Mad as Hell

But first...I need a power nap

“All the young dudes (what dudes?)
Carry the news (let’s hear the news, come on!)
Boogaloo dudes (I want to kick you!)
Carry the news”

— Mott the Hoople, “All the Young Dudes”

I cannot watch the news anymore. I did not watch the President’s speech. I read a couple summations of it, and it was exactly what I thought it would be, except I surmise he looked older and more decrepit than usual. And I am sure I will doom scroll later tonight and tomorrow morning to learn about all the foolishness he spit out from behind the lectern.

I used to be a fiend for national and local news. Peter Jennings was the coolest dude going; Dan Rather always appeared to be just seconds away from pulling a full Howard Beale “Mad as hell, and I’m not going to take it anymore!” rant, live on set; David Brinkley, we turned to for some perspective and the occasional biting one-liner.

But no more. I cannot take it. Anchors who are either vanilla yogurt, trying too hard to be “authentic” or purposely leaning full-on into delivering “truth” disguised under a political agenda. Then, there are the reporters who drew the short straw covering blustering fools spouting nonsense for the quick soundbite. Just today, I saw at least four different headlines advertising something along the lines of “I watched Donald Trump/Nick Fuentes/Chuck Schumer/Joe Rogan speak for twelve straight hours so you wouldn’t have to…” Who wants that kind of job? And what makes you think I want to listen to you tell me about all twelve hours when I do not want to listen to him for twelve seconds?

And news is exhausting. Maybe it always has been. There is incredibly depressing, bad news everywhere, and I am constantly questioning whether the good news is actually “good” or just a bunch of lies being told to us to keep mental health clinics from running a massive waiting list. Half of what comes out of Washington D.C. feels like performative trolling by people in power. I hate that.

I keep thinking “there has to be some method to this madness,” and there never seems to be. I am certain this makes me less informed and somewhat at a loss when it comes to cogent political debates, but I will live with that. My family is full of debaters; I was almost assuredly the only guy in my sixth-grade class (outside my brother) who watched “The McLaughlin Group,” and thought Fred Barnes was a twit and Jack Germond was the cool uncle everyone wanted. My point being – debate was second nature in my family. I should just absorb everything I see on MSNBC or MSNow or whatever it is called and just spout off whatever I hear, representing the moderate- to liberal-wing of my family.

“And take me disappearing through the smoke rings of my mind
Down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves
The haunted, frightened trees, out to the windy beach
Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow
Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free
Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands
With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves
Let me forget about today until tomorrow

Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me
I’m not sleepy, and there is no place I’m going to
Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me
In the jingle jangle mornin’, I’ll come followin’ you”

— Bob Dylan, “Mr. Tambourine Man”

Ah, yeah, Dylan…it’s been a few days, Bobby Zimmerman, time to revisit some of your eloquent, prescient prose. Why not a song that speaks to looking for our long-lost Tambourine Man? The need for a simple hero has never been greater than it is needed right now.

“Historically, in my generation, all of my heroes and heroines have had issues and problems. We all do.”

— Anita Baker

Heroes are hard to find. That is such an obvious observation, I am somewhat embarrassed to write it, but I wrote about Gary Woodland last night, someone who can legitimately be called a hero…and he is a golfer of all things! Like I said, they are hard to find.

While the quote from Anita Baker could be from any era and applied to any number of people, its basic premise is the same: A simple hero might be sitting right next to you or banging on a tambourine on the street corner trying to draw out a smile from passerby. Dylan says it in a way that is SO apt:

“Take me on a trip upon your magic swirlin’ ship
My senses have been stripped, my hands can’t feel to grip
My toes too numb to step, wait only for my boot heels
To be wandering
I’m ready to go anywhere, I’m ready for to fade
Into my own parade, cast your dancin’ spell my way
I promise to go under it”

— “Mr. Tambourine Man”

Or perhaps it is better said by a different former network news anchor, not mentioned above,

“Heroes are people who rise to the occasion and slip quietly away.”

— Tom Brokaw

No one who aspires to heroism slips quietly away anymore. There is always Instagram or Snapchat or a TikTok stream or podcast to nourish.

Maybe I am just old…or maybe I am just channeling Howard Beale myself. For any of you who have not seen “Network,” find it this weekend on some streaming service. You will thank me. I was mad as hell and decided not to take it anymore. Now? I am exhausted and writing about it on Substack.

And another quick, absolutely useless piece of trivia about that movie: Beatrice Straight appeared in that movie for exactly five minutes and two seconds – and won Best Supporting Actress – the shortest screen time in history for someone to win a major award.

For those of you who knew David Bowie wrote “All the Young Dudes” AND that Mott the Hoople made it a hit, albeit their only hit, I am REALLY impressed. I also refuse to use The Byrds’ version of “Mr. Tambourine Man.” Bob Dylan DID write the song, after all. I cannot tell you exactly why I hold contempt for them except I am pretty sure it has something to do with David Crosby.