The demise of the American newspaper

Apparently, I'm a dinosaur.

Not this kind.

Not this kind (except maybe last week at work).

And definitely not this kind, since some adults like me.







I'm also not the type of dinosaur which many people believe Adam and Eve rode three thousand years ago.

Nope. I'm a Sunday-morning-newspaper-reading dinosaur. One of the greatest pleasures of the week, from my 47-year-old perspective, is pulling back the handle on the front door, gingerly bending over and lifting that dewy, cellophane-wrapped weekly rag into my waiting embrace.

The headline can always be read through the plastic and above the fold, so the perusal begins even before I pull up a chair at the dining room table and set a steaming cup of life-sustaining brown magic in front of me, thereby establishing a small reading and drinking command center.

First I read the front page, but usually just for the headlines and summaries; I don't normally delve past page A1, because the sports sections beckons far too strongly. After spending about fifteen minutes and the first cup of joe on the sports, it's time to move on to local news. By now, the caffeine has provided enough of a bump to sufficiently gird my loins for the the fires, murders, robberies and other unfortunate events which have happened overnight in my own backyard. Occasionally, someone famous has gotten a DUI, so that's always worth investigating.

And all of this before checking the Facebooks.

Last week I conducted an informal survey of my coworkers, regarding which of them indulges him- or herself in the Sunday paper. I was surprised, yet not surprised. Since the closest person to my age is nine years my junior, they are technically of a different generation, one which doesn't read newspapers.

It's no coincidence why local papers are folding (pun intended) at such a rapid rate. Newspapers are expensive to print and distribute, and by the time they reach the reader, the news is often obsolete. The kids simply aren't reading them because they're joined at the hip by a personal data device 24/7.

Although the demise of the American newspaper is a natural consequence of technological advances, to this old guy, it's a sad harbinger. I'm a newspaper pack rat; I've saved front pages from many historical events, such as the moon landing, Nixon's resignation, the Seattle Supersonics 1979 NBA title, Barrack Obama's election.

It's hard to imagine seeing a historical headline on seattletimes.com, printing it out on 8.5" x 11" copier paper and filing it away in the basement with the other yellowing newsprint. There's something about a 96-point, Helevetica Bold headline that puts anything else to shame.

Anatomy of a blogger: break it down

Over my past 92 posts to Reflections of a shallow pond, I've deciphered a few patterns in the topics I expound upon. The reason I started writing this manifesto in the first place was to document the escapades of my family, especially the kids. How often do we parents hear, "Oh, you need to write that down. If you don't, you'll forget about the time your daughter made a twelve-room castle out of cardboard and duct tape, or how the other daughter longed to drink a 'crappuccino'?"

I didn't expect to burst at the seams with ideas, to be giddy about writing this life log, but it's really turned into a fun outlet. And even though I had no pre-meditated format, the themes can be narrowed down to:

1) Family and kids.
2) Recollections of my youth.
3) Stories of everyday experiences.
4) Opinions about social issues and pop culture.

I think we all reach a time in our lives when our concept of the future begins to narrow and the past bursts wide open. I feel like I've been driving through the industrial area of my life and stumbled upon a massive warehouse, containing pallets of experiences and anecdotes. And here's the best part—someone just taught me how to drive the forklift.

I'm 47 years old. When I hear myself talk, I hear the voice of a twenty-year-old, warming up in the on-deck circle for life. Then I gaze upon my gray-whiskered face in the mirror, and wonder, "Why is the Quaker Oats guy staring back at me?" I'll see a picture of a criminal or celebrity in the newspaper and think, "He's got to be at least ten years older than I am." As it turns out he's three years younger.

I'm not feeling sorry for myself here. Oh, no. In fact, it's quite the opposite. This blog has been a cathartic, personal journey. It has illuminated the true richness of life. Thanks for listening.