A long, but good read from a publisher who is still bullish on print.
About page 6, the publisher blames a lot of the circulation drop on federal legislation that allowed people to opt out of telemarketer calls, which were a major source of new newspaper subscription starts.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
The sad countdown has begun
On Facebook I've noticed that a number of current Flint Journal employees are counting down their days to May 29, which is the last day for many there.
For many it is the end to the only real job they have ever known and you can feel the angst and sadness in their posts.
All of them deserved better. Frankly, most of them don't realize it yet, but better is on the way. Newspaper work will never be what it once was. The goofy characters, the ones who finished work in the newsroom only to continue it with colleagues at a local gin mill into the wee hours, are all gone.
We loved our work so much that we were willing to duel daily with our editors over assignments and sometimes incomprehensible editing. We fought for what we believed was right, we fought for the integrity of our stories and we fought for our readers. We were not always right, but we always cared.
For most of us the Flint Journal was more than a job, it was a family, it was friends and it was an opportunity to live out our passion for writing and journalism. We gladly took less pay than what we could make in other fields, although the pay was never too bad at the Journal (then, not now) for the chance to come to work everyday and work our craft.
We didn't punch a clock and most of us didn't watch it either. If I could go back and get paid for every hour I worked, I'd be a much wealthier man than I am today. It was never about the money. Until the last few months, there were very few days that I didn't wake up and look forward to going to work (work was not necessarily going to the office, but chasing my beat).
It was exciting, it was different everyday and it felt like it mattered.
That's why leaving it is so hard. It's like a root canal with no pain killers.
Many good reporters and writers remain, but they will be stretched even thinner than they are now. The bosses who remain won't help much, won't tap out a story or two to fill a hole, but will continue to demand more work for less pay.
Newspapers have become word factories where the assembly line has been sped up to the point that a bolt or two will be missing at the end of the line. The readers will blame the workers for the quality problem, but the real blame lies elsewhere. It lies with the folks that are speeding up the line.
I tip my hat to the friends who are leaving, I may even raise a Diet 7-Up to their departure. For those that remain, my best wishes as well and just a little note, one that used to grace the desk of my best friend in the business, to keep you going:
"ILLEGITIMI NON CARBORUNDUM"
For many it is the end to the only real job they have ever known and you can feel the angst and sadness in their posts.
All of them deserved better. Frankly, most of them don't realize it yet, but better is on the way. Newspaper work will never be what it once was. The goofy characters, the ones who finished work in the newsroom only to continue it with colleagues at a local gin mill into the wee hours, are all gone.
We loved our work so much that we were willing to duel daily with our editors over assignments and sometimes incomprehensible editing. We fought for what we believed was right, we fought for the integrity of our stories and we fought for our readers. We were not always right, but we always cared.
For most of us the Flint Journal was more than a job, it was a family, it was friends and it was an opportunity to live out our passion for writing and journalism. We gladly took less pay than what we could make in other fields, although the pay was never too bad at the Journal (then, not now) for the chance to come to work everyday and work our craft.
We didn't punch a clock and most of us didn't watch it either. If I could go back and get paid for every hour I worked, I'd be a much wealthier man than I am today. It was never about the money. Until the last few months, there were very few days that I didn't wake up and look forward to going to work (work was not necessarily going to the office, but chasing my beat).
It was exciting, it was different everyday and it felt like it mattered.
That's why leaving it is so hard. It's like a root canal with no pain killers.
Many good reporters and writers remain, but they will be stretched even thinner than they are now. The bosses who remain won't help much, won't tap out a story or two to fill a hole, but will continue to demand more work for less pay.
Newspapers have become word factories where the assembly line has been sped up to the point that a bolt or two will be missing at the end of the line. The readers will blame the workers for the quality problem, but the real blame lies elsewhere. It lies with the folks that are speeding up the line.
