To hear the subjects talk about it, you'd think they'd discovered a new law of physics. Shocking as it might seem, it turns out that if you're not live-blogging or tweeting or reporting on an event as it unfolds--and you know that nobody is going to quote you or write about the event after the fact--you act and experience an event quite differently. "You actually listen to the conversation, not just wait for your turn to speak," marveled a blogger who, the New York Times reported in a recent article, has begun organizing strictly off-the-record gatherings in New York.
The difference between reporting an event (or performing for reporters) and simply experiencing an event or conversation is one journalists learn very early. Twenty years ago, when I got my first job as an aviation journalist and was assigned to cover air shows, my pilot friends were green with envy. I was going to get paid for what they'd do for free. But reporting on an event is very, very different from simply experiencing it. It turns you from a participant into an observer. You have to step back and gauge what facts are the most important to gather; what story line you're going to pursue. The same is true for photographers. The eye of a photographer is an analytical one; judging the best angle, best light, best focal length in a world reduced to whatever narrow slice is visible through a view-finder. Real-time impressions and emotion are sacrificed for a lasting, illustrative image. There is a cost to recording an event; a cost paid in removal from full immersion or enjoyment of the moment as it actually happens.
By the same token, there's a night-and-day difference between a public versus a private conversation. Any journalist, spokesperson or politician could tell you that. So could anyone who has spent much time watching cable television pundits talk past each other in mind-numbing diatribes sparked by the presence of cameras and their attendant promise of publicity and notoriety.
But it used to be that only certain professionals understood, or had to struggle with, the downsides of either recording events, or being the subject of a recorded event. Now, almost everyone is getting a taste of it, thanks to the prolific spread of blogging, Facebook, twitter and other mass publication vehicles. And--thanks God, as my Italian neighbors would say--some of them are beginning to realize that the sword has two sides. That perhaps not everything has to be, or even should be, transmitted instantly into the universal, public realm.
There are many things to applaud about a world where more people can have voices and communication among groups is easier. Twitter proved an invaluable tool in aiding the protesters in Iran with regards to public gatherings and police movements. And the mass proliferation of blogs reminds me, at least in some ways, of the dawning of the cable television era, when niche groups suddenly found programming targeted specifically to them.
There's also nothing inherently evil about any of the new communication methods or technologies. But most advances come with some kind of tradeoff, and anything used to excess begins to be problematic--as some people are beginning to find out with an all-shared, all-the-time, lifestyle. One clear issue is preservation of privacy--especially for those who didn't volunteer to be part of a global chat-room. But living a reported life 24 hours a day also has a cost, not only in terms of the type and quality of the interactions and conversations it allows, but also in terms of how present the reporters are in any given moment.
It's possible to both experience and report an event, but not instantaneously or simultaneously. When I had an assignment to fly a a U-2 spy plane last fall, high enough to see the curvature of the earth, I got so preoccupied with taking photos and notes that I realized, part-way through the flight, that I wasn't actually experiencing any of it with any real depth. And to write anything of substance, I needed to first experience something of substance. So I turned off my intercom microphone, put the camera down, and just sat for a while. Looked out the window. Focused on what my senses were experiencing. Let my mind wander and my eyes drink in my surroundings. And in the richness of that silence, impressions softly bloomed. Of how fragile the world's atmosphere appeared. How being that high above the earth felt as if we were surreptitious invaders at the edge of a foreign realm ruled by powerful titans who needed no heat, air pressure or oxygen to survive. Of how lonely even a beautiful planet would be without anyone to welcome you home again.
And even those thoughts, put so cleanly into words here, took time to process and ferment, once I came back to earth.
New technology is all well and good. But the fact remains that it's tough to talk and listen at the same time, or be connected to an outside audience (even that of posterity) and still be fully immersed in the place, time, and dynamic of where you are. And that's a long-standing law of physics--or at least of human neuroscience and psychology--that I doubt any new technology is likely to overcome.
