As the curtain falls on another year, the spotlight shines on the beginning of the Prediction Season. Self-proclaimed experts forecast the outlook for the stock market, economy and which Hollywood stars are headed for divorce court. Most prognosis are bunk. But this one is the genuine article.
How can you be certain? Your journalist ditched his ancient crystal ball this year and decided to consult the Chinese Zodiac sign. This is the year of...wait for it...The Pig. The animal, according to the horoscope, represents honesty, trust and bravery. That bodes well for the New Year.
But there also is a dark side to The Pig. The animal also has characteristics of self-indulgence, naivete, stubbornness and laziness. Ah, forget all those attributes. All you need to remember is that the animal ends up as bacon on your plate. Hmmmm. Bacon! Now there's a reason for optimism.
The piggish forecast for 2019 is not as slovenly as the pessimists among you expect:
1. Despite gloomy forecasts from the likes of Goldman Sachs and other money firms, strong consumer spending spurs an annual gain of 2.9 percent in the Gross Domestic Product (GDP), after posting two quarters of 3+ percent growth early in 2019, outperforming most world economies.
2. With its stock market sinking and its economic growth underperforming expectations, China signs a trade deal with the United States but before the ink is dry the CIA reveals the Asian country has launched a cyber intrusion on our government that approaches a Category 1 attack.
3. Federal Reserve interest rate hikes in the new year continue to be an anchor on the U.S. stock markets as the Dow enters bear territory, igniting a very public feud between President Trump and Fed chairman Jerome Powell. The tension ends in Powell's resignation, calming markets.
4. Special counsel Robert Mueller, appointed in March 2017, finally issues his report on Russian interference in the 2016 election after the new Congress is sworn in. His report is littered with innuendoes about Trump campaign conduct but offers no proof of collusion with Russia.
5. The Democratic Party-controlled House launches a series of investigations aimed at President Trump and his campaign associates, using the Mueller report as its excuse for additional probes. At the urging of Speaker Pelosi, the House takes up articles of impeachment against the president.
6. With a March deadline approaching, a disheartened Prime Minister Theresa May calls for a public referendum on the Brexit deal she negotiated with the European Union after failing to get approval from Parliament. Voters reject the exit settlement, leaving the plan to leave the EU in limbo.
7. Electric car manufacturer Tesla fails to fulfill its commitment to produce 500,000 cars, sending the firm's stock in a nosedive and forcing CEO Elon Musk to give up the company reigns to an executive with auto experience to quiet the financial crisis.
8. Despite most political pundits debunking her chances, Hillary Clinton announces she will run for the presidency igniting a wild scramble among Democrats to come up with a more electable candidate. Former San Antonio Mayor Julian Castro throws his hat in the ring, becoming the favorite.
9. Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, who recently underwent cancer surgery, attempts to hang on to her seat on the High Court despite failing health before succumbing to the disease. President Trump nominates former Notre Dame law professor Amy Barrett as her replacement.
10. As the cost of health care and insurance continue to climb, industry giants Goggle, Amazon and Apple jump start more research and development on the use of virtual intelligence for applications in drug development, health diagnosis and personal health care, gaining a new revenue wellspring.
I can hear what your are thinking. These predictions are pig-headed, the figment of a bacon-lover's imagination. You could be right. But the good news is that when 2019 ends, you won't remember these forecasts. So go ahead. Have a wiggly piggly New Year!
Monday, December 31, 2018
Sunday, December 16, 2018
Santa's Crisis: Deer In The Headlights
A highly contagious virus known as political correctness has infected the reindeer at the North Pole leading to a near mutiny. Some reindeer, wearing yellow vests, even tried to set fire to the elves' workshop, forcing Santa Claus to mobilize the Polar National Guard. Tensions remain high.
The discontent began innocently enough about a month ago. The reindeer were practicing pulling a sleigh piled with toys when Mrs. Claus piped Christmas music over the loudspeaker. When the song "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" began playing, the reindeer Blitzen took a knee.
The other reindeer, including their leader Rudolph, joined the protest. A shocked Mrs. Claus summoned Santa, who was checking one of his famous lists. "It's scandalous," Santa yelped. "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" is the North Pole's national anthem," he pointed out.
