If a news anchor falls in the forest, does she make a sound? The news the other day that Katie Couric is either 1) Leaving or 2) Being shown the door was hardly news. The first solo woman anchor of a national newscast goes bye bye? Ho hum.
I think the bigger news (pun intended) is that this may in fact mark the end of network evening news.
No, network newscasts and anchors aren't going away. But times have changed. With the advent of cable news and the Internet, the evening network news (at 5:30 here in Chicago) doesn't matter much anymore.
Quickly, can you name ONE network news anchor?
You're not alone. According to the Pew Research Center, network news has lost 55% of its audience since 1980.
In other words, network news hasn't been "in" since the days of Elf and Arnold Horshack.
The only saving grace is that network news is (mildly) profitable and the lowest rated network program has more viewers than the highest rated cable news offering. The best of the worst; an NIT basketball tournament for newsies.
I gave up on newscasts about 15 years ago after a gradual realization that I trust what I read much more than what I watch. Truth is, by the end of my day the top news stories are old and I'm looking for analysis. Political shows, websites and newspaper commentary fill the void.
Some of this is generational. I am firmly convinced that if a meteor struck my parent's home at 9:45 p.m., rescue workers would arrive and find my Dad in the rubble trying to tune in for the ten o'clock news.
But the days of iconic anchors have passed. Or have they? I would enjoy hearing what you think.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Reality Totality
I don't watch much reality TV. Or at least I would never admit it.
Some day scholars will credit Jerry Springer and Geraldo for springing an entire collection of unhinged, vapid, narcissistic "stars," some of whom appear on other reality shows merely because of their reality star status. What a country!
I suppose some shows are more redeeming than others, in the same way you might compare Chaucer to a rap star.
And like Springer and Geraldo, you can produce an entire season of reality for $5.95, a TV execs dream.
Full disclosure: My wife is an actress. A real one. Studied theater and everything. So there have been a few (thus far unspoken) moments when we realize that clowns like "The Situation" and Paris Hilton are taking work from classically trained professionals. Professionals who use silverware and can spell words like adverb. Even use them.
I have a few reality show ideas, and would love to know what you think.
Hormonal Island: Contestants are stranded with three "tweens" in the throes of puberty. Nuff said.
Heavy Celebrity Hoarder Intervention: This spin-off of A&E shows features D list celebrities with the tag line "Because any attention is good, right?" A "very special episode" features Kirstie Alley.
Survivor Interstate: Contestant couples are paired with random unrelated children and sent on a cross country car ride. Challenges include an 8 hour stretch with only a cheese stick and Teletubbie marathon. Points lost for bathroom stops.
Gamer Wives: An in depth look at attractive, well educated women and their overgrown children, filmed entirely from the basement. Special poker edition debuts in the fall.
Deadliest Political Catch - Ten members of Congress (3 Red, 3 Blue, 2 Tea, 2 Decaf) set out on Alaska's Bering Sea in search of Opilio crab. The winning team has majority rule until the 2012 elections.
Some day scholars will credit Jerry Springer and Geraldo for springing an entire collection of unhinged, vapid, narcissistic "stars," some of whom appear on other reality shows merely because of their reality star status. What a country!
I suppose some shows are more redeeming than others, in the same way you might compare Chaucer to a rap star.
And like Springer and Geraldo, you can produce an entire season of reality for $5.95, a TV execs dream.
Full disclosure: My wife is an actress. A real one. Studied theater and everything. So there have been a few (thus far unspoken) moments when we realize that clowns like "The Situation" and Paris Hilton are taking work from classically trained professionals. Professionals who use silverware and can spell words like adverb. Even use them.
I have a few reality show ideas, and would love to know what you think.
Hormonal Island: Contestants are stranded with three "tweens" in the throes of puberty. Nuff said.
Heavy Celebrity Hoarder Intervention: This spin-off of A&E shows features D list celebrities with the tag line "Because any attention is good, right?" A "very special episode" features Kirstie Alley.
Survivor Interstate: Contestant couples are paired with random unrelated children and sent on a cross country car ride. Challenges include an 8 hour stretch with only a cheese stick and Teletubbie marathon. Points lost for bathroom stops.
Gamer Wives: An in depth look at attractive, well educated women and their overgrown children, filmed entirely from the basement. Special poker edition debuts in the fall.