I tip my hat to the friends who are leaving, I may even raise a Diet 7-Up to their departure. For those that remain, my best wishes as well and just a little note, one that used to grace the desk of my best friend in the business, to keep you going:
"ILLEGITIMI NON CARBORUNDUM"
The tractor as percussion
OK, I spend way too much time surfing You Tube, but I saw this first on Facebook and then went hunting for it over on YouTube. There's something really cool about using a tractor as your percussion section. Please notice the tractor has its own microphone.
I have no idea what country this takes place in, but I want to go there.
I have no idea what country this takes place in, but I want to go there.
I don't know who's lying, but it is a little Alice in Wonderland
The recent controversy over who is lying about what Nancy Pelosi knew about waterboarding and when did she know it leaves 
me a little cold.But it did make me wonder why everytime I saw Ms. Pelosi smile I was reminded of something else.
Don't know who to believe, Ms. Pelosi or Mr. Panetta, both because she is a current representative and Panetta is a former representative it makes it hard to believe than a member of congress would ever lie.
Do you know how to tell if a member of congress is lying? They are lying if you notice that they are breathing.
And then there's this conversation between Alice and the Cheshire Cat in Alice In Wonderland that is a pretty good description of Congress:
"`Cheshire Puss,' [Alice] began, rather timidly, as she did not at all know whether it would like the name: however, it only grinned a little wider.
`Come, it's pleased so far,' thought Alice, and she went on. `Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?'
`That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,' said the Cat.
`I don't much care where--' said Alice.
`Then it doesn't matter which way you go,' said the Cat.
`--so long as I get SOMEWHERE,' Alice added as an explanation.
`Oh, you're sure to do that,' said the Cat, `if you only walk long enough.'"
"`But I don't want to go among mad people,' Alice remarked.
`Oh, you can't help that,' said the Cat: `we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad.'
`How do you know I'm mad?' said Alice.
`You must be,' said the Cat, `or you wouldn't have come here.'
Alice didn't think that proved it at all; however, she went on `And how do you know that you're mad?'
`To begin with,' said the Cat, `a dog's not mad. You grant that?'
`I suppose so,' said Alice.
`Well, then,' the Cat went on, `you see, a dog growls when it's angry, and wags its tail when it's pleased. Now I growl when I'm pleased, and wag my tail when I'm angry. Therefore I'm mad.'"
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Welcome home, the best gift you can give our troops
Probably motivated by my service in Vietnam, I have a strong affection for the men and women who serve our country in the armed services. The experience of many veterans of the Vietnam War were negative when they returned home.
Many of us simply went back to our lives and because I was going to a small community college on the San Francisco peninsula, service in Vietnam was not something you boasted or talked about in the liberal, protest roiled campuses of northern California.
I'm a sucker for our troops. When I am traveling and see soldiers, airmen, marines, coasties, and sailors (especially sailors) in airports, I always walk up and thank them for their service. Much to my wife's chagrin, I have sometimes anonymously purchased meals for a table of 4 or 5 veterans sitting in an airport restaurant. It's a gift I give to myself because it feels good to do it.
No matter how you feel about the war do these folks the honor of thanking them for doing what so many others avoid. I was reminded of this by an e-mail attachment I received from a member of my church.
This was a 2007 "Person of the Week" segment on ABC's evening news.
Military service made me a better person, but it is a sacrifice, so let them know you appreciate it when you see them. It just takes a second to say "Welcome home, thanks for serving." It'll make their day, and I'll bet it'll make you feel good too.
Doesn't hurt to thank those like my own father, my father-in-law and others who fought in World War II, the Korean War or Vietnam either.
Many of us simply went back to our lives and because I was going to a small community college on the San Francisco peninsula, service in Vietnam was not something you boasted or talked about in the liberal, protest roiled campuses of northern California.