Santa confronted Blitzen, a former walk-on as a linebacker with Marshal University's Thundering Herd football team. "What's your beef," Santa asked gruffly. Blizten cast his eyes downward and pawed the ground. "I find offensive the line 'Bring us pudding,'" he answered.
"Why on earth would you object to that?" a dumbfounded Santa inquired. Blitzen flicked his tail and replied: "It smacks of White Beard Privilege. No reindeer has ever eaten pudding. That's for rich folks like you. We are lucky to have a few leafy greens or arctic char," Blitzen pouted.
To keep the peace, Santa reluctantly agreed the reindeer could remain on bended knee during the playing of the song but only at the North Pole. That seemed to placate the reindeer and Santa left relieved. However, tranquility lasted only two days. Another Christmas song rattled the peace.
When "Baby It's Cold Outside" blared over the loudspeaker, Cupid went berserk. She bolted from the reindeer games and locked herself inside the gender neutral restroom. Tears flowed and wailing could be heard for miles. Santa was alerted and rushed to find out what was wrong.
The bearded man with the ample belled softly knocked on the restroom door. "Go away," Cupid sobbed. A perplexed Santa tried soothing Cupid. "I hate that song," Cupid shrieked. "It is sexist and demeaning. If Mrs. Claus plays it one more time, I will quit the reindeer team."
Santa threw up his hands. "Ok, Ok. No more 'Baby It's Cold Outside.' Now can you come out into the cold, baby?" Cupid pranced out of the restroom into the snow and sauntered past Santa without acknowledging his presence. After the dust-up, Santa ordered Mrs. Claus to burn the loudspeaker.
For a solid week, toy production was humming, the reindeer were practicing wind sprints and the sleigh had received a fresh coat of red paint. Then it happened. A North Pole merchant erected a billboard in an empty lot with the words to the song "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas."
Dasher, who participated in the Million Reindeer March several years ago, was apoplectic. "How come no one dreams of a Black Christmas?" he demanded of the merchant with the Russian accent. "Why does Christmas always have to be White? This smacks of racial discrimination."
The worried merchant telephoned Santa, interrupting the jolly old man's afternoon cocktail, a Frozen Daiquiri. "You're kidding me?" an exasperated Santa said in a shrill voice. "That's A Christmas classic. It has nothing to do with race. It's about white snow for goodness sake."
Santa tried his best to explain the origin of the song to Dasher, who was clearly annoyed to have to listen to such dribble. After several hours of back-and-forth barbs, Santa shook his head in surrender. "I'll tell the merchant Mr. Gorbachev to tear down that billboard," Santa promised.
A few reindeer weren't mollified. Donner donned a yellow vest he found in a suit shop on North Pole Avenue. He urged the other reindeer to follow suit and before you knew it the herd was clomping to the elves' workshop with torches before the Polar National Guard barricaded their progress.
Order seemed to be restored after that incident. With Christmas a week away, serenity reigned among the reindeer. They appeared to never have been so content to mill around and eat bird eggs and mushrooms. A relaxed Santa held one last dress rehearsal for the reindeer before Christmas eve.
After the drill, Santa made the mistake of asking the reindeer if they had any questions. Dancer, the deer with the happy feet, stepped forward. "I was just wondering if you're going to shout: "Merry Christmas to all and to all a Good Night" this year."
Santa rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Of course! Surely no one can object to that," Santa said. Dancer frowned, a first for a reindeer. "Not everyone celebrates Christmas, Santa. Can't you just say, "Happy Holidays to all and to all a Good Night?"
Santa glared at the assembled troop of reindeer. He was treading on dangerous ground here. Who would pull his sleigh if all his reindeer decided to remain at the North Pole in protest? Santa pondered Dancer's question. The reindeer began to shift from hoof to hoof awaiting an answer.
"Tell you what," Santa huffed. "There is a herd of moose south of the North Pole, who are larger and stronger than any of you puny reindeer. Their antlers are huge and they cut a striking figure. I think I'm going to replace all of you. Moose are a happier than this bunch of complainers."