Deadliest Political Catch - Ten members of Congress (3 Red, 3 Blue, 2 Tea, 2 Decaf) set out on Alaska's Bering Sea in search of Opilio crab. The winning team has majority rule until the 2012 elections.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Jalen Rose Meets Dan Quayle
If you haven't had a chance to watch ESPN's new documentary "Fab Five" check it out.
The film takes you back twenty years, when the University of Michigan landed five of the nation's top basketball recruits, then became the first team to start five freshman in a game.
The Fab Five were brash. They were bold. Muhammad Ali in tank tops and baggy shorts. In fact, Ali turns out to be a follower of the team.
And like Ali, they backed it up.
The Fab Five went to two consecutive Final Fours, losing both times in the national championship game.
The film was produced by Fab Five member Jalen Rose, who went on to a long NBA career and currently works as an analyst for ESPN.
It's a captivating film, mainly for the raw, unedited emotion displayed by the participants.
Especially Jalen Rose.
Rose and his teammates have been criticized for disparaging remarks about the Duke Blue Devils, particularly Grant Hill.
No ambiguity here. The Fab Five hates Duke and all that it stands for. To them Michigan is "street," Duke "elite."
In Rose's eyes Duke would never touch guys like him because "they only wanted Uncle Tom's."
Rose went on to say that he was jealous of Grant Hill, who grew up privileged in a two parent household while he was raised by a single mother.
Some felt Rose should have explained his feelings today or edited them. I disagree, as the film was about 1992, not 2011.
Grant Hill then responded to Rose's comments:
http://thequad.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/03/16/grant-hills-response-to-jalen-rose/
As I read Hill's remarks, one thought came to mind: He should have let it go.
When I watched "Fab Five" and listened to Jalen Rose, I heard the voice of a wounded child. I heard the voice of a man who, despite having both financial and personal success, would probably give it away.
A child who would give anything to have a Dad.
Rose's most poignant remarks were about the father who abandoned him. Like Hill, Rose's father, Jimmy Walker, was a professional athlete. Hill's father, Calvin Hill, played for the Dallas Cowboys. Walker played for three NBA teams.
But while Hill grew up with his Dad, Walker never met his son. In fact, Rose chose to wear number 42 in high school out of spite since it was the opposite of Walker's number 24.
Enter Dan Quayle, or more recently, Mike Huckabee.
Then Vice President Dan Quayle famously criticized TV character Murphy Brown in 1992 for having a child out of wedlock and "ignoring the importance of fathers by birthing a child alone."
Huckabee did the same, essentially, a few weeks ago when he criticized actress Natalie Portman, who is pregnant by her fiance.
I'll leave the moralizing to the talking heads.
Here's what I know:
Dad's matter. Men matter. And yes, our culture often diminishes their significance.
But men do their part also. Huckabee refers to a "Dad deficit" of $300 billion dollars. In Chicago this past Valentine's Day "Operation Love" resulted in the arrests of six men who collectively owe over $200,000 in child support. Chris Rock joked years ago, "If Osama Bin Laden owed child support they would have found him by now."
Being a father does not make you a man. I often tell my kids, "Anyone can be a father, but only special people are Dad's." Real men cook, they clean, they are emotionally available to their children. They teach them right from wrong.
They are there for their children.
Not having one hurts. Just ask Jalen Rose.
The film takes you back twenty years, when the University of Michigan landed five of the nation's top basketball recruits, then became the first team to start five freshman in a game.
The Fab Five were brash. They were bold. Muhammad Ali in tank tops and baggy shorts. In fact, Ali turns out to be a follower of the team.
And like Ali, they backed it up.
The Fab Five went to two consecutive Final Fours, losing both times in the national championship game.
The film was produced by Fab Five member Jalen Rose, who went on to a long NBA career and currently works as an analyst for ESPN.
It's a captivating film, mainly for the raw, unedited emotion displayed by the participants.
Especially Jalen Rose.
Rose and his teammates have been criticized for disparaging remarks about the Duke Blue Devils, particularly Grant Hill.
No ambiguity here. The Fab Five hates Duke and all that it stands for. To them Michigan is "street," Duke "elite."
In Rose's eyes Duke would never touch guys like him because "they only wanted Uncle Tom's."
Rose went on to say that he was jealous of Grant Hill, who grew up privileged in a two parent household while he was raised by a single mother.
Some felt Rose should have explained his feelings today or edited them. I disagree, as the film was about 1992, not 2011.
Grant Hill then responded to Rose's comments:
http://thequad.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/03/16/grant-hills-response-to-jalen-rose/
As I read Hill's remarks, one thought came to mind: He should have let it go.