I'm a sucker for our troops. When I am traveling and see soldiers, airmen, marines, coasties, and sailors (especially sailors) in airports, I always walk up and thank them for their service. Much to my wife's chagrin, I have sometimes anonymously purchased meals for a table of 4 or 5 veterans sitting in an airport restaurant. It's a gift I give to myself because it feels good to do it.
No matter how you feel about the war do these folks the honor of thanking them for doing what so many others avoid. I was reminded of this by an e-mail attachment I received from a member of my church.
This was a 2007 "Person of the Week" segment on ABC's evening news.
Military service made me a better person, but it is a sacrifice, so let them know you appreciate it when you see them. It just takes a second to say "Welcome home, thanks for serving." It'll make their day, and I'll bet it'll make you feel good too.
Doesn't hurt to thank those like my own father, my father-in-law and others who fought in World War II, the Korean War or Vietnam either.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Louis Armstrong and Danny Kaye together, forever
OK, I'm old and I really enjoy old stuff. So if you're old, or you enjoy old stuff, enjoy.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Back to Buffalo
Back to Buffalo to deal with some family issues there. I'll be back Saturday night, but there likely won't be any further posts until Sunday.
Now I can be disgusted with two Presidential administrations
After months of stonewalling, the Obama Treasury Department has finally responded to a Judicial Watch FOIA and released documents it once said did not exist. So much for transparency.
In the documents is the evidence of the ham-handed manipulation by the Bush Administration back in the fall that banks didn't have a choice about taking the TARP money, but that the government would not let them leave the room without their forced agreement to take our money, even when many said they didn't want it or need it.
It was outrageous then and it is even more outrageous now because as I predicted back then, the billions of dollars the government forced these banks to take has vanished into the ether.
And who was involved in both actions - the tax cheat Timothy Geithner.
"Change" - not so much in this area.
In the documents is the evidence of the ham-handed manipulation by the Bush Administration back in the fall that banks didn't have a choice about taking the TARP money, but that the government would not let them leave the room without their forced agreement to take our money, even when many said they didn't want it or need it.
It was outrageous then and it is even more outrageous now because as I predicted back then, the billions of dollars the government forced these banks to take has vanished into the ether.
And who was involved in both actions - the tax cheat Timothy Geithner.
"Change" - not so much in this area.
Paper Tiger No More on the Ann Arbor News last day
Jim Carty over on his blog has the news about the Ann Arbor News last day.
New from AnnArbor.com: More future of newspapers...yawn
AnnArbor.com has put up a story about a new study (these studies are where the money in journalism is today) of the fate of print journalism versus the online product.
The comments are good and blunt as well. The content czar's answer to one poster about the hiring of new AnnArbor journalists is one that any politician would love. Vague and non-committal.
When my friends from the Journal read the study conclusions they, like me, will recognize that the very people who are now embracing the study are the same ones who did exactly the opposite of what they should have when the opportunity was right to change things.
The biggest contradiction in all of this is the notion that AnnArbor.com is going to survive online only. Not true, the reason why they are printing a newspaper on a regular basis is to make money. The dirty little secret is that even the AnnArbor.com folks know the only way to still make money is to print a newspaper with ads to pay for the online operation.
Newspapers dead, not hardly.
The comments are good and blunt as well. The content czar's answer to one poster about the hiring of new AnnArbor journalists is one that any politician would love. Vague and non-committal.
When my friends from the Journal read the study conclusions they, like me, will recognize that the very people who are now embracing the study are the same ones who did exactly the opposite of what they should have when the opportunity was right to change things.
The biggest contradiction in all of this is the notion that AnnArbor.com is going to survive online only. Not true, the reason why they are printing a newspaper on a regular basis is to make money. The dirty little secret is that even the AnnArbor.com folks know the only way to still make money is to print a newspaper with ads to pay for the online operation.
Newspapers dead, not hardly.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Advance, Conde Nast face age discrimination suit
A salesman for Parade magazine is successful in his bid for the chance to sue Conde Nast, Advance.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Newhouses get kudos for pay cut plan
Inside Out has posted an interesting Poynter column about the progressive pay cuts at the Star-Ledger.