Rudolph was first to speak. "Oh, come on Santa. Moose don't have red noses." Santa laughed. "Reindeer don't have red noses either, you ninny. You had a nose job when you were just six days old. I know a plastic surgeon who specializes in Moose nose jobs."
Suddenly, the herd appeared nervous. There was whispering among the reindeer. Comet seemed unusually aggravated. Santa watched with his arms folded, thinking the group had that "Deer In The Headlights" look. Rudolph eased to the front of the herd. His nose was blinking red.
"Moose would ruin Christmas for the kids," Rudolph complained. "They will likely be frightened by those huge antlers. Children expect us to show up. They know every one of our names. Plus, can you imagine a herd of moose landing on the roof of a house? It could collapse under the weight."
Santa smiled. "Then you will show up Christmas eve and forget all your grievances?" Rudolph turned and saw the other reindeer nodding. "Yes," Rudolph said in a barely audible voice. And that's how Santa saved Christmas and stopped the spread of political correctness.
The discontent began innocently enough about a month ago. The reindeer were practicing pulling a sleigh piled with toys when Mrs. Claus piped Christmas music over the loudspeaker. When the song "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" began playing, the reindeer Blitzen took a knee.
The other reindeer, including their leader Rudolph, joined the protest. A shocked Mrs. Claus summoned Santa, who was checking one of his famous lists. "It's scandalous," Santa yelped. "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" is the North Pole's national anthem," he pointed out.
Santa confronted Blitzen, a former walk-on as a linebacker with Marshal University's Thundering Herd football team. "What's your beef," Santa asked gruffly. Blizten cast his eyes downward and pawed the ground. "I find offensive the line 'Bring us pudding,'" he answered.
"Why on earth would you object to that?" a dumbfounded Santa inquired. Blitzen flicked his tail and replied: "It smacks of White Beard Privilege. No reindeer has ever eaten pudding. That's for rich folks like you. We are lucky to have a few leafy greens or arctic char," Blitzen pouted.
To keep the peace, Santa reluctantly agreed the reindeer could remain on bended knee during the playing of the song but only at the North Pole. That seemed to placate the reindeer and Santa left relieved. However, tranquility lasted only two days. Another Christmas song rattled the peace.
When "Baby It's Cold Outside" blared over the loudspeaker, Cupid went berserk. She bolted from the reindeer games and locked herself inside the gender neutral restroom. Tears flowed and wailing could be heard for miles. Santa was alerted and rushed to find out what was wrong.
The bearded man with the ample belled softly knocked on the restroom door. "Go away," Cupid sobbed. A perplexed Santa tried soothing Cupid. "I hate that song," Cupid shrieked. "It is sexist and demeaning. If Mrs. Claus plays it one more time, I will quit the reindeer team."
Santa threw up his hands. "Ok, Ok. No more 'Baby It's Cold Outside.' Now can you come out into the cold, baby?" Cupid pranced out of the restroom into the snow and sauntered past Santa without acknowledging his presence. After the dust-up, Santa ordered Mrs. Claus to burn the loudspeaker.
For a solid week, toy production was humming, the reindeer were practicing wind sprints and the sleigh had received a fresh coat of red paint. Then it happened. A North Pole merchant erected a billboard in an empty lot with the words to the song "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas."
Dasher, who participated in the Million Reindeer March several years ago, was apoplectic. "How come no one dreams of a Black Christmas?" he demanded of the merchant with the Russian accent. "Why does Christmas always have to be White? This smacks of racial discrimination."
The worried merchant telephoned Santa, interrupting the jolly old man's afternoon cocktail, a Frozen Daiquiri. "You're kidding me?" an exasperated Santa said in a shrill voice. "That's A Christmas classic. It has nothing to do with race. It's about white snow for goodness sake."
Santa tried his best to explain the origin of the song to Dasher, who was clearly annoyed to have to listen to such dribble. After several hours of back-and-forth barbs, Santa shook his head in surrender. "I'll tell the merchant Mr. Gorbachev to tear down that billboard," Santa promised.
