Beating To My Own Drum

You can, too.

Being me since childhood wearing my mom's 1960s wig.

A reporter is supposed to write the truth, explain what they witness, investigate tips to see if they turn into facts, gather the facts and ask questions — even tough ones. There's a lot that goes into real journalism.

You don't have to like the people you interview, but you should be fair and professional. You also should be respectful. You should ask hard questions especially of elected officials, but you shouldn't call them names like you are in third grade.

And some journalists — if you can call them that — do that, and they forget to investigate or ask questions.

I'm not sure what the hell some reporters do, but it is not the journalism I was taught in undergraduate and graduate school.

Forever, I've said this: If you don't like what I write, do not read it. You have a choice. To read or not to read. Either way, I won't cry or lose sleep over it. Trust me.

See, unlike a large majority of people, I do not live in an echo chamber. I never have. In case you don't know: An echo chamber is an “environment in which a person encounters only beliefs or opinions that coincide with their own, so that their existing views are reonforced and alternative ideas are not considered.”

That. Is. Not. Me.

A lot of people want to try and drag me into their weird echo chamber playgrounds by glomming on to whatever I write — be it sex, Grapette, cats, or my appearance on Dr. Phil long ago.

Echo chambers are dangerous. I don't like them. I don't play or work in them.

I never have, never will.

Here are some examples of how I never caved to peer pressure and always beat to my own drum. I'm not changing now. That's for damn sure.

So it's true confession time. Ready?