A very certain kind of person uses the word "ping," as in, "ping me."
You know how there's that word of the year near the end of every year? I don't know who does it. Webster's? Something like that. I can already tell you what that word of the year should be for 2024: DEI.
I can't get away from it in this first week and a half of 2024. Everyone is saying it, tossing it every which way.
The word itself, as it is now becoming understood in an ironic, reality-based context, makes a kind of sane statement which runs counter to a narrative you're supposed to espouse in order to be one of those vaunted good ones, so it wouldn't actually get chosen, but that would be the word, so far as the volume of public commerce and resonance they're looking for in such a word.
There is no actual writing in what is called "media" and in what media now means, just as what calls itself journalism is not journalism. Very little anyway has less appeal to me than journalism, because journalism isn't writing and never was. I care about writing. Three things I am not which I'll get into more about later: a journalist, a freelancer, a generalist. I could not be further from each of the three.
But the term journalism is now a front. It's a Trojan horse. There's no attempt on either side to present truth. Agenda is everything. Advancing the so-called cause is everything. Even reporting doesn't exist anymore. Or in only trace amounts, and what that is pertains to the scores of ball games or the damages done by a winter storm. "Power is still out in Lowell this morning as crews work to repair..."