CNN Loves Tots, And It Creeps Me Out

The word “tot” doesn’t give me the heebie-jeebies all by itself (not like, say, “linoleum,” or “panties”), but it seems like CNN has developed quite a fetish for the use of the word. I suppose it’s to save headline space and help make their lists of links look nicer by preventing lines from wrapping, but it just seems out of place in nearly every case. Used less frequently, and to slightly less consternation on my part is the word “kin.”

Neither of these words seem appropriate to the types of stories they are used to promote. They seem to convey a sense of informality, or even condescension, that is rarely appropriate to the content of the story.

Here are some examples that make my stomach turn in the way it used to every day working for a television station:

  • Tot who died on Disney ride had bad heart
  • Missing tot’s trail goes cold after three months
  • Tot had heart sticker on mouth
  • Tot mom meant to kill!
  • Twister kills two mothers protecting kin
  • Buffett: Tax my kin, please (not surprisingly, Buffet did not actually say “kin”)
  • Kidnapped soldier’s kin: Stop the killing

And a whole shitload more from google.

P and Marty

P went to Liberty with my mom to visit my Grandmother Marty at the end of the summer. She took our camera with her and took a bunch of really cool pictures. I love seeing how P sees the world and what she things of as worthy of recording. Everything from door handles on a rental car to the shadows on Marty’s courtyard. This is not one of her pictures, rather it was taken by my mom.

From P’s Pictures in Liberty

Couldn’t You Wait

I was visiting my friend John’s MySpace page a minute ago and saw that he has posted a trailer for a documentary about one of my favorite bands from Seattle, Silkworm. Halfway through the trailer they start talking about Michael’s death. I hadn’t even known he had died.

It was a little more than two years ago when, apparently, his car was hit by a woman speeding and trying to kill herself. Michael was a great drummer with – as I recall – an amazingly sweet personality and no pretension. That was rare in the 90s rock world of Seattle.

I remember standing to the side of the stage at the Off Ramp watching him play. Coincidentally – after posting just an hour or so ago about smiling rock musicians – I remember him smiling shyly as he played. Man, he really hit the drums hard.

I’m sorry he’s gone and my thoughts go out to his family and the rest of Silkworm. Cheers, Michael.

Call Me Stupid

There was a man who called himself Stupid. I saw him every time I went to the 5th Street Public Market when I was a kid growing up in Eugene, Oregon. He always sat at the (mostly) same table, drinking coffee, and working on his books – collections of wisdom. I’ve often wished I still had one of his books. Stupid would have hated what became of the market.

My friend Chris was once at the market with his friend and child. The kid asked him why his name was Stupid. His reply was “I used to know a big fat guy and everyone called him Tiny.”

A Stupid biography and a Stupid book