Death of the Printed Word

The printed word is dying . . . a slow and lingering death perhaps, but dying nevertheless.

This pains me. I worked for my college newspaper, then a local daily paper. After selling out, as my newspaper friends teased, I spent years in financial marketing, creating, developing and managing everything from client and broker newsletters, sales pieces, marketing packages and new-issue investment offerings. All printed. Some expensive and glossy and some one- or two-color weekly quickies.

I loved the fast pace of a daily newspaper, at least one or two news articles a day when I was a reporter and a few feature pieces every week. There was no better writing and reporting place in the world. And later there was no better editing place in the world. The sheer speed and volume of work was exhilarating. At an interview at Time magazine the very bright guy who interviewed me said I should go to grad school before landing full-time at some to-be-decided publication. He was probably right, but I wanted to get my hands in the ink somewhere . . . and newly married, the local paper, the Greenwich Time,  was the place. I’d worked there for a summer as an intern, so I figured it was the place to start.

When I started, the paper was printed a few short steps from where the editorial room was, reporters and editors rushing to make deadline. It was an afternoon paper then, and watching that day’s paper roll off the press was a regular routine. The printing operation was moved up to our sister paper, the Stamford Advocate, after they were purchased Times-Mirror, and we became a morning paper.

Not to date myself too much, but back then the only way to get the news was to read a daily paper. Now just about everyone has at least one computer, a smart phone or some other device on which they can get the latest headlines in seconds.

Even in the beginning, the decline was fast, smaller papers were soaked up by bigger ones, newspaper costs kept rising and circulations started falling, news was more available online, and online advertising cut into newspaper advertising. The classified ad market changed completely with the creation of outlets like Craigslist, and since classifieds provided a huge revenue stream for papers, they couldn’t generate growing profits.

Soon bigger papers were merged with other bigger papers, but circulation continued to fall and papers started to fail. Even papers like The New York Times (which I’ll argue remains the country’s best paper), were pulled into the death spiral. The digital age was fully upon us. And newspaper, magazine and book owners and publishers, not to mention writers, editors and other staff, are scrambling to catch up. Often not very successfully.

The vaulted New York Times continues to struggle, floundering to work its online product with its printed product. Deep staff cuts and changes at the top of the Times and other papers makes one wonder whether the depth and breadth of news coverage is a thing of the past. Even the better non-newspaper online news sources cover just bigger stories and often have daily gaps in features.

Of course, creating online content is cheaper than heating and maintaining the high-cost, centrally located buildings and printing facilities many newspapers have had for years. And since there’s no printing needed, capital costs are slashed.

So most papers today have an online presence, and many offer their full editorial content online. Often that content is free to readers. What remains to be seen is whether or not readers will pay for that content (and if so, how much?).

And while printed marketing materials will probably always be produced (salesmen like to hand things to potential customers), online marketing is a must for nearly every business.

The book business is suffering the same fate. E-readers are everywhere and Amazon’s new Kindle Fire has already hooked customers even deeper into the Amazon pipeline. While printed books continue to sell, the writing, as it were, is on the wall, though some of us remain attached to the feel and hominess of printed books, the simple fact is that for many people the Kindle, and other e-readers are convenient. Going on a trip? Download a few books and you don’t have to figure out how to fit them into your luggage. Notepads, computers and even smart phones are packed with books, magazines and newspapers.

And though sharing is limited and donating them to a good cause can’t be done, millions of books are available as e-books (and some as just e-books). I don’t really understand the price structure since many e-books are only a couple of dollars cheaper than the printed version, it seems to me that pricing as well as improved e-reader and better file sharing will continue to grow that end of the business at the expense of hard copies. All your entertainment in one easy device.

I loved the noise, speed and smell and of the printing process . . . not to mention the thrill of seeing a finished newspaper coming off the press. Soon that whole process will go the way of the vinyl record and turntable. I enjoy reading news stories and features on my computer, but books and magazines still warm me. . . and a generation from now, newspapers and newspaper stands will be things that kids learn about in history class.

To the Left and to the Right, Beware the Radicals

Beware the radicals, for they shall destroy the world.

