I got a lot of grief for suggesting that Michael Jackson’s death was of less importance to some of us than, say, John Lennon’s or Joe Strummer’s — so I won’t make the mistake of denying the man his cultural significance and the import of this moment blah blah. But even the most hardcore Jackson fan might be starting to wonder about the wall-to-wall coverage it’s receiving on cable news. 

As readers of this space know, I’m sort of a cable news junkie. There is no other word for it since I know it’s bad for me and is doubtless shortening my life span. But as I pottered about my bedroom engaged in homely tasks I tuned into the Clueless News Network at 5 pm, thinking surely Wolf Blitzer et al would have some pulpy political juice: horrendous job numbers today, a new martial salvo from Jenny Sanford of her wayward husband, to say nothing of California issuing IOUs. 

The breaking news was the just released footage of MJ and dancers at a dress rehearsal at the Staple Center. I switched to MSNBC — wonk central, right? Chris Matthews sleeps on sheets with the US Constitution reprinted on them. But no! there was NBC’s chief political analyst Chuck Todd interviewing self-appointed MJ expert Toure about… the release of that video! 

“There was a moment when all three cable news networks were showing that video at the same time,” Todd asked while a little part of him went to hell. “What was the significance of that moment for you?”

“I didn’t actually see it,” said Toure. “I was driving home, having just been interviewed by MSNBC about Jackson…” 

After a moment of swearing I turned on the radio and listened to NPR news which featured extensive coverage of  the Marine push into Taliban country taking place in Afghanistan today — US casualties, people. It reminded me of why I support my local public news station (and so should you) and that it might be time to revisit the idea of getting our local cable provider to carry BBC news or, heaven forfend, Al Jazeera English. Those poor chumps seem to have missed the Jackson story entirely!

My daughter and I went to see The Taking of Pelham 123 at a matinee today. I’d just seen the original a few weeks ago and as much as I enjoyed Tony Scott’s high-voltage remake, I think I preferred the 1974 version with Walter Matthau as the hapless MTA dispatcher. It had a kind of schlubby grace, an adherence to city filth and dexterity that this new one only aspires to. You could almost smell the passengers on the 6 train sweltering on the tracks.

Driving home, we kept hearing snatches of Michael Jackson’s big hits on the radio and Franny asked me about the importance of MJ’s music in my life. As much respect as I have for the man’s talent and as kind as I want to be about the memory of someone who clearly had some demons in his dance mix, I couldn’t really give her a very satisfactory answer. “Well I wasn’t really into that kind of music,” I said, a little lamely while adding something about his electrifying performance of “Billie Jean” at the Motown 25th Anniversary Special. (Yeah he’s lip-synching but the look and those moves — part Elvis, part Liza — are still something to see.)

But what did Michael Jackson mean to me? Nothing really. When John Lennon was killed it shook nearly everyone I knew, not just because of the senselessness of his death but because of the kind of sense he made of our lives. Whether playing peacenik or performance artist he captured something of the sixties and even the seventies. But what did Jackson say about the eighties? That it was cool to make money, lots and lots of money, and that making lots of money was more valuable even than friendship — like the one he had with John’s  erstwhile bandmate Paul McCartney, who was a little miffed when Jacko bought the rights to much of the Beatles’ catalogue… 

Now it looks like drugs may have been involved in the singer’s death (shocking, I know) which puts him in that sad string of American superstar novas with Elvis and Marilyn — did he choose this destiny? It’s very American of course — think of Citizen Kane, dropping his snow globe as he breathes his last, remembering the innocent joy of his youth — and tragic, no doubt. It just don’t move me.  

Now when Joe Strummer died of a heart attack at about the same age, I was devastated. But I didn’t hear his songs on the radio all day. I had to go home to listen.

And I thought I had a lousy Father’s Day!

Watching the breaking story of South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford, who admitted this afternoon that he was not hiking the Appalachian Trail this weekend as his aides had maintained but had in fact spent five days in the arms of his mistress in Argentina, I can’t help but wonder what it is about politicians and extramarital activities. Having been married a few times, I am more forgiving than some of marital mishaps — but look at the recent record of high-profile pols and their meltdowns:

Ensign, Foley, Craig, Edwards, Newsom, Spitzer, Patterson, McGreevey — and if you want to get in the Wayback Machine with me we can name-check Clinton and Gingrich while we’re at it. You can blame the pressure of running for office (and unfortunately, most professional politicians never stop running, especially when they have the job) and the sad notion that they are supposed to be family exemplars. Maybe it comes from trying to suppress all those other desires in pursuit of the big desire of being the king of whatever asteroid they aspire to rule. Or maybe it’s the bleach they use on their teeth. 

