I Hear Ya, Don Henley!

I hate television news reporters.

Oh, not the national ones like Katie Couric or Brian Williams. I hate the ones on local affiliates whose newscasts go by names like “ActionNews 5” or “NewsCenter 2.” The ones who couldn’t make it as actors or models and ended up trying to look good while they act like they know what they’re talking about. You know the ones I mean, the plastic-faced, hairspray-drenched sensationalists laughing at their co-anchor’s lame jokes about when Jim the weatherman is going to give us a break from all this rain—hardy, har, har, har!

I hate the way they bob their heads for emphasis on their favorite buzzwords like “gruesome” or “shocking” and the way they can go from looking so concerned over the little local girl who needs a kidney donation to a goofy grin as they effortlessly segue into the next story about the Chili Cook-Off going on down at the fairgrounds this weekend.

And since I live in the South,(yee-haw!) every time the temperature rises above 95 degrees (a yearly occurrence), the top story of the night will inevitably feature tips on how to avoid dehydration (drink some water, moron!), and the first cold spell of the year will invariably draw lead story reminders about bringing in the plants, pets, and old folks because of the arctic weather blast (any temperature below 35).

And it’s not just the anchors I hate either, because the reporters are usually even worse. They haven’t yet mastered the art of melodrama and head-bobbing enough to sit behind the anchor desk, so they’re still trying to get noticed by interviewing the requisite rednecks who are always eager to be put on camera after witnessing a “gruesome” wreck or a “shocking” incident at the Chili Cook-Off.

REPORTER: “Sir, can you tell us what happened here?”

CLETUS DOLITTLE: (“Hit By Chili” captioned under his name at bottom of screen) “Well, I was jus’ mindin’ my own bizness getting free samples so the missus wouldn’t have to cook supper tonight, when I heard this mess of cussin’ going on over to the Five Alarm section, and the next thing I knowed, there was chili all over my new Ricky Bobby T-shirt!”

REPORTER: (nodding and looking concerned) “Did you see who threw the alleged chili?”

CLETUS DOLITTLE: “Naw, but my brother Wilmer said he seen somebody high-tailin’ it away right afterwards, and they was wearing one of them Tabasco aprons all them Five Alarm folks is so partial to.”

REPORTER: (turns toward the camera with Cletus and group of kids waving behind him) “There you have it, Bob. The Chili Cook-Off has been marred by violence, possibly from Tabasco terrorists. The police say they’re still investigating and declined to comment until after they finish their chili, but we hope to have more on the story at ten.”

And then there’s the dedicated (i.e. obsessed) staff of the “First Alert Weather Station Team” who give you round-the-clock hurricane coverage from the moment the first whitecap is spotted out in the Gulf.

HEAD METEOROLOGIST: “So these are the latest coordinates for Tropical Depression Cindylou, and as you can see from our Superenhanced Secret Spy Satellite Radar, she’s still stalled about 300 miles southwest of this sandbar off the coast of Grand Cayman. And although we have no idea whether Cindylou will strengthen enough to even become a tropical storm, we’ve superimposed this projected path we call the “Cone of Over-reactive Panic” onto the map and will continue to closely monitor Cindylou’s lack of activity. And, as always, you can count on us here at the First Alert Weather Station Team to interrupt your favorite shows with hourly updates of how we still don’t know what this possible storm is going to do.”

And I don’t think I’m the only one who feels this way either. Ever heard “Dirty Laundry” by the Eagles? But at least the bubble-headed bleached blonde that Don Henley sings about is talking about a plane crash. The local anchors around here would probably ignore that story and opt instead for more coverage of the alleged leprechaun in a tree.

Sing it with me, people: “I wanna know where the GOLD’s at!”