My idea of shopping is to visit the Internet from my desk. After all, I am absolutely sure that the woman in my life would love a set of Soviet World War II memoirs.
Actually, the last time I did try shopping on this day, someone who was obviously full of the holiday spirit stole two poinsettias out of my cart. Later, a man tried to cut in front of me outside the Honey Baked Ham store, and a woman very nearly ran over me in a parking lot. She then swore at me, perhaps because I survived.
Earlier this week, I drove an elderly lady to Detroit from Ohio, so she could spend Thanksgiving with her daughter. She told me that sure enough, the year before she had stayed over night while the girls got up at four a.m. to enlist for the shopping mall wars.
But then she said something else intriguing. “They thought that maybe if they get there early enough, they might get on TV.”
So that‘s it. Last week, I talked to someone whose teenage daughter had stood in line with a friend to see Sarah Palin in Grand Rapids. I was a little puzzled by that, since I didn’t think the girl wasn’t very political. “It was a happening,” her mother told me.
“She’s a rock star,” she said, meaning the former governor. “Besides, the kids thought TV cameras might be there.”
Indeed they were, though to the presumably great sorrow of my friend and her daughter, they didn’t make the nightly news.
As everyone knows, despite the astonishing rise of the Internet, television remains the dominant medium of our society. That’s what I tell my journalism students, anyway, though lately I think I may have been wrong. In reality, sometimes I think television is our society.
My own mother, who died three years ago, thought my various journalism awards were nice. But she was far more impressed every time I was on TV.
For her, local access cable trumped the New York Times. That’s not to say I am anti-television. I myself have a weekly show in Toledo, called Deadline Now. It is sort of a Meet the Press format, and I like it because it allows me to talk to interesting people. Once, I got a nice note from a woman who lives outside Ann Arbor who told me she loved my show because it helped her sleep at night.
She meant this as a compliment. But possibly the best perspective on our television age was offered by my goddaughter Nora, when she was four. I was on TV in Detroit, and her parents had her watch. “Look! There’s your godfather.’
She looked. “Is he going to jail?” she asked. Her mother laughed. “Not yet.” she said. Nora said, “Oh,” and walked away. Later, she told me that I was normally too silly.
“But on TV, you are boring.” I can’t imagine why a four-year-old wouldn’t be fascinated by politics and economics.
At least she didn’t say that I had a face made for radio.

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