A few reindeer weren't mollified. Donner donned a yellow vest he found in a suit shop on North Pole Avenue. He urged the other reindeer to follow suit and before you knew it the herd was clomping to the elves' workshop with torches before the Polar National Guard barricaded their progress.
Order seemed to be restored after that incident. With Christmas a week away, serenity reigned among the reindeer. They appeared to never have been so content to mill around and eat bird eggs and mushrooms. A relaxed Santa held one last dress rehearsal for the reindeer before Christmas eve.
After the drill, Santa made the mistake of asking the reindeer if they had any questions. Dancer, the deer with the happy feet, stepped forward. "I was just wondering if you're going to shout: "Merry Christmas to all and to all a Good Night" this year."
Santa rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Of course! Surely no one can object to that," Santa said. Dancer frowned, a first for a reindeer. "Not everyone celebrates Christmas, Santa. Can't you just say, "Happy Holidays to all and to all a Good Night?"
Santa glared at the assembled troop of reindeer. He was treading on dangerous ground here. Who would pull his sleigh if all his reindeer decided to remain at the North Pole in protest? Santa pondered Dancer's question. The reindeer began to shift from hoof to hoof awaiting an answer.
"Tell you what," Santa huffed. "There is a herd of moose south of the North Pole, who are larger and stronger than any of you puny reindeer. Their antlers are huge and they cut a striking figure. I think I'm going to replace all of you. Moose are a happier than this bunch of complainers."
Rudolph was first to speak. "Oh, come on Santa. Moose don't have red noses." Santa laughed. "Reindeer don't have red noses either, you ninny. You had a nose job when you were just six days old. I know a plastic surgeon who specializes in Moose nose jobs."
Suddenly, the herd appeared nervous. There was whispering among the reindeer. Comet seemed unusually aggravated. Santa watched with his arms folded, thinking the group had that "Deer In The Headlights" look. Rudolph eased to the front of the herd. His nose was blinking red.
"Moose would ruin Christmas for the kids," Rudolph complained. "They will likely be frightened by those huge antlers. Children expect us to show up. They know every one of our names. Plus, can you imagine a herd of moose landing on the roof of a house? It could collapse under the weight."
Santa smiled. "Then you will show up Christmas eve and forget all your grievances?" Rudolph turned and saw the other reindeer nodding. "Yes," Rudolph said in a barely audible voice. And that's how Santa saved Christmas and stopped the spread of political correctness.
Sunday, December 9, 2018
My Journey Into Journalism
Standing in line at Wharton County Junior College in 1964, a bespectacled professor was quizzing each incoming freshman about the choice of a major. My only goal at the time was to spend as little time as possible in class. Now I was supposed to select a career? And before the first class?
My best friend stood ahead of me in the queue. When he approached the professor, he uttered those now famous words, "I want to major in journalism." Listening, I thought to myself. Writing. Hmmm. How hard could that be? I had watched a chimpanzee bang on a typewriter in a movie.
That is how I wound up in journalism. What began as a fanciful notion, soon turned into a passion for reporting on the news My initial foray into my freshly minted major was as a writer for the college newspaper. I soon received my first lesson about ethics and journalism.
After some investigation, I wrote a story about our dear college president, who was secretly assisting a local manufacturing plant break a strike by hiring students. It was hush-hush but I uncovered a couple of students who volunteered to be whistle blowers. Now they call them unnamed sources.
The day the story appeared in the college paper my journalism professor was hastily summoned to the office of the president. The president ordered my dismissal. This brave journalism professor balked. He promised to have a stern talk with me about my obvious disregard for authority.
Somehow I survived the dust-up. Soon after, opportunity knocked. The publisher of the local Wharton newspaper had seen my writing and wished to meet. I figured he wanted me to do obituaries because I had almost buried a college president with a single article.
To my surprise, he showed up for the meeting with a crude radio transmitter. The publisher also owned the local radio station. His play-by-play sports announcer had just quit. And the junior college had a basketball game that evening. Would I be interested? Well, I was a journalism major.
After a 15-minute lecture on radio transmitting and on air broadcasting, I was ready for my first radio gig. I ended up broadcasting basketball and baseball games. That's when I learned not everything in life is preparation. A lot of what happens is just sheer luck no one can foresee.