Take a look around . . . I mean way around . . . and you’ll see radicals everywhere . .  on the left and on the right. Now these people, of course, don’t consider themselves radicals, but it seems to me that if we apply our reasonable eye to them and their beliefs, they fit that radical bill.

Whether it’s Orthodox Jews throwing rocks and spitting at a school girl in Israel, a Palestinian walking on to a bus and blowing himself up, a whacko blowing up a women’s clinic, or a man gunning down dozens of kids at a camp in Norway, they believe they are the arbiters of right and wrong . . . and of life and death.

I know it may not be fair to apply our sense of reasonableness to other countries or regions, but what the heck . . . we live in a place where we can voice our views and opinions without getting thrown in jail. It’s a freedom we too often take for granted.

We take for granted cartoonists can mock whomever they please, or comedians can step over lines most of us dare not tread, or some idiot can stand up and declare the end of the world is coming next week. We take for granted that women can wear whatever they wish and not get beaten on the street by religious thugs, or that we can peacefully protest without being shot.

Sure there are plenty of things that may bug us . . . who is paying for those Occupy protests around the country? . . . why does an artist create a sculpture of Christ with elephant dung? . . . And we may get pissed off. But what makes us great, the core of our country, is to allow those types of protests and conflicts and even defend people’s rights to voice those views, no matter how much we disagree.

That’s a view lost on our current crop of politicians occupying our buildings down in Washington D.C. They forgot those buildings don’t belong just to them. They forgot we pay them a lot of money to run the government . . . and even run it well (if such a thing is possible). They forgot there are people starving in this country and people unable to pay for their medicine or put gas in their cars.

And they forgot, in this election year, that turning themselves into radicals serves no purpose other than to fool people into voting for them. It’s a great argument for limiting the number of times they can run for office. Somewhere there is a middle . . . a balance between too much or too little government . . . a balance between too many regulations and too few . .  sit down and work it out.

So take a hard look at them. Radicals? Indeed some are . . . they may not be out in the streets beating people, but their proposals and speeches peel back that veil of reasonableness and exposes them for who they are . . . panderers to the most narrow-minded of their supporters, and haters of those who differ from them . . on both sides of aisle.

In the long run, it won’t work of course. We see what we see and hear what you say . . . and you are just as much a coward as that thug overseas beating women because they aren’t covered head-to-toe.

Somehow the Hot Chick with a Gun Slipped My Mind When the Feds Came Knocking

I was cooking a beautiful strip steak last night when there was a knock at the door. I looked out and three black Suburbans, blue and red lights flashing, sat facing the house and four obviously armed men in suits were standing at my door. A woman, also in a suit, was standing behind them, her right hand on a compact 9 mm Sig Sauer laser-sight P290 (I watch a lot of cop shows).

I turned off the stove and opened the door, being sure to show them my hands were empty. The woman eased her hand off the butt of her gun.

“Mr. Brophy . . . It’s been reported to us that you have well beyond the legal limit of salt in your house,” said the extraordinarily large fellow to the right.

“Well,” I stammered, “I have some salt, but I don’t think I’m over the limit.

“We tracked a purchase you made yesterday of a pound of Diamond Crystal kosher salt, and that, according to our records, put you over the limit. We need to check your kitchen and pantry.”

He handed me a folded piece of paper . . . “Food Warrant” headlined the large type at the top of the page.

I pushed the storm door open and they came in.

Quickly opening cabinet doors and going through my tall stand-alone pantry cabinet, they poked and prodded boxes and bags, pulling all sorts of spices into the open and placing them on the kitchen table. Now I’ve always had a soft-spot for an attractive woman packing a 9mm on her hip, but, please, rounding up my salt oversupply was a bit much even for me.

They were done in a few minutes . . . and separated the salt variety gift I received from the Kosher salt . . . then the flavored salts I’d purchased. All in all, two pounds of Kosher salt and one pound of grey salt and one pound of sea salt. Busted.

“Mr. Brophy, you’re two pounds over your monthly salt allotment,” said Gigantor in a suit.

I argued a bit, but knew that there was no real arguing with the Food Police. He handed me a ticket . . . then headed for the door. Gun girl turned and wished me a “nice day.” Really? Nice day?

