Anderson Cooper blows, journalistically speaking

Sometime in the next 24 hours, one of America’s most visible news anchors is going to do something that will demolish his credibility.

He will cavort, he will mug, he will giggle like he’s being tickled by endless feather-filled breezes.

Of course, that’s something Anderson Cooper has since September been doing every day before lunch.

He will be hosting CNN’s New Year’s Eve coverage from Times Square. His co-host will be comic Kathi Griffin, whose mission is to so thoroughly embarrass Cooper the network will be forced to issue an apology for her behavior.

That no one finds the pairing incongruous is symptomatic of all that’s wrong with the 24-hour news cycle.

Griffin is funny, irreverent and prone to spastic outbursts of emotions.

The problem is so is Cooper.

And for this he is celebrated. CNN honcho Jonathan Klein called Cooper “the anchorperson of the future.”

Broadcasting & Cable magazine said Cooper’s Hurricane Katrina coverage ushered in a “new breed of emo-journalism, skyrocketing Cooper to superstardom as CNN's golden boy and a darling of the media circles because of his impassioned coverage of the storm.”

His news skills are such that he’s been elevated to the very pinnacle of broadcast news excellence, a regular position on “60 Minutes.”

What demographic are these outlets seeking to tap when they hire Cooper? Kids who no longer feel challenged by MTV News?

The world and national news should be like married sex. It should be straight-forward, business-like, tickle-free and the whole thing should be wrapped up in under 22 minutes.

Or so I’m told.

News anchors like Cooper make ESPN sports gigglers look reserved.

He’ll tear-up over famine in Asia, darken in rage over tribal conflicts in Africa. I see him doing a report over endangered sea creatures and feel sad I can’t rush to New York to give him a reassuring hug.

I don’t want the news to be an emotional roller-coaster. I just want the news.

Anchors used to have about 30-minutes. Someone as hysterically over-exposed as Cooper is on for two-hours at a time, minimum.

So in addition to true news, we get to see the playful Cooper, the pensive Cooper, the caring Cooper and the Cooper who shares he doesn’t much like spinach.

We see every side of Cooper except the one he’s oddly coy about, the gay-or-not-gay Cooper.

“Out Magazine” listed him in 2007 as the second most powerful gay person in America.

The declaration should have had “Out” readers suggesting editors change the magazine name to “In” because Cooper has never said one way or the other.

A son of billionaire socialite heiress Gloria Vanderbilt, he’s said revealing his sexuality would threaten his self-perceived impartiality.

“The whole thing about being a reporter is that you're supposed to be an observer and to be able to adapt with any group you’re in, and I don’t want to do anything that threatens that,” he’s said.

That’s just silly. People aren’t going to watch or decide they are going to talk to him based on whether he’s gay or not.

I still tune in even though it’s clear he’s an ass.

I don’t understand why Cooper is considered, egads, a modern Walter Cronkite when another zipper-thin contemporary is dismissed as a shallow boob.

To me, Cooper and fellow lightweight Ryan Seacrest are journalistic twins.

Watching Cooper report on the European debt crisis is no different than watching Seacrest report on the Kardashians.

What’s happening isn’t as important as the fact that each is on television getting to say that it is.

This became clear to me in September when Cooper began hosting “Anderson,” a syndicated yap fest in which he interviews people like Jerry Seinfeld’s wife about things like zucchini.

It’s a daily disgrace that in another day would have led both CNN and CBS to terminate Cooper for acting more like a showman than a newsman.

I remain part of the problem because I still watch CNN. I’ll be among the multitudes tuned in for their New Year’s Eve coverage to see if Griffin gives Cooper a wedgie.

The next day CNN executives will look at the ratings and be pleased, I’m sure, that so many viewers tuned in to watch the big ball drop.

What their charts won’t detect is that many viewers like me were watching in hopes it would land on the host’s head.

My gay friend John

I try to be honest. Honest.

But some aspects of life are so boring they simply must be agitated with lies.

I’m talking about things like phone calls with tele-marketers, putting toddlers to sleep, and especially long drives alone with demented mothers.

I find lying in these situations irresistible.

With Mom, it doesn’t start out that way. But after she asks the same question five times in 50 miles, I scratch the itch to fib.

That’s how my old friend John became homosexual.

You’re probably becoming familiar with him. I wrote about him here when he considered how my near death choking incident might help him squeak out of paying the dim sum bill, and here about the recent passing of his wacky father.

We’ve been close ever since we were college roommates.

Because of these key events, I’ve probably written more about him than even Sarah Palin over the last year. And Mom’s the only person I’ve written about more than him.

I tell people she’s demented, which you don’t hear too often. Lots of people have dementia, her included, but those people are said to “have dementia,” which sounds passive and confined.

I like describing her as being demented because it connotes just how much her condition afflicts those who have to spend time with her.

Redundant questions is just the tip of the patience-trying iceberg.

“So how’s John? Is he married?”

He’s good, Mom. He enjoys being single in New York.

(Five miles pass).

“Did your friend John ever get married?”

No, he was engaged, Mom, but it didn’t take.

(Five miles pass)

“Your friend John, he never did get married, did he?”

That is correct, Mom. John never married.

(Five miles pass)

“Is your friend John married?”

No, Mom. John’s not married.

(Five miles pass)

“How’s John these days? Is he married?”

That was enough. I told her John was gay. We had another 20 minutes or so in the car so I told a long, lavish story about John and his gay lover, the extravagant parties they host, their friendship with Anderson Cooper and the pack of poodles upon which they lovingly dote.

What’s fascinating is how she couldn’t recall even the most mundane aspects of John’s personal life and now after one brisk telling remembers gay John in rich detail.

Always a progressive in regards to social movements, she's quick to tell everyone all about her son’s gay friend.

It happened again the other day when I was over for a quick visit. My second cousin -- and the 22-year-old’s really kind of a darling niece -- was there tending to Mom while she looks for work.

Mom asked me about my recent high school reunion. She asked who I’d seen and how everyone was. I skipped the divorces, the suicides and news about old friends who’d sadly become Republicans and said, Mom, everyone of my old classmates is beautiful and happy.

Then right out of the blue she turns to Jessie and says, “Chris’s old college roommate, John, is homosexual and a highly-regarded leader in the gay rights movement. He lives in Soho with his boyfriend, Burt. Burt’s a florist who was estranged from his parents until his mother published a book of poems about the difficulties of raising gay children. John and Burt are taking ice sculpting classes. They’ve lived together for eight years, but say they won’t get married until Brad and Angelina do.”

Jessie was impressed.

She asked me all about John and if it was difficult for him being gay at Ohio University way back in the mid-1980s.

I stammered some quick little lies and began backing out of the room.

I’m uncomfortable lying to normal people. Later, I admitted to Jessie I told Mom John was gay out of sheer boredom. I told her I invented Burt, his once-estranged poetess mother and all the purple-dyed poodles.

I said John was none of the heroic things I ascribed to him, that he was straight and really sort of a dick.

So now I feel a little bad about the big snowballing story. Who knows where it could all lead?

All I know is this: John should really consider becoming gay.

He’s become one hell of a great guy ever since I shoved him out of the closet.

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