The danger of watching too much television
Watching the Channel 2 news in Detroit I was excited to see that someone has finally combined the two things they believe men like the most - football and lingerie - into a new "competitive" sport.
I predict a very short life to this, but it will receive a lot more publicity than it deserves. If you want a link to look at this, you'll have to search for it yourself.
Secondly, I was struck by a Viagra commercial that shows a couple taking a small speed boat named "Viagra.com" to a desert island where they wink at each other and head into a small native shack to, well, whatever. Just as the man enters the building, he looks back outside and closes a door curtain.
Besides the obvious innuendos in the commercial, why would you need to close a curtain on a desert island?
That's just the way my mind works.
I predict a very short life to this, but it will receive a lot more publicity than it deserves. If you want a link to look at this, you'll have to search for it yourself.
Secondly, I was struck by a Viagra commercial that shows a couple taking a small speed boat named "Viagra.com" to a desert island where they wink at each other and head into a small native shack to, well, whatever. Just as the man enters the building, he looks back outside and closes a door curtain.
Besides the obvious innuendos in the commercial, why would you need to close a curtain on a desert island?
That's just the way my mind works.
Monday, May 11, 2009
A great post
Sometimes I read things that I wish that I had written. Such is the case with this post at Inside Out.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Don't I know you, officer?
Last week I received a "Friends" request on Facebook from a man who was on the Flint Police Department special operations unit during my many years as the night police reporter. Of course, I added this man as a friend and immediately recalled one of the oddest nights of my police reporting career.
Before the Journal got all nervous and antsy (thank you, lawyers) about reporters riding along with police officers on duty, I spent many shifts, and parts of shifts, riding with both uniformed and plainclothes police officers.
Prostitution stings, drug stings, street corner drug enforcement and raids were a steady diet for me during those days. It worked to help me develop long lasting and deep sources within the department and was great fodder for stories in the paper.
This particular story that I recalled last week was a night that this officer, who happens to be African-American, another female officer, who happens to be white, invited me along to ride in the backseat of an unmarked police car while they played the decoy in an undercover drug operation.
In the early 1990s, street corner drug sales were common. Dope dealers hung around on corners waiting for customers to pull up and arrange a buy. The dope sellers were not so stupid to have the drugs on them, but would size up the customers (making sure they were not police) and then with a $20 bill in hand from the drive-up customers would head to a nearby house, purchase the crack and return to the car with the dope.
So that night, I showed up with my slacks, white shirt and tie, and took up the offer to sit in the back seat of a two-door Camaro (which had been seized from a drug dealer) and ride along to observe. First, the officers told me to lose the tie, which I did.
We drove around some of the worst neighborhoods of Flint and would drive up to the dealers. Once the transaction was made, other officers would swoop in, bust the street corner dealer and then get a warrant for the house that the drugs came from.
It was a summer night, it was still light (about 8 p.m.) when we pulled up to a gaunt young man standing on a corner. The male officer opened a conversation about purchasing some 'rock' and the verbal dance began. Most street corner dealers were hinky and knew the police were out there looking for them.
The dope dealer suddenly took a couple steps back and said, "I know you, you're a cop."
My life flashed before my eyes thinking we might all got shot. But the male officer kept as cool as my basement in winter and began arguing with the man that he was mistaken. He even got angry with the dealer for accusing him of being a police officer.
"I'm sure you are the guy who arrested me," the man protested. Again the officer argued, but came up with a slightly different explanation for the confusion.
"You may be thinking of my cousin, he's an officer and he looks a lot like me," the officer told the dealer. Slowly the argument turned in the officer's favor and the man changed his mind and agreed to purchase "our" crack cocaine.
As he left to purchase our drugs, the officer turned to me with a big smile and told me that the dealer was right, that the officer had arrested him just months earlier for the same thing.
