Blogoland

Glenn Reynolds says he's changed the philosophy of his website in the past year. Not commenting as much he used to. A healthy dose of "Heh's" and "Indeeds" is most anyone should need. Hey, he's an InstaPundit, there's little time for commentary in this go-go modern world we live in.

So, of necessity, he's more of a read-between-the-lines sort of guy, you know? Which is important to understand when reading a recent gem like this:

"REPORTERS ARE BEING TARGETED for violence and murder." Someone tell Linda Foley.

Doncha get it? No? OK, there's a little backstory, but it's really funny, so lemme explain. Linda Foley, the president of The Newspaper Guild had accused the U.S. milary of "targeting journalists" in Iraq. Now, that was wrong, and I think most sane people agree that's wrong. So the implication of "Telling Linda Foley" is that she probably doesn't give two squats about the murders of reporters in Mexico because, I suppose (I'm guessing, it's sometimes hard to interpret haiku) that the only time the evil Linda Foley is outraged by a journalist's death is when it reflects poorly on the U.S. military, or even worse, President-for-Life George W. Bush. So she needs to be told about deaths of reporters in Mexico because she would not be otherwise apprised. Or even if she were, she probably wouldn't make a stink about it because, like, all those Mexican reporters can die and stuff.

I knew you'd find it hilarious.

Apparently, though, speedy punditry affords you the luxury of not ever reading what you link to. As one commenter notes:

PS> When I saw the Instalink, I thought you were discussing killing reporters in Iraq which I just wrote a short story about last night.

I'm sure he was disappointed that he couldn't find detailed how-to instructions. Things get even funnier, because the intrepid blogger that Prof. Reynolds links to accuses the press of -- Oh, yes! -- ignoring the story because, they're like, Dinosaurs and stuff. Oh, the knife!

Funny this never made the national news. At least not in the sense of being
given day in day out coverage.

Yes, where is this national news coverage? This comment intriguingly follows an excerpt the blogger highlights from a story that appeared in -- drumroll -- The Washington Post, that discusses the problems in Mexico.

You know, the Washington Post, the freebie that gets chucked at your doorstep or left in the laundromat? That has, I'm pretty sure, no national distribution or presence, whatsoever?

To the LexisNexis Machine!

Let's start with May 24, 2005, when the New York Times pulled the wool over its readers eyes by unreporting this lede:

NUEVO LAREDO, Mexico -- There was nothing secretive about the death threats against Guadalupe Garcia, a crime reporter here in this busy border city. Her stalkers broadcast their intentions over the police radio.

''You are next, Lupita,'' a growling voice would blurt into the emergency communications system. ''We are coming for you.''

They came on the morning of April 5. A young man carrying a backpack and a semiautomatic 9-millimeter handgun ambushed Ms. Garcia after she signed off her morning news show at Estereo 91. He shot her several times in the abdomen on a
busy street, in broad daylight.

Ms. Garcia, a wife and mother who was known for her provocative stories that named names of drug runners and their bosses based on her street reporting, fought for 11 days in intensive care before dying of her injuries.

I know, not national enough. Neither are the St. Petersburg Times, the Seattle Times, and the San Antonio News-Express, all of whom have catalogued the deaths of reporters in Mexico in the past three months.

Not to be missed, though, is this final thought from our blogger.

Perhaps what we see is the real truth about reporters. For most of them it is just a job. They have the courage to handle occasional danger. Permanent danger is not in the job specs.

Yeah, what's wrong with these pussy reporters? Only 31 died in the line of reporting this year alone. I'll bet that's pretty low compared with blogging-related deaths.