem to portend much positivity (did Elon really bite the head off a Jewish baby???). As an experiment, I scanned the Times that hit my doorstep the following morning (the Rogowsky paper habit has trimmed down to one-a-day) in search of any good news. The results:
Ok so throwing an obit in there might be “padding the numbers,” but… yeeeeaaaaah…
So here’s my plan for this bright and bouncing baby year, and perhaps all the rest of my years going forward: I’m unsubscribing from the alerts. I’m keeping the TVs and radios around me silent. Simply put, I’m avoiding “the news.” Unless it has something to do with Pete Alonso’s free agency saga, I DON’T WANT TO HEAR ABOUT IT.
BREAKING: there is only one bit of news you and I need to hear, and it’s freely accessible without having to skip past ads or logging in behind a paywall: there is balance in the universe. If you think being informed of the latest hotel fire in Turkey will somehow make you better off, go right ahead. Me, I’m calling my sister in Scotland to be informed of my nephews’ latest golf lessons. For every acre burned in California, there is an acre being preserved in Georgia. There may be war in Sudan, Ukraine, and Israel but there is peace in Antarctica (for now). The Jets are a disgrace, but the Mets are set for first-place.
Btw, at that same party in Long Island City, I met a guy who within the first five minutes of our conversation had volunteered that he was a professional drug dealer, had lost $300,000 in crypto scams, was tied up, beaten, and robbed of his $100,000 Patek Philippe skeleton watch in a home invasion, had recently gotten big into combat sports, and was considering a permanent move to Thailand. He then asked me if I had “gotten in on the Trump coin.”
I told him I had no idea what he was talking about.
And I was so glad I didn’t.
Not the mocktails! 😭