Two years later I was working in the Sports Information Department at East Texas State University, my next stop on my college career path. I needed money to pay for college and I liked sports. Perfect match. Then I wound up being offered the job of editor of the college newspaper.
Trouble followed. I turned one entire edition of the paper into a buzz saw against the student government. I skewered the student body president, tagging him a pawn of the administration. The burly guy accosted me one day on campus and threatened to dismember my body, organ by organ.
Before long, I had a call from the Greenville Herald Banner, a daily newspaper located not far from Commerce. Their sports editor had gotten drunk and fled town. Would I consider being sports editor for the summer? It seemed like fate kept nudging me on the shoulder.
One day the editor raced to my desk and told me to hotfoot it to a small town a few miles outside of Greenville where a horse had broken from its rider and was racing through downtown causing general havoc. It sounded like a yawn to me, now a big time sports editor.
When I arrived, the police were trying to corral the horse. The boy who owned the animal was trailing behind shouting, "Whoa, Dammit!" Turns out that was the horse's name. Dammit. It was a reporter's dream. The headline on the front page howled: "Boy Tells Horse: 'Whoa, Dammit."
The article won an Associated Press award for feature writing. My career in journalism was galloping along. After I graduated college, I landed a job with United Press International, a wire service news organization with far flung offices. I was offered Little Rock, a global hotspot.
Newly wed, I drove into Arkansas in the summer of 1968. Within weeks, race riots erupted in the city. I was dispatched to the epicenter of the action. I was phoning in my report from a pay booth when an angry mob of folks surrounded the cubicle. My life of 21 years flashed before me.
I bolted from the pay phone booth and sprinted like Jesse Owens. I never looked back as I darted for the National Guard contingent manning barricades nearby. I practically collapsed into the arms of a guardsman. When I glanced back, all I saw was darkness. Journalism was a risky business.
A few years later, the Dallas Times Herald offered me a job on the city desk. The Times Herald was locked in a circulation battle with The Dallas Morning News. Competition was fierce and the Herald wanted some more firepower. That would be me. Mr. Firepower.
One day I decided to sneak into the newsroom early to write a story for the paper's afternoon edition. The newsroom was empty, eerily silent except for the clattering of news wire machines. I was absentmindedly checking a few headlines when suddenly my heart went thud, thud, thud.
The Associated Press carried a story about the shooting of four sheriff's deputies in Dallas County. The incident had happened at 2 a.m. after The Morning News had already printed its final edition. I glanced at my watch. It was 4 a.m. I raced for a telephone and called the news editor at home.
The editor began summoning a crew of reporters and photographers while I sped to the Sheriff's Office. By noon, we had wrapped up the biggest story in Dallas in years. The Times Herald published an expanded edition that arrived at homes that afternoon. It was a stunning scoop.
For my Herculean efforts, I was awarded a $10 a week raise. That was the beginning of the end of my journalism career. We wanted to start a family and the key to journalism would never unlock financial security. I decided to switch careers, despite my love of writing and reporting.
I admit goosebumps rise on my arms every time I hear breaking news. I want to be smack in the middle of the action. But the news business turned out to be cheap, cruel and often ethically challenging. I discovered journalism was a business, not pure as the driven snow.
I am glad I divorced journalism when I did. It depresses me now to watch a once proud profession wallow in mediocrity and disgrace. But I survived journalism's alluring embrace with some great memories. I will cling to those in my golden years like a warm blanket.
My best friend stood ahead of me in the queue. When he approached the professor, he uttered those now famous words, "I want to major in journalism." Listening, I thought to myself. Writing. Hmmm. How hard could that be? I had watched a chimpanzee bang on a typewriter in a movie.
That is how I wound up in journalism. What began as a fanciful notion, soon turned into a passion for reporting on the news My initial foray into my freshly minted major was as a writer for the college newspaper. I soon received my first lesson about ethics and journalism.
After some investigation, I wrote a story about our dear college president, who was secretly assisting a local manufacturing plant break a strike by hiring students. It was hush-hush but I uncovered a couple of students who volunteered to be whistle blowers. Now they call them unnamed sources.
