Pardon My Sanity

How I learned to stop worrying and be okayish with the news

Em knows. ©SheilaMoeschenPhotography

I broke up with the news a while ago. This is saying something because historically I’m usually the one getting broken. Some people think it’s better to break up with a person in stages, ease them into the pain and suffering. Friends, I can tell you from humiliating experience that this is flawed logic of the highest order. Zero stars. Do not recommend. Besides, everyone knows that post breakup is for the ten stages of processing. Those are as follows:

1.    Sadness

2.    Confusion

3.    White. Hot. Rage.

4.    Feigned indifference. Hard to do when you are still “liking” his posts

5.    More White. Hot. Rage.

6.    A series of desperate attempts at self-improvement that are hasty, unrealistic, and unsustainable

7.    Sadness part two where you channel your pain into bad poetry

8.    Release—of all the literal junk of your relationship onto a glorious bonfire, the kind that is so big a bunch of Puritans show up looking for the witch

9.    Acceptance, which allows you the space and time to heal and grow and, most importantly, prepare for the last stage

10.  Sweet, sweet retribution

I know. I can’t believe I’m not a relationship guru either!

My parents were of that generation that invested in the integrity and importance of print and media journalism. They both read newspapers and watched the evening news; some form of talk radio was often blathering away on the kitchen radio. I learned at an early age it was important to be informed.

I remember this coming up in school. My fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Grossberg, was one of those educators who was tough and excellent; she prized learning, often through creative methods. Mrs. Grossberg was a practicing Jew. In December, she taught us about Hannukah. The way she did that was by asking a couple of parents to volunteer in the classroom to help make latkes, a traditional “potato pancake” dish served during the holiday. Mrs. Grossberg brought in a hot plate and all the fixings; the adults cooked and we ate the delicious lesson. It was a cultural thing, not an end run for religion. I know that attempting something like that today would get the school shut down, the teacher fired, and spontaneously generate a Hellmouth unleashing the ghosts of Billy Graham and Richard Nixon. You know what? Worth it. Because let me tell you, friends, that day in fourth grade I found a deep, new appreciation for the Jewish people and the humble potato.

Mrs. Grossberg also opted in to this partnership between the school and our regional newspaper, The Lawrence Eagle Tribune, designed to help teachers teach about the news and current events. It was probably really a way for the paper to try and boost its readership. A kid would come home and tell their parents they needed to research different topics in the newspaper throughout the week, specifically the ones highlighted by the Lawrence Eagle Tribune. The parents would say: “Is that so? Well, in that case, out with you Le Monde! Mitzy, darling, stop payment on the check to The Times immediately! We are Eagle Tribune readers now!”

Every week we got a list of topics being covered by the newspaper. We had to research the articles and write a short summary on each. At the end of the week, Mrs. Grossberg led class discussion about the stories and their relevance. You need to understand that this was 1986. Articles about “the new Coke” circulated for weeks. It was not the fast moving stream of information we suffer through today. The news mattered because it was a way of knowing about the world. What you did with that knowledge was up to you. It still is.

I started having the, “No, news, it’s not you, it’s me” conversation (except, it really is you, news) in the days after the 2016 election. By the third headline positing if Hilary’s pantsuits had cost her the election and PS, let’s just give this new guy a chance because he can’t be that bad, right? I said, I think I’m going to just not for a while. I pared down, but I was still checking different sites with their screechy headlines in 98 point font. The pandemic, George Floyd’s murder, and everything unfolding in the political universe made it hard not to be plugged into daily coverage. And I carried around both the pride and the belief that it’s a responsibility to stay informed. I hate willful ignorance with the heat of a nuclear reactor set inside Krakatoa. But I eventually realized that trolling the same six headlines screaming at me from across a few news sources didn’t make me informed. It made me nuts. It turned me into a rage Roomba—hoovering up fear and anxiety and hopelessness and dark anger at people I don’t know involved in things I have no control over. All the information I soaked up made me feel more paralyzed to do anything about any of it. Well, that’s not entirely true. I did get a tremendous amount of worrying accomplished! Where is the study reporting on how many calories that burns? I would be a size Graphene right now.