As they reached the door, the big guy turned and said, “I see you have a couple of boxes of Frosted Flakes there on top of the refrigerator,” Mr. Brophy. “Be careful not to add to that this month . . .  and watch your OJ purchases, too . . . sugar’s bad for you, you know.”

And with that they were gone. I put the salt back where it belonged, watching the black Suburbans head out the driveway.

Damn, I’ve got to remember to buy that stuff with cash. Reminding myself that the Food Police can track anything, and come knocking at the door when I least expect it . . . and end up screwing up my now-well-done steak.

Santorum Still Riding the Hate Bus into New Hampshire

You notice the other day that Rick Santorum would annul gay marriages should he be elected President?

If you’re smart, you might have moved to Canada or perhaps Australia before he took office, but I do find it interesting, that, still stirring his anti-gay campaign, he would annul gay marriages. Of course, annulling marriages is nothing new to Catholics. “Oh no . . . never happened” goes the annulment mantra. So if Santorum became President, he would end with a wave of his pen (fortunately it isn’t that easy) thousands of marriages. Think about that . . . people that might have been married for years, children in families now broken apart by government mandate, tens of thousands of people who, when married could share benefits etc. now unable to.

Always seemed rather ridiculous to me. After all, either you were married or not. But in Santorum’s world, of course, annulment would probably be a major thing. It is ironic that, while waving his pen to end tens of thousands of marriages, Santorum argues that marriage is a key to the strength of America. And in his America, some people are more equal than others.

Of course Santorum means marriage between a man and a woman . . . not same-sex marriages, which he apparently views as beneath him. And thus continues his hate campaign, couched in his conservative views and air of conservative sensibilities, but a hate campaign nevertheless. When you campaign against a group of people, that’s hate. And Santorum’s comparison to anything other than gay marriage . . . like polygamy or sex with animals or whatever . . . is a fear tactic again meant to play to a homophobic narrow-minded minority.

Should the government be in the business of regulating what consenting adults do behind closed doors?

So as Santorum drives his hate stake deep into the heart of the radical right, one cannot help but observe that another alleged conservative wants to change the Constitution, pile on new laws and social regulations, and mandate social behavior. All to fit his idea of a perfect world.

Wouldn’t we be better served if he spent the same effort speaking out against his church’s pedophilia problem and subsequent cover-ups? His is a world where he would end access to birth control, limit women’s access to healthcare, send judges to Guam and annul tens of thousands of legal marriages.

That’s not my idea of a perfect world (is such a thing possible anyway?). These candidates need to get over the sex stuff (an issue with which they seem fabulously uncomfortable and uneducated) and start focusing on how they’re going to move the country forward, not back into the Stone Age. Stop pandering and give us solutions. Jobs, the deficit, trade deficit, immigration, building business, fixing healthcare . . . where are you? Tell me.

Now Santorum has left the cozy Iowa playground and is finding his audience isn’t as friendly. So while Santorum continues to wage his war embracing government-sanctioned discrimination, and other social doctrines he feels are important, the dialogue about what will move this country forward will hopefully change.. The socially conservative pandering will not move us forward. It stalls intelligent discussion.

Don’t tell me why you are anti-gay and anti-women, move into this world, get off those stale busses and get on to the ones most of us care about.

Grow some onions and say all people are equal, now let’s try to make this country a place where we embrace that and turn this ship around and get it moving again. Focus on the real issues. Voters will begin to shred you if you don’t.

Ron Paul Adding Some Spice to an Otherwise Bland Primary Season

Suppose they held a GOP cage war and Ron Paul won?

Wow. Wouldn’t that shake up the political landscape? Say one thing about Ron Paul, he’s unique. But he seems to have tapped something. I’m not quite sure what yet, and the Republican primary season has just begun (thankfully that means all the run-up to it is done), but Paul is hitting a nerve with a fairly large group of voters. More than half of those voting for him in the Iowa caucuses were young voters.

I’m going to assume at this point that Mitt Romney will win the delegates and be the one to battle Barack Obama in the fall. Although Rick Santorum came within a hair of taking Iowa, his strong evangelical support won’t carry through upcoming primaries, where the majority of voters are more moderate and less inclined to support his socially conservative views. Bachman’s out. Perry will be out before New Hampshire. Gingrich will probably be out after New Hampshire, as will Huntsman (who has spent weeks politicking here). 

