Thursday, April 25, 2013

"...This Hour's Forecast Will Be Delayed As Our Weather Girl Has To Do An Extra Hour At The Drive-Thru Window...."

(...WARNING!  The following piece is rated "R", as in Parents and Grandparents R Going To Find The Language Offensive While Kids R Going To Roll Their Eyes And Suggest That Parents And Grandparents Should Just Chillax...)

Something is very wrong about all of this.

But it's not what I imagine you're going to think.

First, as our story begins...


A local news anchor was fired on Monday after his first-ever words on air turned out to be very inappropriate.

As AJ Clemente prepared for his debut on the evening news program for North Dakota's NBC affiliate KFYR, he uttered some words that he must have dearly wished he could take back.

"F---ing sh-t," he was heard whispering into his mic as an announcer introduced the show. It was Clemente's very first moment on air, and also his last. He was first suspended for using profanity and his coanchor, Van Tieu, opened up the 10:00 p.m. news hour with an apology.

"We were caught off guard and [Clemente] didn't realize his microphone was on. And while that was no excuse - we do train our reporters to always assume that any microphone is live at any time - unfortunately we cannot take back what was said. But, we do apologize and hope that you may forgive us and rest assured, that something like this will not happen again.," she said.

Here, for your perusal, prurient or puritanical as the case may be, is the "s**t heard round the world."




A few hours after, the later newscast on the now already infamous station opened like this...




A few days after, the "s**t" continued to fly...

Recently fired North Dakotan local news anchor A.J. Clemente continues his unlikely media tour tonight with an appearance on the Late Show with David Letterman. Clemente, whose first day on the job lasted mere seconds after he exclaimed “fuckin’ shit!” on air, got some important career advice from veteran television host David Letterman.



By now, it must have occurred to even the most obtuse, culturally de-sensitized average guy or gal (read: any one who thinks reality television represents the very best of what the performing arts have to offer) that there is something wrong here.

The guy opened his mouth when he shouldn'ta and got caught with his mike open and pants down.

Well, who among us has not tasted the piquant flavor of foot at one time or another.

As a broadcaster of some experience, I can personally testify that the fear of letting something inappropriate fly out onto the airwaves is, to any one worth their announcer salt, a constant, nagging little gnawing that, hopefully, keeps us on our toes when it comes to what's coming out of our mouths.

As a matter of fact, while I'm pretty confident no one can tag me as a prima dona when it comes to "work requests", I've made it policy to always insist, wherever I have been on air, that regardless of whatever other piece of equipment might be iffy or in obvious need of repair or replacement, the one thing that will, at all times and in all situations, be in good, dependable working order is the bulb in the button that lights up red when the micophone that I'm using is live.

Even at that, there have been plenty of moments when I have found myself, seemingly long after I have fired off a new song or commercial stopset, looking down at a mic button still glowing red and anxiously rewinding and replaying, in my head, anything I might have said outloud post new song and/or commercial stopset initiation.

Because common sense would dictate that no one in their right mind would be anything less than ever vigilant if their was a live micophone anywhere within mouthshot.

But radio, and TV, personalities aren't usually hired for their common sense.

And just like Ralphie in "A Christmas Story", we have all, to a one of us, let the "fuuuuuuuudge" fly at moments we wistfully wish we could relive.

So, suffice to say, that even the most obtuse, culturally, yada yada individual can see, from watching and listening, that this new kid on the Bismarck block effed up.

Very wrong, you say?

Frankly, these days, it's strictly a matter for the ear of the beholder.

I will grant you, though, that there is, to be sure, something very wrong here.

And, no, it's not that Letterman is giving fifteen minutes of arguably undeserved fame to a guy whose sole contribution to the hallowed tradition of broadcasting, at least to this moment, has been making kids laugh while sending Grandma and Grandpa into cardiac arrest with a zeal not seen since the golden days of George Carlin's "Seven Words You Can't Say On Television."

Letterman's job is to showcase people and things that people are talking about.

And people are certainly talking about A. J. Clemente.

What's very wrong here is not so much what A.J. said.

What's very wrong here is what A.J. said after.

Give the original on air faux pas a second listen.

And, this time, pay close attention to how he responds to the clearly flustered female anchor who is struggling to get the derailed daily news back on track.

I'll wait right here.

Okay. Let's be fair.

This is Bismarck, North Dakota.

Not Chicago. Or New York. Or L.A.

Or even Jacksonville, Florida.

Simply put, while I'm sure that Bismarck is a charming community with lots of charming people, it's a very small television market that, in the great big scheme of broadcasting, is little more than a very, very small blip on a very, very big radar screen.

And were it not for the You Tube world in which we live, young Clemente's misstep into the poop pile would have ended up being little more than giggly chat around the KFYR water cooler for a few days.

But we do live in a You Tube world and the airing, inadvertant or otherwise, of the "f" word is never, ever just giggly chat around water coolers anymore.

Hence, the bright lights of fame, misfortune and a little shy of fifteen minutes of fame with Dave.

That tempest on a TV screen, though, is only a symptom of the condition.

The condition itself is far more wide spread, more egregious and, ultimately, more damaging to the culture than any unfortunate attack of potty mouth.

And the condition is seeping its way through the television and radio industry more swiftly and more often with each passing day, a juggernaut that makes the Andromeda Strain look like the sniffles.

Inadequate, uncapable, inefficient, even untrained and uneducated bodies hired and placed behind microphones for no better reason than they meet what has become, too often, the baseline criteria for being acceptable broadcasters.

They have a pulse.

And they work cheap.

A.J. Clemente seems like a nice guy.

But nice guys, or nice gals, don't quality broadcasters make.

Necessarily.

And while A.J. has rightly, and laudibly, stepped up and fallen on the swearing sword, there's plenty of culpability to go around.

Nice kids who are hired as news anchors, clearly struggling to form a complete sentence without a teleprompter.

Housewives who are hired as radio hosts, clearly struggling to contribute anything to the presentation beyond amateur babbling and paid laughing.

Full time accountants, retail store employees, legal assistants, fast food workers, et al who are hired as show co-hosts or, worse, hosts clearly struggling to discern the difference between mic pot 1 and mic pot 2, but more than appreciative of the glamour and glitz that comes with being an "on air personality".

Not to mention the seven bucks an hour.

Management whose sole goal seems to be minimizing cost as much as possible, humanly or otherwise, regardless of the degradation of the broadcast product that results.

A.J Clemente made a mistake.

But, chances are, owing to both his ironically obtained high profile and his likely willingness to sign on for more glamour, glitz and/or seven bucks an hour will likely have a new gig on camera or on mic before you finish reading this piece.

And that's what's very wrong.

Because, at least for the moment, the guy simply isn't very good.

And there's a lot of that going around in the TV and radio business these days.

Now, that's some fuckin' shit.





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