BREAKING NEWS: Be careful what you call breaking news

I didn't write anything yesterday in my Blog. I got through two straight days where I did write something and then the wheels fell off. Yesterday's radio show and the accompanying sleeplessness I have leading up to each Wednesday morning caused me to promptly fall asleep last night during the commencing moments of FOX19's 10 O’clock news. It probably didn't help that I spent time shoveling dirt and cleaning out the small patch of earth behind what soon, hopefully, will be my house in Northside. I have to say one thing: These homes are going to be nice. They haven't always looked the way they do now and had been low-income housing for some time prior to my friend Brian (and radio show co-host) buying them. So, buried in the backyard, along with the potato chip bags (Ruffles, I'm assuming, and nicely preserved, too), broken glass, countless bricks, pieces of wood and metal pipes, was a fully inflated basketball. Brian and I hooped it up the rest of the night... But as I lay on my couch drifting into dreamland I have noticed one thing: A lot of news breaks between 10 p.m. and 11:35 p.m. Seems the same holds true between 5 p.m. and 6:30 p.m. There's even a lot early in the morning, say between 4:55 a.m. and 9, maybe 10 a.m. "Now we have some breaking news to tell you about.." or "This just into the [swoosh] news room, we go to our Jennifer Go-Getter live on top a pile of burning dog poo." I'm a journalist and I've made mention of this new trend in TV journalism to a few in that segment of our biz. The Cincinnati Blog touched on this recently, too. And, frankly, they seem to agree. It stinks and might just be getting out of hand. Walter Cronkite speaks about this and other problems with TV news today all the time, as he did last year at the SPJ convention (where afterward I was so terribly excited I got to shake his hand, that I then forced a kiss on his mouth and I humped his leg). He's so right. Even Sandra Ali - the WLWT-TV (Channel 5) anchor who seems to be single-handedly returning that station to its former Norma-and-Jerry glory - admits that TV journalism ain't what it used to be. And, as I suggested to Ali when she was our first-ever guest on the Brian & Joe Radio Show, maybe that wasn't so good. I was told maybe I ought not think in the past. Don't get me wrong, she was very nice about it (and she's always really nice and pretty and smart and successful and not-in-my-league and, doesn't matter, because she has a mystery boyfriend) and she's probably right - or at least conveying more reality than anything. Regardless, it sucks. Case in point: I was watching Channel 5 last week when [swoosh] breaking news happened. I couldn't believe - again - how lucky I was to have my TV on at that instance. Perfect timing. The news? A woman at Northgate Mall just - moments earlier - had her purse stolen near J.C. Penney. Suspects afterward ran off into the neighborhood south of the mall (where, 'cuz I grew up out there, a lot of my pals lived and their parents still do). Now, that, my friends, is definitely worth 30 seconds during some prime news time. I wonder what the viewers at home thought when they heard that tidbit? Maybe buying a chain to strap their purse to their body, or their car. Or worse, maybe it's time to buy a gun so I can shoot the effin' arseholes next time they try to get my loot bag. The media is powerful. We must be responsible. We have to. Bloggers now, too. Even WAIF show hosts. It may be fun to rile or important to get high ratings, but, as I've been so lucky to see and experience, those with the pen or the microphone and camera have the opportunity and the risk of influencing and changing things so very easily. Respect, following a Code of Ethics, and using professional sensibilities would take a long way to waking the consciousness of the people on the receiving end of our products. Straight winds, blown bushes and black clouds over OTR The black cloud over Over-the-Rhine is spitting chickens at the moment. Large buckets of clucking chickens. I have to admit something out loud: I hate lightening. Scares the bejeezus out of me, actually. This stems from an early 20-something experience where I witnessed a bolt of lightening strike the center of Boudinot Avenue in Westwood as I stood with the program director of the Gamble-Nippert YMCA on the Y's front stoop. We were discussing the prudence of canceling yet another t-ball practice at the risk of having to cram in another game or two into what was becoming a rather rain-filled season. As urine streamed down my leg, Steve, the Y's program director, and I succinctly called off practice. I think this, coupled with a still somewhat strong recollection of Dan Rather telling me through the 13-inch black and white television in my parent's kitchen when I was like seven years old that thunder (at least that's what I thought he said) had killed a woman sitting by her window, sealed my phobia. Rather's words instilled a fear of lightening in me that has lasted my entire life and was only solidified by the blinding light I saw one unassuming Saturday about 10 years ago in lovely Westwood. So, when the thunder rolls in and I'm with you, understand if I'd rather stay on the inner section of the building we're standing in. And with that, the rain has ceased. Aaah.