"Why would he go ahead and buy drugs for you then?," I asked.
Because, the officer said, that his story about the cousin had confused the guy, he was a little high, and probably desperate to make a sale and get more drugs for himself.
Of course when he returned with the 'crack' we took off and the other officers moved in and arrested him. We returned as he was being handcuffed and he looked at the officer and with a small smile, said, "I knew you were a cop."
There are many memories like that and as they come to me, I'll put them here.
Next up: The drug raid where a man, in trying to hide in the attic, accidentally fell through the ceiling drywall as he tried to balance on the studs in the ceiling. His legs were hanging down in the living room the drug team (with me in tow) entered it. A Journal photographer was also with me for that one.
Before the Journal got all nervous and antsy (thank you, lawyers) about reporters riding along with police officers on duty, I spent many shifts, and parts of shifts, riding with both uniformed and plainclothes police officers.
Prostitution stings, drug stings, street corner drug enforcement and raids were a steady diet for me during those days. It worked to help me develop long lasting and deep sources within the department and was great fodder for stories in the paper.
This particular story that I recalled last week was a night that this officer, who happens to be African-American, another female officer, who happens to be white, invited me along to ride in the backseat of an unmarked police car while they played the decoy in an undercover drug operation.
In the early 1990s, street corner drug sales were common. Dope dealers hung around on corners waiting for customers to pull up and arrange a buy. The dope sellers were not so stupid to have the drugs on them, but would size up the customers (making sure they were not police) and then with a $20 bill in hand from the drive-up customers would head to a nearby house, purchase the crack and return to the car with the dope.
So that night, I showed up with my slacks, white shirt and tie, and took up the offer to sit in the back seat of a two-door Camaro (which had been seized from a drug dealer) and ride along to observe. First, the officers told me to lose the tie, which I did.
We drove around some of the worst neighborhoods of Flint and would drive up to the dealers. Once the transaction was made, other officers would swoop in, bust the street corner dealer and then get a warrant for the house that the drugs came from.
It was a summer night, it was still light (about 8 p.m.) when we pulled up to a gaunt young man standing on a corner. The male officer opened a conversation about purchasing some 'rock' and the verbal dance began. Most street corner dealers were hinky and knew the police were out there looking for them.
The dope dealer suddenly took a couple steps back and said, "I know you, you're a cop."
My life flashed before my eyes thinking we might all got shot. But the male officer kept as cool as my basement in winter and began arguing with the man that he was mistaken. He even got angry with the dealer for accusing him of being a police officer.
"I'm sure you are the guy who arrested me," the man protested. Again the officer argued, but came up with a slightly different explanation for the confusion.
"You may be thinking of my cousin, he's an officer and he looks a lot like me," the officer told the dealer. Slowly the argument turned in the officer's favor and the man changed his mind and agreed to purchase "our" crack cocaine.
As he left to purchase our drugs, the officer turned to me with a big smile and told me that the dealer was right, that the officer had arrested him just months earlier for the same thing.
"Why would he go ahead and buy drugs for you then?," I asked.
Because, the officer said, that his story about the cousin had confused the guy, he was a little high, and probably desperate to make a sale and get more drugs for himself.
Of course when he returned with the 'crack' we took off and the other officers moved in and arrested him. We returned as he was being handcuffed and he looked at the officer and with a small smile, said, "I knew you were a cop."
There are many memories like that and as they come to me, I'll put them here.
Next up: The drug raid where a man, in trying to hide in the attic, accidentally fell through the ceiling drywall as he tried to balance on the studs in the ceiling. His legs were hanging down in the living room the drug team (with me in tow) entered it. A Journal photographer was also with me for that one.
Frank Rich checks in on the future of journalism
If you're not a member of the New York Times, you may have to take a minute to register to get this article about the current state of journalism.