The day the story appeared in the college paper my journalism professor was hastily summoned to the office of the president. The president ordered my dismissal. This brave journalism professor balked. He promised to have a stern talk with me about my obvious disregard for authority.
Somehow I survived the dust-up. Soon after, opportunity knocked. The publisher of the local Wharton newspaper had seen my writing and wished to meet. I figured he wanted me to do obituaries because I had almost buried a college president with a single article.
To my surprise, he showed up for the meeting with a crude radio transmitter. The publisher also owned the local radio station. His play-by-play sports announcer had just quit. And the junior college had a basketball game that evening. Would I be interested? Well, I was a journalism major.
After a 15-minute lecture on radio transmitting and on air broadcasting, I was ready for my first radio gig. I ended up broadcasting basketball and baseball games. That's when I learned not everything in life is preparation. A lot of what happens is just sheer luck no one can foresee.
Two years later I was working in the Sports Information Department at East Texas State University, my next stop on my college career path. I needed money to pay for college and I liked sports. Perfect match. Then I wound up being offered the job of editor of the college newspaper.
Trouble followed. I turned one entire edition of the paper into a buzz saw against the student government. I skewered the student body president, tagging him a pawn of the administration. The burly guy accosted me one day on campus and threatened to dismember my body, organ by organ.
Before long, I had a call from the Greenville Herald Banner, a daily newspaper located not far from Commerce. Their sports editor had gotten drunk and fled town. Would I consider being sports editor for the summer? It seemed like fate kept nudging me on the shoulder.
One day the editor raced to my desk and told me to hotfoot it to a small town a few miles outside of Greenville where a horse had broken from its rider and was racing through downtown causing general havoc. It sounded like a yawn to me, now a big time sports editor.
When I arrived, the police were trying to corral the horse. The boy who owned the animal was trailing behind shouting, "Whoa, Dammit!" Turns out that was the horse's name. Dammit. It was a reporter's dream. The headline on the front page howled: "Boy Tells Horse: 'Whoa, Dammit."
The article won an Associated Press award for feature writing. My career in journalism was galloping along. After I graduated college, I landed a job with United Press International, a wire service news organization with far flung offices. I was offered Little Rock, a global hotspot.
Newly wed, I drove into Arkansas in the summer of 1968. Within weeks, race riots erupted in the city. I was dispatched to the epicenter of the action. I was phoning in my report from a pay booth when an angry mob of folks surrounded the cubicle. My life of 21 years flashed before me.
I bolted from the pay phone booth and sprinted like Jesse Owens. I never looked back as I darted for the National Guard contingent manning barricades nearby. I practically collapsed into the arms of a guardsman. When I glanced back, all I saw was darkness. Journalism was a risky business.
A few years later, the Dallas Times Herald offered me a job on the city desk. The Times Herald was locked in a circulation battle with The Dallas Morning News. Competition was fierce and the Herald wanted some more firepower. That would be me. Mr. Firepower.
One day I decided to sneak into the newsroom early to write a story for the paper's afternoon edition. The newsroom was empty, eerily silent except for the clattering of news wire machines. I was absentmindedly checking a few headlines when suddenly my heart went thud, thud, thud.
The Associated Press carried a story about the shooting of four sheriff's deputies in Dallas County. The incident had happened at 2 a.m. after The Morning News had already printed its final edition. I glanced at my watch. It was 4 a.m. I raced for a telephone and called the news editor at home.
The editor began summoning a crew of reporters and photographers while I sped to the Sheriff's Office. By noon, we had wrapped up the biggest story in Dallas in years. The Times Herald published an expanded edition that arrived at homes that afternoon. It was a stunning scoop.
For my Herculean efforts, I was awarded a $10 a week raise. That was the beginning of the end of my journalism career. We wanted to start a family and the key to journalism would never unlock financial security. I decided to switch careers, despite my love of writing and reporting.
I admit goosebumps rise on my arms every time I hear breaking news. I want to be smack in the middle of the action. But the news business turned out to be cheap, cruel and often ethically challenging. I discovered journalism was a business, not pure as the driven snow.