She lived with us for 56 years. She raised me and my siblings without pay. I was 11, a typical American kid, before I realized who she was.
The ashes filled a black plastic box about the size of a toaster. It weighed three and a half pounds. I put it in a canvas tote bag and packed it in my suitcase this past July for the transpacific flight to Manila. From there I would travel by car to a rural village. When I arrived, I would hand over all that was left of the woman who had spent 56 years as a slave in my family’s household.
The condition has long been considered untreatable. Experts can spot it in a child as young as 3 or 4. But a new clinical approach offers hope.
This is a good day, Samantha tells me: 10 on a scale of 10. We’re sitting in a conference room at the San Marcos Treatment Center, just south of Austin, Texas, a space that has witnessed countless difficult conversations between troubled children, their worried parents, and clinical therapists. But today promises unalloyed joy. Samantha’s mother is visiting from Idaho, as she does every six weeks, which means lunch off campus and an excursion to Target. The girl needs supplies: new jeans, yoga pants, nail polish.
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At 11, Samantha is just over 5 feet tall and has wavy black hair and a steady gaze. She flashes a smile when I ask about her favorite subject (history), and grimaces when I ask about her least favorite (math). She seems poised and cheerful, a normal preteen. But when we steer into uncomfortable territory—the events that led her to this juvenile-treatment facility nearly 2,000 miles from her family—Samantha hesitates and looks down at her hands. “I wanted the whole world to myself,” she says. “So I made a whole entire book about how to hurt people.”
Bobby Moynihan, Vanessa Bayer, and Sasheer Zamata all said their goodbyes last weekend—in very different ways.
In the past, departing Saturday Night Live cast members have gotten whole sketches devoted to sending them off. Kristen Wiig was serenaded with song and dance from Mick Jagger and the rest of the crew; Bill Hader’s Stefon finally married Seth Meyers; Will Ferrell got a series of testimonials. On last weekend’s 42nd season finale, the show said goodbye to three cast members with varying tenures and legacies: Bobby Moynihan, Vanessa Bayer, and Sasheer Zamata. The first got a goodbye sketch of sorts, the second a couple of featured roles on her last night, and the third no acknowledgement at all. It was a slightly muddled end to what feels like one of SNL’s weaker eras—even as the show breaks ratings records in the age of Donald Trump.
The story was notably loud. Its retraction is notably quiet.
On Tuesday of last week, the day after TheWashington Post published its bombshell about President Trump’s Oval Office divulgences to Sergey Lavrov and Sergei Kisliyak, Sean Hannity took to the air at the Fox News Channel to discuss a murdered man named Seth Rich. Rich, a 27-year-old staffer at the Democratic National Committee, had been gunned down in Washington, DC, in July, seemingly the victim of a violent crime. Earlier that day, however, a local Fox TV station had reported—in a claim that would quickly be debunked—that Rich had ties to WikiLeaks, and that his death was, rather than the tragic result of random violence, instead evidence of a deeper conspiracy.
In the days since, that idea has leapt to life in the conservative areas of the media—an easy symbol, in the minds of many, of the “mainstream” media’s stubborn and partisan refusal to report on a story that would put the DNC in a negative light. (“Silence from Establishment Media over Seth Rich WikiLeaks Report,” Breitbartseethed.) And so, as many members of the nation’s press corps set out to further the Post’s reporting on the White House, the Rich story became a chorus-like feature on conservative-leaning media—and not just in Hannity’s extra-bombastic corner of Fox News. The Rich story hit Drudge. It exploded on social media. “NOT RUSSIA, BUT AN INSIDE JOB?” Breitbart asked, provocatively. The site added that, “if proven, the report has the potential to be one of the biggest cover-ups in American political history, dispelling the widespread claim that the Russians were behind hacks on the DNC.”
The office was, until a few decades ago, the last stronghold of fashion formality. Silicon Valley changed that.