Obituaries by phone after June 1
The new editor of the Flint Journal has written (on the front page today, Sunday, May 10 - Happy Mother's Day, by the way) about how the paper will deal with the problem of getting obituary information to its readers on the four days it doesn't publish.
A lot of folks are concerned that if you die on Sunday, Monday or Tuesday, no one will know you are dead, or know when the funeral and visitation is until you are buried. For people without Internet, this is a large concern.
The solution the three papers have come up with is to set up a phone line for people to call in and get the information on the non-print days. I guess you have to get on the phone and listen through a list of recently deceased people (Some days there are two dozen or more) to see if you know someone who has died. It sounds like they will give you some basic funeral or visitation info, but nothing else until the printed version.
I'm thinking this is a huge opportunity for some local weekly publisher who has access to a small press to work with local funeral homes to set up a small printed daily sheet that people could get by mail for a small fee. This would be just a three- or four-page newspaper related to deaths and memorials. Could be longer if you sold advertising in it (florists, churches, non-profits, etc.) and I'll bet it could make some money as well as perform a great service.
You could sell advertising for it, charge for the obituaries (less than the papers do now), get yourself a bulk mail permit and do it six days a week. Maybe you could even put some non-death related news in it if you had room (announcements, calendar, etc.). Hey, before you know it you'll have a six-day-a-week newspaper again.
The obituary paper would be printed each evening and mailed each morning to subscribers' homes. I know a lot of unemployed writers who would love a chance to get back to writing, even if it was full-time obituary work. (I loved writing obituaries, but I'm done with that business now).
And as long as they are at this, the funeral homes and a publisher could set up a companion website and folks would have two options in one place to easily find obituary and funeral information.
Someone should at least take a look at this. I don't think people want to get on a phone each day, four days a week, and listen through a long list of names on the slight chance they might hear a name they know.
Let's do a little brainstorming here and see if we can work something up.
A lot of folks are concerned that if you die on Sunday, Monday or Tuesday, no one will know you are dead, or know when the funeral and visitation is until you are buried. For people without Internet, this is a large concern.
The solution the three papers have come up with is to set up a phone line for people to call in and get the information on the non-print days. I guess you have to get on the phone and listen through a list of recently deceased people (Some days there are two dozen or more) to see if you know someone who has died. It sounds like they will give you some basic funeral or visitation info, but nothing else until the printed version.
I'm thinking this is a huge opportunity for some local weekly publisher who has access to a small press to work with local funeral homes to set up a small printed daily sheet that people could get by mail for a small fee. This would be just a three- or four-page newspaper related to deaths and memorials. Could be longer if you sold advertising in it (florists, churches, non-profits, etc.) and I'll bet it could make some money as well as perform a great service.
You could sell advertising for it, charge for the obituaries (less than the papers do now), get yourself a bulk mail permit and do it six days a week. Maybe you could even put some non-death related news in it if you had room (announcements, calendar, etc.). Hey, before you know it you'll have a six-day-a-week newspaper again.
The obituary paper would be printed each evening and mailed each morning to subscribers' homes. I know a lot of unemployed writers who would love a chance to get back to writing, even if it was full-time obituary work. (I loved writing obituaries, but I'm done with that business now).
And as long as they are at this, the funeral homes and a publisher could set up a companion website and folks would have two options in one place to easily find obituary and funeral information.
Someone should at least take a look at this. I don't think people want to get on a phone each day, four days a week, and listen through a long list of names on the slight chance they might hear a name they know.
Let's do a little brainstorming here and see if we can work something up.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
A comment on a comment
Great comment on AnnArbor.com by someone named Steve Thorpe. Responding to the bachelor's degree requirement for job applicants at the online site, Mr. Thorpe placed the following comment:
"Steve Thorpe in May 1, 2009 1:44 PM
Bachelor's degree? I guess Steve Jobs, Michael Dell, Bill Gates, Larry Ellison and Paul Allen need not apply. Very 21st century. But then I presume you only intend to be unconventional in SOME ways."