When I watched "Fab Five" and listened to Jalen Rose, I heard the voice of a wounded child. I heard the voice of a man who, despite having both financial and personal success, would probably give it away.
A child who would give anything to have a Dad.
Rose's most poignant remarks were about the father who abandoned him. Like Hill, Rose's father, Jimmy Walker, was a professional athlete. Hill's father, Calvin Hill, played for the Dallas Cowboys. Walker played for three NBA teams.
But while Hill grew up with his Dad, Walker never met his son. In fact, Rose chose to wear number 42 in high school out of spite since it was the opposite of Walker's number 24.
Enter Dan Quayle, or more recently, Mike Huckabee.
Then Vice President Dan Quayle famously criticized TV character Murphy Brown in 1992 for having a child out of wedlock and "ignoring the importance of fathers by birthing a child alone."
Huckabee did the same, essentially, a few weeks ago when he criticized actress Natalie Portman, who is pregnant by her fiance.
I'll leave the moralizing to the talking heads.
Here's what I know:
Dad's matter. Men matter. And yes, our culture often diminishes their significance.
But men do their part also. Huckabee refers to a "Dad deficit" of $300 billion dollars. In Chicago this past Valentine's Day "Operation Love" resulted in the arrests of six men who collectively owe over $200,000 in child support. Chris Rock joked years ago, "If Osama Bin Laden owed child support they would have found him by now."
Being a father does not make you a man. I often tell my kids, "Anyone can be a father, but only special people are Dad's." Real men cook, they clean, they are emotionally available to their children. They teach them right from wrong.
They are there for their children.
Not having one hurts. Just ask Jalen Rose.
Friday, March 11, 2011
The Death Penalty Gets a Death Sentence
Illinois Governor Pat Quinn abolished the death penalty the other day. As a result, 15 death row inmates will now serve life without parole.
Hopefully other states will follow.
I have never understood why we execute criminals and always viewed it as a barbaric response to barbaric crimes. An eye for an eye.
Therein lies the problem. Executions are like surfing on a subway car. If you make a wrong move, you can't go back. And when it comes to death row inmates there have been plenty of "wrong moves" through the years.
Northwestern University's Medill Innocence Project began looking at death row cases in 1999. Their investigations have led to 11 innocent men being freed, 5 of whom were on death row. One of the exonerated, Anthony Porter, was said to be an inspiration behind former Governor George Ryan's moratorium on the death penalty several years ago.
Ryan came to realize that there is no such thing as an "airtight" case. If close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, I would hate to be the guy wrongly accused. And you have to wonder, how many innocent people have we already executed?
We may never know.
I have read the stories of horrible people committing heinous crimes. I can't imagine life for the victim's families. Attorneys fight for victims, but no amount of money or years served will bring back a loved one.
And violence shouldn't beget violence.
As a child I remember hearing the story of Gary Gilmore, who chose death by firing squad in 1977 as opposed to hanging, which were the two ways you could be executed in Utah at the time. I guess it's an upgrade over stoning or being burned at the stake.
As a Catholic I believe life without parole is a far better deal for a killer than the hereafter. Forgiveness? That's another story.
I have heard valid arguments that certain crimes should warrant the death penalty, or that it should be allowed for a defendant who confesses or wants to be executed.
Both arguments support the belief that killing inmates is an acceptable form of justice. Or retribution.
With Illinois news dominated by big haired lunatic governors and our state's financial sinkhole, it's nice to see leadership for a change.
Hopefully other states will follow.
I have never understood why we execute criminals and always viewed it as a barbaric response to barbaric crimes. An eye for an eye.
Therein lies the problem. Executions are like surfing on a subway car. If you make a wrong move, you can't go back. And when it comes to death row inmates there have been plenty of "wrong moves" through the years.
Northwestern University's Medill Innocence Project began looking at death row cases in 1999. Their investigations have led to 11 innocent men being freed, 5 of whom were on death row. One of the exonerated, Anthony Porter, was said to be an inspiration behind former Governor George Ryan's moratorium on the death penalty several years ago.
Ryan came to realize that there is no such thing as an "airtight" case. If close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, I would hate to be the guy wrongly accused. And you have to wonder, how many innocent people have we already executed?
We may never know.
I have read the stories of horrible people committing heinous crimes. I can't imagine life for the victim's families. Attorneys fight for victims, but no amount of money or years served will bring back a loved one.