I am glad I divorced journalism when I did. It depresses me now to watch a once proud profession wallow in mediocrity and disgrace. But I survived journalism's alluring embrace with some great memories. I will cling to those in my golden years like a warm blanket.
Monday, December 3, 2018
Pessimism Influences Our Viewpoint
Studies dating back several decades reveal a phenomenon unique to prosperous nations. People tend to be pessimistic about their country and their world but optimistic about their own lives. This dichotomy may appear at first glance to be a conundrum but experts have an explanation.
Many point to a 2013 groundbreaking study conducted by a Swedish statistician and public health expert Hans Rosling. He surveyed 1,005 Americans on the issue of world poverty. He was astonished to find only five percent of Americans correctly estimated the level of poverty.
In his research, Americans were asked if world poverty had almost doubled, almost halved or stayed about the same in the last 20 years. The correct answer is extreme poverty has been reduced by one-half. Most Americans estimated it was much higher, influenced by what they had read or heard.
The statistician's conclusion, supported by many other studies, is that people's pessimistic views often are unsupported by facts. This is especially true in developed countries, where people generally have higher levels of income, increased security and benefit from healthier living conditions.
Consider recent data from the University of Michigan, Haver Analytics and Deutsche Bank Global Research. For the first time millennials are less optimistic than those aged 55+ about the future. Just 37 percent of people believe today's children will be better off financially than their parents.
Researchers concede there are depressing issues confronting the world: terrorism, conflicts, failing economies, drugs, student debt and many others. However, these problems are often the subject of news reporting that inflates the risks and danger to attract viewers, readers and listeners.
Psychologists point to the media's infatuation with bad news. Murders, accidents, bombings, natural disasters and scandals dominate the news. The emphasis is on tragedy, despair and disturbing behavior. Is it any wonder Americans believe the world is crumbling beneath their feet?
Meanwhile, good news is usually ignored because the media is convinced people aren't interested. Unfortunately, there is evidence to suggest the news cabal is correct. Studies show Americans prefer gore and scandal to news about a good Samaritan, unless the individual is famous.
In 2014, McGill University conducted studies using eye-tracking equipment to discover what news stories their subjects preferred to read. The results were eye-opening, pardon the pun. The subjects preferred to scan bad news, although they professed to be more interested in good news.
To illustrate how news coverage impacts our view, think about airline crashes. When a plane goes down, it generates a torrent of news coverage. The result is that a sizable percentage of Americans believe air travel is risky (include me in that number.) But the facts argue otherwise.
The National Transportation Safety Board estimates the odds of dying in a plane crash at one in 29.4 million. By comparison, you have a one in 144 chance of being involved in a fatal car wreck. Air disaster news reports focus on fatalities without adding perspective on the relative safety of flight.
There are other influences beyond the media. Many public advocacy groups have a vested interest in convincing Americans there are looming catastrophic consequences from pollution, climate change, social inequality, etc. etc. etc. Frankly, their job is to scare daylights out of you to trigger a reaction.
Even well-meaning, non-profit organizations are guilty of overstating problems. If you want to raise money, the issue to be solved must rise to a critical level to motivate people to part with their money. A tug on the emotional strings, alarming statistics and unsettling images are the grist of non-profits.
People might be reluctant to donate money to help poverty-stricken children. But tell them millions of kids go without food every day and show videos of babies with swollen bellies and people are more sympathetic. Often perspective is missing in the message. People are being manipulated.
A better example may be economists and stock market analysts. They are unrivaled pessimists. Even with the economy improving, they now worry about wage hikes. Shouldn't that be good news for workers? Not in their view. More pay means higher prices and inflation, they grouse.
No wonder Americans and people around the globe are pessimistic about their world. They are being bombarded with distressing news, gloomy predictions, worst case scenarios and an endless list of problems. We all need to gain more perspective and obtain factual evidence to better assess reality.
One solution is to stop watching, reading and listening to the news around-the-clock. Being informed is healthy, but being saturated with woe and torment is a prescription for depression. We should all strive to be rational optimists, adopting a view that no problem cannot be solved over time.