As someone on this blog noted, this requirement will also probably disquality a number of those "hat-on-backwards" types as well.
The want new and unconventional, but only if they have a conventional degree.
"Steve Thorpe in May 1, 2009 1:44 PM
Bachelor's degree? I guess Steve Jobs, Michael Dell, Bill Gates, Larry Ellison and Paul Allen need not apply. Very 21st century. But then I presume you only intend to be unconventional in SOME ways."
As someone on this blog noted, this requirement will also probably disquality a number of those "hat-on-backwards" types as well.
The want new and unconventional, but only if they have a conventional degree.
A little more on AnnArbor.com
It beginning to look like AnnArbor.com is trying to slowly leak out what it will be. So far it sounds like it's going to be a link list.
The example the new content czar has provided, a popular, closed restaurant, wouldn't give me a reason to be excited about this new venture. And as he points out, there are already many sources of the information they will be providing. (By the way, if it was a 'popular' restaurant, why did it close? That would be a story for a good reporter).
If what they are going to provide for me is a Google shortstop, I don't need it, maybe some people do, but I don't.
When he says, "we'll have reporters," I guess what most people want to know is how many and what will they cover. Will they spend the money to fly reporters to away sporting events? Will they spend the money to fly reporters out-of-state on a hot angle to a local story? Will they have an experienced court reporter spend days in a courtroom giving us the gory details of a interesting court case?
A closed restaurant is one thing, a commitment to heavy duty daily reporting, is quite another.
The example the new content czar has provided, a popular, closed restaurant, wouldn't give me a reason to be excited about this new venture. And as he points out, there are already many sources of the information they will be providing. (By the way, if it was a 'popular' restaurant, why did it close? That would be a story for a good reporter).
If what they are going to provide for me is a Google shortstop, I don't need it, maybe some people do, but I don't.
When he says, "we'll have reporters," I guess what most people want to know is how many and what will they cover. Will they spend the money to fly reporters to away sporting events? Will they spend the money to fly reporters out-of-state on a hot angle to a local story? Will they have an experienced court reporter spend days in a courtroom giving us the gory details of a interesting court case?
A closed restaurant is one thing, a commitment to heavy duty daily reporting, is quite another.
Random thoughts for a Saturday morning
Just saw the Friday front page of the Flint Journal and the lead story is a huge feature story on one of the American Idol finalists.
Turns out the kid, Kris Allen, one of the three finalists, has a great-uncle living in Linden. Just when I had gotten the last American Idol-Flint Journal orgy out of my head, here comes another one.
When I expressed concerns, as an employee, the last time the Journal devoted a full-time reporter and extensive resources to covering a local contestant in the 'Idol' show, I was told that this was the kind of story that would bring 'thousands of young people' to the paper and perhaps dig us out of the hole.
Not so much, as it turned out.
On a completely unrelated topic, when I had my cereal this morning I discovered that I had forgotten to run the dishwasher yesterday and so was forced to use my granddaughter's "Strawberry Shortcake" spoon to eat breakfast.
I think the cereal tasted just a little bit better today.
Turns out the kid, Kris Allen, one of the three finalists, has a great-uncle living in Linden. Just when I had gotten the last American Idol-Flint Journal orgy out of my head, here comes another one.
When I expressed concerns, as an employee, the last time the Journal devoted a full-time reporter and extensive resources to covering a local contestant in the 'Idol' show, I was told that this was the kind of story that would bring 'thousands of young people' to the paper and perhaps dig us out of the hole.
Not so much, as it turned out.
On a completely unrelated topic, when I had my cereal this morning I discovered that I had forgotten to run the dishwasher yesterday and so was forced to use my granddaughter's "Strawberry Shortcake" spoon to eat breakfast.
I think the cereal tasted just a little bit better today.
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