And violence shouldn't beget violence.
As a child I remember hearing the story of Gary Gilmore, who chose death by firing squad in 1977 as opposed to hanging, which were the two ways you could be executed in Utah at the time. I guess it's an upgrade over stoning or being burned at the stake.
As a Catholic I believe life without parole is a far better deal for a killer than the hereafter. Forgiveness? That's another story.
I have heard valid arguments that certain crimes should warrant the death penalty, or that it should be allowed for a defendant who confesses or wants to be executed.
Both arguments support the belief that killing inmates is an acceptable form of justice. Or retribution.
With Illinois news dominated by big haired lunatic governors and our state's financial sinkhole, it's nice to see leadership for a change.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Lost and...Lost
I found a wallet the other day.
While on the train, I rose to walk down the steps towards the door and there it was. A brown, open, face down thick wallet.
I picked it up and kept walking. As I stood by the door I opened it, saw a drivers license and looked to see if anybody in my car looked like the man on the I.D.
No luck.
I got to the office and quickly channeled Andy Sipowicz, trying to find the owner. After rummaging through several business cards and doing an anywho search of the DL info (no match), I finally located a drug card with a woman's name on it.
Wah lah!
The next day a grateful owner had his pocket life back.
I tell the story for two reasons: 1) I can be equally forgetful and 2) You can't assume anything
I think back to a lovely November day during my junior year of college. After a string of chilly times and pinching wind, I woke to a day worthy of t-shirts and shorts. I hopped on my bike and headed off to class.
April comes, and one morning I am looking for my bike. A friend asks, "Do you mean the one parked outside J-school? The one that's been there all winter?"
Oh oh.
I snuck out late the next night to retrieve my rusted out, crooked bike with slashed tires. The bike parked parallel to the rack. The one with notes taped in several places with language unworthy of one of our nation's finest Journalism schools.
And no, if one particular author happens to be reading this, my head is upright. Has been for some time, and I can't contort myself.
But I'm forgetful at times. Runs in the family. I have a Great Uncle who was an inventor and patent lawyer. He was part of the Manhattan Project and a brilliant man.
A man who had chemical books on his nightstand but couldn't remember what he had for breakfast.
George Carlin had a routine about what happens when we die. First we pass meet St. Peter, then we are taken to a room which has everything we have ever lost. Several sets of car keys, pens, cell phones, and wallets.
Which brings me to my other conclusion. We can't assume anything.
I have a professional colleague who's daughter recently had a baby with her partner. The kids are "out" along with Dad, who's now a Grandpa. We were talking one day about life and how different attitudes are today. I broke it down simply.
I spend a lot of time in parks, malls and libraries - the union halls of parenting.
When I was a kid (and certainly when my elders were) you could spot a kid, see the adult and quickly conclude that yes, they are related. No need for a DNA test.
Today? Not so much.
When I searched the lost wallet, the prescription card had a woman's name on it. Same last name as the name on the driver's license.
So I called the company on the front of the card. When I reached her I said I had found her son's wallet. "Thank you so much. He's my husband," she replied.
Sipowicz would know better.
While on the train, I rose to walk down the steps towards the door and there it was. A brown, open, face down thick wallet.
I picked it up and kept walking. As I stood by the door I opened it, saw a drivers license and looked to see if anybody in my car looked like the man on the I.D.
No luck.
I got to the office and quickly channeled Andy Sipowicz, trying to find the owner. After rummaging through several business cards and doing an anywho search of the DL info (no match), I finally located a drug card with a woman's name on it.
Wah lah!
The next day a grateful owner had his pocket life back.
I tell the story for two reasons: 1) I can be equally forgetful and 2) You can't assume anything
I think back to a lovely November day during my junior year of college. After a string of chilly times and pinching wind, I woke to a day worthy of t-shirts and shorts. I hopped on my bike and headed off to class.
April comes, and one morning I am looking for my bike. A friend asks, "Do you mean the one parked outside J-school? The one that's been there all winter?"
Oh oh.
I snuck out late the next night to retrieve my rusted out, crooked bike with slashed tires. The bike parked parallel to the rack. The one with notes taped in several places with language unworthy of one of our nation's finest Journalism schools.
And no, if one particular author happens to be reading this, my head is upright. Has been for some time, and I can't contort myself.
But I'm forgetful at times. Runs in the family. I have a Great Uncle who was an inventor and patent lawyer. He was part of the Manhattan Project and a brilliant man.