Sanford is already getting high marks for not dragging his wife out onto the public confessional with him, a political ritual that should really go the way of the pillory. Instead he got to humiliate himself alone, with a chorus of giggling teenagers behind him, a circle of hell even Dante could not foresee. Oh, what would the loved ones say?

Today’s weirdest story has to be that of Oscar-winning songwriter Joseph Brooks who is accused of sexually assaulting at least eleven women who he lured to his East Side apartment. Brooks is 71 years old and looks like your Uncle Moe, if your Uncle Moe wears a raincoat and flashes school children, though at the time of the assaults Brooks was merely in his late sixties and doubtless cut a dashing figure. 

According to the Manhattan DA’s office, Brooks — who won his statue for penning the 1977 Debby Boone hit “You Light Up My Life” — worked with a female accomplice to seduce a series of aspiring chanteuses. They found the women, most from the Pacific Northwest online, using sites such as Craigslist, and then flew them to New York. Oscar was just the closer, according to one of the arresting officers, who said Brooks would brandish it and say, “This could be you, this could be you holding the Oscar. If you just do what I say.” 

The power of the prize is nothing new of course. Phil Spector is finally in prison, convicted of murdering B-movie actress Lana Clarkson after luring her to his mansion in Alhambra, California in 2003. Clarkson had been working as a hostess in the House of Blues in LA while Spector was famous for having invented the Wall of Sound and being mad as a hatter. He was also renowned for pulling guns on people (including musicians he worked with) and bringing young women back to the manse he called Pyrenees Castle. A homicide just waiting to happen! (I would also say beware of any one who has a name for his mansion, especially when he has a hair piece like Phil’s.) 

Brooks, for the record, did not kill anyone. And it’s possible that some of his accusers, such as former American Idol contestant Loretta Spruell will actually benefit from the publicity. Personally, I think the man should have been jailed just for writing “You Light Up My Life” but for the women he wronged I suggest another chestnut, an old Ronnie Milsap song that includes the lines: “If they gave gold statuettes/for tears and regrets/I’d be a legend in my time.”

I love my wife. Even if she forgets Father’s Day and has never given me a Valentine, she is consistently supportive and loving and is still the apple of my eye after lo these many years. Also I admire her as an editor and journalist and have watched her ever-ascending career with growing amazement and pride. 

So yeah, I’m biased. But so is the New York Times. She was disappointed with Friday’s piece on Reader’s Digest (which just named her Global Editor-in-Chief) where the big takeaway was that the magazine was moving to the right. Which would be fine if it were true. But the real story — presented to the reporter who then chose to ignore it — was that the company, while moving to a digital strategy, had tested some conservative editorial only to find that its readers did not want that and that the values they looked for in the magazine were politically neutral: service, faith, family, humor. 

The problem with the Times — and the media outlets and blogosphere that picked up on the story — is that it doesn’t seem to believe those qualities are neutral but rather sees them as code for conservatism. (News flash: Obama won in part because of his adherence to and espousal of those values, not because of his allegiance to the orthodox left.) The fact that there might be a readership that goes to church and yet is tolerant, or that supports the military and yet is opposed to war, seemed too much for the paper of record to accept.

But the bias really showed in the story’s choice of detail. CEO Mary Berner was tweaked for espousing core community concerns and shunning Manhattan parochialism yet going to work in a limo and wearing Manolo Blahniks. (I guess the reporter wanted her riding the bus in sensible shoes.) And while my wife was spared the same kind of lampooning, the story also failed to mention that Reader’s Digest just won a National Magazine Award for General Excellence — a first in its history, and the business’s equivalent of a Best Picture Oscar  – after a year of her oversight.

Throughout the article seemed to be insinuate that the women in charge were guilty of some kind of cynicism — wearing fashionable clothes when addressing Middle America, courting conservatives while voting Democratic — while it seems to me that it is the Times that is cynical, or certainly out of touch. I can remember when Reader’s Digest really was a conservative rag: When I was in high school I went to a Vietnam war debate armed with copies of Ramparts while my opponent had a stack of Reader’s Digests to bolster his argument. But that same magazine was the first major news organization to link cigarette smoking to lung cancer. I would think even a young NYT reporter would know that: It was practically a plot line during the first season of Mad Men! And I know everyone in New York watches that show.