The alternative is to wallow in our agony as we are reminded daily that our planet is in a mess. This world and nation of ours are far from perfect. But our planet has survived devastating wars, famines, natural disasters, genocides and epic diseases. That should give us hope for a bright future.
Many point to a 2013 groundbreaking study conducted by a Swedish statistician and public health expert Hans Rosling. He surveyed 1,005 Americans on the issue of world poverty. He was astonished to find only five percent of Americans correctly estimated the level of poverty.
In his research, Americans were asked if world poverty had almost doubled, almost halved or stayed about the same in the last 20 years. The correct answer is extreme poverty has been reduced by one-half. Most Americans estimated it was much higher, influenced by what they had read or heard.
The statistician's conclusion, supported by many other studies, is that people's pessimistic views often are unsupported by facts. This is especially true in developed countries, where people generally have higher levels of income, increased security and benefit from healthier living conditions.
Consider recent data from the University of Michigan, Haver Analytics and Deutsche Bank Global Research. For the first time millennials are less optimistic than those aged 55+ about the future. Just 37 percent of people believe today's children will be better off financially than their parents.
Researchers concede there are depressing issues confronting the world: terrorism, conflicts, failing economies, drugs, student debt and many others. However, these problems are often the subject of news reporting that inflates the risks and danger to attract viewers, readers and listeners.
Psychologists point to the media's infatuation with bad news. Murders, accidents, bombings, natural disasters and scandals dominate the news. The emphasis is on tragedy, despair and disturbing behavior. Is it any wonder Americans believe the world is crumbling beneath their feet?
Meanwhile, good news is usually ignored because the media is convinced people aren't interested. Unfortunately, there is evidence to suggest the news cabal is correct. Studies show Americans prefer gore and scandal to news about a good Samaritan, unless the individual is famous.
In 2014, McGill University conducted studies using eye-tracking equipment to discover what news stories their subjects preferred to read. The results were eye-opening, pardon the pun. The subjects preferred to scan bad news, although they professed to be more interested in good news.
To illustrate how news coverage impacts our view, think about airline crashes. When a plane goes down, it generates a torrent of news coverage. The result is that a sizable percentage of Americans believe air travel is risky (include me in that number.) But the facts argue otherwise.
The National Transportation Safety Board estimates the odds of dying in a plane crash at one in 29.4 million. By comparison, you have a one in 144 chance of being involved in a fatal car wreck. Air disaster news reports focus on fatalities without adding perspective on the relative safety of flight.
There are other influences beyond the media. Many public advocacy groups have a vested interest in convincing Americans there are looming catastrophic consequences from pollution, climate change, social inequality, etc. etc. etc. Frankly, their job is to scare daylights out of you to trigger a reaction.
Even well-meaning, non-profit organizations are guilty of overstating problems. If you want to raise money, the issue to be solved must rise to a critical level to motivate people to part with their money. A tug on the emotional strings, alarming statistics and unsettling images are the grist of non-profits.
People might be reluctant to donate money to help poverty-stricken children. But tell them millions of kids go without food every day and show videos of babies with swollen bellies and people are more sympathetic. Often perspective is missing in the message. People are being manipulated.
A better example may be economists and stock market analysts. They are unrivaled pessimists. Even with the economy improving, they now worry about wage hikes. Shouldn't that be good news for workers? Not in their view. More pay means higher prices and inflation, they grouse.
No wonder Americans and people around the globe are pessimistic about their world. They are being bombarded with distressing news, gloomy predictions, worst case scenarios and an endless list of problems. We all need to gain more perspective and obtain factual evidence to better assess reality.
One solution is to stop watching, reading and listening to the news around-the-clock. Being informed is healthy, but being saturated with woe and torment is a prescription for depression. We should all strive to be rational optimists, adopting a view that no problem cannot be solved over time.
The alternative is to wallow in our agony as we are reminded daily that our planet is in a mess. This world and nation of ours are far from perfect. But our planet has survived devastating wars, famines, natural disasters, genocides and epic diseases. That should give us hope for a bright future.