A man who had chemical books on his nightstand but couldn't remember what he had for breakfast.
George Carlin had a routine about what happens when we die. First we pass meet St. Peter, then we are taken to a room which has everything we have ever lost. Several sets of car keys, pens, cell phones, and wallets.
Which brings me to my other conclusion. We can't assume anything.
I have a professional colleague who's daughter recently had a baby with her partner. The kids are "out" along with Dad, who's now a Grandpa. We were talking one day about life and how different attitudes are today. I broke it down simply.
I spend a lot of time in parks, malls and libraries - the union halls of parenting.
When I was a kid (and certainly when my elders were) you could spot a kid, see the adult and quickly conclude that yes, they are related. No need for a DNA test.
Today? Not so much.
When I searched the lost wallet, the prescription card had a woman's name on it. Same last name as the name on the driver's license.
So I called the company on the front of the card. When I reached her I said I had found her son's wallet. "Thank you so much. He's my husband," she replied.
Sipowicz would know better.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
100 Yards of Risk
When I first heard about former NFL star Dave Duerson's passing my thoughts ranged from shock to sadness. Now firmly in my 40s, I get a knot when I read about a father dying young, in this case at age 50, leaving four children.
Then came the details. A suicide, and what looks to be martyrdom. Duerson shot himself in the chest so that doctors could examine his brain for degenerative brain disease.
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/23/sports/football/23duerson.html
Dave Duerson was a big hitter. He came of age with the 1985 Chicago Bears, a member of one of the most dominant defenses ever. A safety from Notre Dame, Duerson became a starter in 1985 after Todd Bell and Al Harris sat out the entire season in a contract dispute. Duerson and his teammates became legends, while Todd Bell and Al Harris entered the Shelley Long wing of the Museum of Bad Career Moves. Coincidentally, Bell also died young, suffering a heart attack at age 46.
After football, Duerson went on to business success and was active in the NFL players union, eventually serving on a panel that considered player disability claims.
In what may become the ultimate irony, Duerson likely was dealing with his own encephalopathy ("punch drunk") after spending many years openly skeptical of similar player claims.
And his death may prove to be a turning point.
I love football, having played from 4th grade through high school.
My high school coach liked to say, "Basketball is a contact sport. Football is a collision sport."
Amen. I had plenty of them. Had my "bell rung" a number of times, shook it off and got back in the huddle.
I only suffered one concussion. One that I was aware of.
As much as I love football, I think we will see a dwindling of youth programs in the next decade. There is simply too much evidence coming out about the dangers of head trauma. And too much at stake for park districts and schools to risk liability.
My son, now 12, has wanted to play football for some time, but I have resisted, probably until high school.
He's gravitated towards other sports. Baseball, wrestling, basketball. Sports that require a specific skill.
Football is about physics more than skill, and you can't teach height, weight or brute force.
I heard a commentator theorize that football may go the way of boxing, where participation is limited mainly to the poor as an avenue to financial success. In other words, Middle and upper-class parents don't take the risk.
In the New York Times article (see above link), Duerson's son Tregg is quoted as saying, "I wish he had played baseball."
Lots of sons, and their parents, may soon feel that way.
Do your children play football? Please feel free to post a comment. I would enjoy hearing from you.
Then came the details. A suicide, and what looks to be martyrdom. Duerson shot himself in the chest so that doctors could examine his brain for degenerative brain disease.
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/23/sports/football/23duerson.html
Dave Duerson was a big hitter. He came of age with the 1985 Chicago Bears, a member of one of the most dominant defenses ever. A safety from Notre Dame, Duerson became a starter in 1985 after Todd Bell and Al Harris sat out the entire season in a contract dispute. Duerson and his teammates became legends, while Todd Bell and Al Harris entered the Shelley Long wing of the Museum of Bad Career Moves. Coincidentally, Bell also died young, suffering a heart attack at age 46.
After football, Duerson went on to business success and was active in the NFL players union, eventually serving on a panel that considered player disability claims.
In what may become the ultimate irony, Duerson likely was dealing with his own encephalopathy ("punch drunk") after spending many years openly skeptical of similar player claims.
And his death may prove to be a turning point.
I love football, having played from 4th grade through high school.
My high school coach liked to say, "Basketball is a contact sport. Football is a collision sport."
Amen. I had plenty of them. Had my "bell rung" a number of times, shook it off and got back in the huddle.
