The death of newspapers

I don't like to write about work, but I don't mind riffing on my industry. Earlier this week, the New York Times wrote a story about an precipitous drop in ad revenue for newspapers in February. The company that signs my paychecks lost nearly 4 percent in year-over-year comparisons, while its flagship paper watched ad revenue slip by 14 percent. Ouch. The Gray Lady herself lost 6 percent and Mother Tribune lost 5 percent.
It was bound to happen with the steady slide of paid circulation. The first time I worked at my newspaper, it's circulation was 73,000; that's down to 60,000 last year. And though it's devastating to any corporation to lose revenue, the one thing that keeps getting buried in the discussion about the impending doom of newspapers is this: "While many newspapers still have healthy profit margins, their costs are up and ad revenue is down."
There you have it, folks. Newspapers still make money, by the truckload. No, not as much as they used to, but 20 percent profit is pretty sweet. Yes, we've got to change just about everything about ourselves to survive in the "new media" environment. But this hand-wringing about the industry's financial viability is really just a bunch of b.s.

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Now even the derby girls are getting behind the Markleys.

Look what I found...

I went to a small car dealership to meet a source this week and saw this. A De Lorean DMC in all its stainless steel glory. I've never seen one before, at least not anywhere except in the seminal movie of my youth. The owner must have taken his cue from Pimp My Ride, because it was modified: huge speakers embedded in a fiberglass shell replacing the backseat, tiny flatscreen TVs in the front bumper and a steering wheel shaped like a spider web. The pimped-out part seemed kind of sacrilegious, but it was cool to see the brushed stainless up close.

Thirsty?

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

Smoking prohibited

I went to a birthday party tonight and had a brush with death. Well, maybe not death, but at least significant bodily harm.
When I walked up onto the screened porch, a couple of my friends were out there smoking. All the seats were taken, so I sat down on a cooler and leaned against the railing. While I was talking to my friend Rich, I noticed votive candles placed in front of each window, about two or three feet apart. Using my powers of deductive reasoning, I realized that if the candles were evenly spaced all down the railing, then there must be one right behind me. As I leaned forward and looked over my shoulder, sure enough, there was one. Also, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a small yellow flame licking up from my jacket. I jumped up, turned around and yelled to Rich "Put me out!!" It took him a split second to realize I was on fire. My shoulder blade started getting hot, but he hit the burning spot a couple times with his hand and snuffed it out.
If I wouldn't have noticed the fire until I felt the heat on my back, I would have gotten a good burn. As it was, I just ruined a jacket, a shirt and a T-shirt. And got laughed at by the partygoers.
And I really liked that jacket, too.

This stuff rots your brain

A few months ago I shut off cable because I hardly ever watch TV and since the box is used almost exclusively to show Thomas the Tank Engine and Little Einstein videos, I didn't miss it.
In the last couple weeks, I've flicked on broadcast television to provide background chatter while I eat dinner. And in two out of three times, I've witnessed a murder in the first minute of viewing. The first time was the intro to one of those forensic procedural shows and the hapless victim was out hunting when a grizzly bear attacked, mauling him to death. Of course, since it was a CSI, there was brutal footage of flailing arms and snarling jaws and blood. Then tonight, I just turned it on and there was a agonized woman lying on the carpet, blood stain beneath her with the murderer standing over her in a first-person camera shot. The daughter came running in and I was treated to a gunman's-eye view of her demise, too.
Having avoided TV for so long, I am disgusted. Why do I need to see the up-close view of a human being's excruciating death on prime time? It's our modern-day Colisseum. Sure, nobody is "really dying," but is the effect on the viewer's sensitivity much different than watching the Roman gladiators dismember each other?

Check out who I look like

No really, this site says I look like Russell Crowe. So it must be true.

http://www.myheritage.com

Parental panic, Vol. XXVI

As I was picking up Nicholas from his grandmother's church, he ran over to a trash can to throw away his lollipop stick. A family was standing nearby and since Nicholas has no fear of strangers, he inserted himself into their midst. The mom gave him something; it turned out to be a penny. I reminded him to say thank you and he tore off to the ATM where he tried to put it into one of the machine's slots.
As we walked down the hallway back to the parking garage, Nicholas busied himself by putting the penny into his mouth (yuck!). I told him to stop it, but of course, he kept right on doing it. Then, because I was pulling him along in a crowd of people, he did what all children do when you want them to behave, he decided to lay on the floor. With the penny in his mouth.
Only now, when I told him to spit it out, he grinned. But because he was on his back, the penny fell into his throat. His smile evaporated and was replaced with wide-eyed terror. He tried to swallow. I immediately imagined the upcoming trip to the emergency room and the long, arduous journey the penny would take through his GI tract.
But I was snapped back from my daydream when a nearby woman exclaimed, "he's choking!" I snatched Nicholas up by the belly and gave him a couple quick Heimlech squeezes and out popped the penny. That was a close one!
Of course, the whole ordeal lasted less than three seconds. So my pang of fear didn't come until afterward, when I was carrying him to the car. Ah, parenthood.

Last vestige of winter

I've been out of commission with a nasty cold. Stayed home from work two days in a row, slept all day, ate cold meds like candy, etc. But the worst part for me is that I didn't drink my usual gallon of coffee, so on top of the cold symptoms, I got the pangs of caffeine withdrawal. I hate that withdrawal, it is essentially a migraine headache that won't go away, even if you take the entire bottle of ibuprofen. I can't imagine that heroin shakes are much worse. You feel like you want to die and you swear you will never ever ever drink so much coffee again.
But that is a lie.
Thankfully, today I roused myself out of bed, took a look at my three-day-old beard in the mirror and threw myself into the shower. Funny how hot water and a good scrubbing can wash all the sickness away. Now I just feel punky from the pseudoepinephrine.