Americans began the 20th century in bustles and bowler hats and ended it in velour sweatsuits and flannel shirts—the most radical shift in dress standards in human history. At the center of this sartorial revolution was business casual, a genre of dress that broke the last bastion of formality—office attire—to redefine the American wardrobe.
Born in Silicon Valley in the early 1980s, business casual consists of khaki pants, sensible shoes, and button-down collared shirts. By the time it was mainstream, in the 1990s, it flummoxed HR managers and employees alike. “Welcome to the confusing world of business casual,” declared a fashion writer for the Chicago Tribune in 1995. With time and some coaching, people caught on. Today, though, the term “business casual” is nearly obsolete for describing the clothing of a workforce that includes many who work from home in yoga pants, put on a clean T-shirt for a Skype meeting, and don’t always go into the office.
New Orleans Mayor Mitch Landrieu explains to his city why four monuments commemorating the Lost Cause and the Confederacy had to come down.
Last week, the City of New Orleans finished removing four monuments—to Confederate President Jefferson Davis, Generals P.G.T. Beauregard and Robert E. Lee, and the postwar battle of Liberty Place. The removals occasioned threats, protests, and celebrations. On Friday, Mayor Mitch Landrieu explained to his city why he had concluded that the monuments needed to come down.
The soul of our beloved City is deeply rooted in a history that has evolved over thousands of years; rooted in a diverse people who have been here together every step of the way—for both good and for ill.
Can governments be as innovative about saving lives?
Yesterday’s terrorist attack that struck at the end of an Ariana Grande concert in Britain’s Manchester Arena—leaving 22 people dead and 59 injured, by the latest count—feels perhaps even more callous and personal than other such recent atrocities. As TheNew York Timesnoted, the target was “a concert spilling over with girls in their teens or younger, with their lives ahead of them, out for a fun night.”
For Europe, the attack, now claimed by ISIS, represents a continuation of a nightmare scenario: The pace and deadliness of terrorist attacks in the continent has reached levels unprecedented in the post-9/11 era, with the heinous and grotesque becoming frighteningly routine.
Even five years ago, specialists could count the major post-9/11 attacks in Western countries on one hand, and knew every date on which they had been perpetrated. They were known by names like 3/11 or 7/7 (references to attacks in Madrid and London, respectively).
And other tales from the intersection of science and airport security
When Martin Cohn passed through airport security at Ronald Reagan Airport, he figured that he’d probably get some questions about the 3-D-printed model of a mouse penis in his bag.
The model is 15 centimeters long, made of clear translucent plastic, and indisputably phallic— like the dismembered member of some monstrous, transparent, 11-foot rodent. One of Cohn’s colleagues had already been questioned about it when she carried it on an outward flight from Gainesville to Washington D.C. She put it through the security scanner, and the bag got pulled. A TSA official looked inside, winked at her, and let her go. She was amused but embarrassed, so Cohn offered to take the model home on the return flight.
The Senate Intelligence Committee said Tuesday it would subpoena the former national security adviser’s businesses for Russia-related documents, potentially bypassing the Fifth Amendment.
The Senate Intelligence Committee’s leaders ramped up their efforts on Tuesday to obtain Russia-related documents from former National Security Advisor Mike Flynn, telling reporters the committee is subpoenaing materials from two of Flynn’s businesses.
The announcement comes one day after Flynn informed the committee he wouldn’t comply with a previous subpoena issued to him personally, invoking his Fifth Amendment protections against compelled testimony that could be used to prosecute him. By targeting the businesses, the committee’s leaders hope to circumvent the Fifth Amendment issues at stake.
“While we disagree with General Flynn’s lawyers’ interpretation of taking the Fifth, it is even more clear that a business does not have a right to take a Fifth if it’s a corporation,” Virginia Senator Mark Warner, the committee’s ranking Democratic member, told reporters. “So those subpoenas—one has been served, one is in the process of being served. And we keep all options on the table.”