I only suffered one concussion. One that I was aware of.
As much as I love football, I think we will see a dwindling of youth programs in the next decade. There is simply too much evidence coming out about the dangers of head trauma. And too much at stake for park districts and schools to risk liability.
My son, now 12, has wanted to play football for some time, but I have resisted, probably until high school.
He's gravitated towards other sports. Baseball, wrestling, basketball. Sports that require a specific skill.
Football is about physics more than skill, and you can't teach height, weight or brute force.
I heard a commentator theorize that football may go the way of boxing, where participation is limited mainly to the poor as an avenue to financial success. In other words, Middle and upper-class parents don't take the risk.
In the New York Times article (see above link), Duerson's son Tregg is quoted as saying, "I wish he had played baseball."
Lots of sons, and their parents, may soon feel that way.
Do your children play football? Please feel free to post a comment. I would enjoy hearing from you.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Paper Lion
Chicago had some snow a couple of weeks ago. Lots of it. I'm sure you heard. Snow, wind, yada, yada, yada.
It was bad. People who ventured out must have felt like they were sucking nuclear fallout. Me and the fam hunkered down for the night. Movies, cards and a good book.
We woke up under two feet of snow. I wandered downstairs to put the coffee on.
And naturally my first thought, as I opened the front door and peeked over a four foot drift, was "WHERE ARE MY NEWSPAPERS??????????!!!!!!!!!
I'm a news junkie. Paper please - two dailies and the Wall Street Journal.
I hate to leave the house uninformed. For me, a day without papers is like showing up at NASA with a 3rd grade education.
Need my papers, especially when we're trapped like olives in an air tight bottle.
I grew up surrounded by news. Among my earliest memories are waking up to the sound of radio, transistor style, emanating from the bathroom. I knew the time and temperature before my dream was done.
Then it was off to the kitchen table, where another radio sat on the end as my parents dove into their coffee and papers. Mike Royko, Wally Phillips, Bill Gleason, Roy Leonard. Voices of Chicago. My voices.
I'm a dying breed. For proof, step on to a train or bus these days. Everyone is glued to their pods, berries and pads. The "commuter fold" is going the way of drive-ins and mimeographs.
I go online, but its not the same. Online news is like indoor baseball or TV hockey. Nice, but I want a real experience. You can't shake a website or doze off covered by the sports page, though my son would probably say, "Isn't there an app for that?"
Which brings me back to our snow day. The benevolent folks at my dailies gave me access, for a day, to the electronic version of their rags. Not the website, mind you, but the actual paper online, pages and all. This. Was. Cool.
Memo to your marketing folks: Figure out a way to bundle your home delivery and electronic versions. Having both at a competitive price would be delightful.
In the meantime, see you at the webstand.
It was bad. People who ventured out must have felt like they were sucking nuclear fallout. Me and the fam hunkered down for the night. Movies, cards and a good book.
We woke up under two feet of snow. I wandered downstairs to put the coffee on.
And naturally my first thought, as I opened the front door and peeked over a four foot drift, was "WHERE ARE MY NEWSPAPERS??????????!!!!!!!!!
I'm a news junkie. Paper please - two dailies and the Wall Street Journal.
I hate to leave the house uninformed. For me, a day without papers is like showing up at NASA with a 3rd grade education.
Need my papers, especially when we're trapped like olives in an air tight bottle.
I grew up surrounded by news. Among my earliest memories are waking up to the sound of radio, transistor style, emanating from the bathroom. I knew the time and temperature before my dream was done.
Then it was off to the kitchen table, where another radio sat on the end as my parents dove into their coffee and papers. Mike Royko, Wally Phillips, Bill Gleason, Roy Leonard. Voices of Chicago. My voices.
I'm a dying breed. For proof, step on to a train or bus these days. Everyone is glued to their pods, berries and pads. The "commuter fold" is going the way of drive-ins and mimeographs.
I go online, but its not the same. Online news is like indoor baseball or TV hockey. Nice, but I want a real experience. You can't shake a website or doze off covered by the sports page, though my son would probably say, "Isn't there an app for that?"
Which brings me back to our snow day. The benevolent folks at my dailies gave me access, for a day, to the electronic version of their rags. Not the website, mind you, but the actual paper online, pages and all. This. Was. Cool.
Memo to your marketing folks: Figure out a way to bundle your home delivery and electronic versions. Having both at a competitive price would be delightful.
In the meantime, see you at the webstand.
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