All of this is to say that informed is not the same as educated or knowledgeable. I’ve been working on keeping a more manageable news diet so I have a general sense of big items without getting sucked into the hysteria and stress vortex. It’s News Lite! Made with no artificial sweeteners, farm fresh, non-GMO certified, and ideal for composting! The best part for me about easing off most of the news is discovering THAT THERE ARE SO MANY OTHER THINGS ALSO TAKING PLACE IN THE WORLD EVERY DAMN DAY! Friends, some of what’s going on out there is fascinating, interesting, and even fun!

For instance, this story about a group of people who banded together this past April to petition Boston’s MBTA to put googly eyes on the trains. Friends, these are the kind of patriots we need! The old, outdated, perpetually breaking down train system is one of Boston’s longest running jokes. I’m sure that transportation officials are buried in complaints and requests, full of spirited language about how to make the T suck less (we gave up on fixing it or making it better somewhere around 1928). But here were some engaged citizens determined to make a real difference. MBTA spokesman, Joe Pesaturo, said in a statement: "After receiving public suggestions, our team found a safe way to install these 'googly' eyes on a limited number of vehicles ... as part of our ongoing efforts to bring moments of joy to our riders' daily commutes.” Also, if you’re laughing at the silly, Muppety trains, maybe you’re less likely to dwell on that fact that you’re missing the birth of your first kid because the Orange Line decided it just couldn’t even.

Here's another face-related news item I stumbled upon, though not as cuddly. Researchers from the University of Tokyo, Japan, found a way to make a “humanoid robot face created from lab-grown, self-healing human skin.” So I’m going to stop you right there, Dr. Roboto: Nope. No thank you. Hard pass. Maybe never. If you could follow me please into the screening room for a viewing of the extended version, director’s cut of Terminator. I think we all know how this friendly “humanoid” adventure is going to turn out, and it is not about programming anyone to love.

Also, rad millennial happenings. You all are going to get your first saint!

Carlo Acutis, who died of leukemia at age 15 in 2006, is already referred to as "God's influencer" and the "patron saint of the internet" for his work cataloging Eucharistic miracles around the world — and soon it will be official.

I thought MySpace Tom was the patron saint of the internet, which shows you how much I know.

Acutis, who hailed from Milan, taught himself programming and developed a database of miracles. He also performed good works while he was alive like helping the homeless and combatting bullying. Acutis is also credited with interceding to provide miracles in two cases after his death, the required number to be considered for sainthood. #GodBro #SUPRBLESSED #MiracleMaxOG. I can just imagine how millennials will leverage this:

Dude, I worked, like most of my Saturday!

So? That hardly qualifies you for sainthood.

Well, actually…..

These types of stories deserve our time and attention every bit, if not more, than the ones about how Dengue fever is readying for its American tour. Besides, which would you rather be able to talk about: googly eyes on public transportation or the latest things causing cancer? Hint: one has a much better chance at getting you laid than the other. I can’t do anything about the fact that doom sells and the appetite for consuming trauma seems to grow with every page refresh. But at least I can take my news with a heaping side of weird and, maybe even, beautiful, joyful, and good.

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Lens Zen!

‘Merica, girl, it’s your shiny day this week, but I know you are going through it! Why don’t you get with Greece and treat yourself to a hot stone massage or call up Italy and France for brunch and bellinis. Get your freak on! Text Brazil—you know she’ll bring the premimium shit! You deserve it. And after the nearly 250 years you’ve had, girl, you need it!

Happy Birthday American democracy! Let’s not make any hasty gift exchanges, okay? Asking for a few million terrified citizens. ©SheilaMoeschenPhotography