So Ron Paul, who hasn’t flip-flopped, pandered or moderated his views in years. How refreshing is that? I’ll concede he would probably be trounced in an election contest with Obama, but his out-there, government hands-off philosophy is drawing attention and could draw voters. Americans are tired of war, government handouts and tax dollars headed overseas in the form of foreign aid. They are tired of government bungling the budget, the deficit, job growth, tax policy and healthcare reform.

Paul stands as the anti-government guy. And like his views or not, one can’t help but whisper that a lot of what he says hits a chord. It’s all about the money, so if Paul can afford to stay in the race, he will . . . twisting the knife in the side of the GOP through the winter and spring.

In the end it may be a question of just how fed up voters are. Paul’s support will build if people see him as a way to chuck the current suits in Washington and stand the establishment of both parties on their collective heads. And if he can continue to draw young people into his tent, his campaign will, at least, be fun to watch.

Romney may be leading the pack right now, but remember that he drew only 25 percent of the Iowa vote. That means 75 percent of the voters liked someone better. The primary season is a long, drawn out, mostly boring process, but watching Ron Paul may add a little more excitement than usual this year.

It Was Man vs Squirrel; Not an Epic Battle, but Enough for Me

There sometimes comes a time when a man must battle nature.

Now nature can be a tough thing of course, but I had to do battle. And my battle at first seemed like a mismatch: An oversized human male against a rather small squirrel. And let me tell you, that little sucker nearly won.

Squirrels love my house, a kind of funky place built in the 70s with weird rooflines, a few stained glass windows, not enough insulation and some dicey siding. I love my house, and squirrels love it, too. They chewed their way into the eves in a couple of places and came in and out of my walls. Now that one little sucker made his way down the wall of one of my chimneys, to which a wood-burning stove was attached. I disconnected the stove in the basement since it wasn’t properly installed, and gave it to a neighbor when I first moved in a few years ago..

But that chimney was apparently was a very attractive passageway for what was to become my nemesis. I heard him (I’ll assume it was a him, but I didn’t check) in the living room closet, through which that formerly used chimney ran from the basement up through the roof. A few days ago, about a week after boarding up the three exterior holes around the house, he broke to daylight and made his move to the kitchen. My guess is that he couldn’t find his way out. (At least I’m going with that theory for now.)

Oh that’s not going to work. Not on any level.

I know it gets cold up here in New Hampshire and mice often make their way into houses when the weather changes. But this was a different thing. That little sucker was sneaky, avoiding my old tennis racquet (a Dunlop Maxply for those keeping notes). My forehand sucks when it comes to whacking squirrels and I was a touch fearful of breaking a window when he jumped on the ledge and motored around the sink and then back into the closet.

On to the Amazon account . . . and two days later the two Havahart traps were delivered to my door.

With visions of my albeit small Moby Dick, and my going mad trying to catch it, I set the traps just outside the closet door, baited with my favorite extra-crunchy peanut butter. A perfect strategy, I thought.

But that first night, nothing.

The next night he made a move out of the closet, past the traps and down the hall to my bedroom. Are you kidding me? I stirred around 6, flipped on the light and there he was, happily relaxing on one of the thick beams near a window. I kind of freaked a bit, not a pretty sight for any overweight older guy in his shorts, grabbed a towel and tried to grab him. He escaped, sprinting down the hall and back under the closet door.

I am a patient person, but the thought of him visiting me in my bedroom in the middle of the night wasn’t on top of my want list, so I planned to camp in the living room . . . fewer beams and timber framing there, so he couldn’t get a height advantage and scare the crap out of me. (There’s something disconcerting about a critter, even a small one, wandering around above me while I sleep.)

Relaxing in the recliner and watching ESPN, I heard him in the closet, but resisted the urge to chase him. Traps set, I waited . . .

Suddenly I heard a trap door fall and lock. Perfect. He’d tried to get his peanut butter fix from the trap just outside the door and got busted. I threw a towel over the trap and moved him to the office and closed the door . . . at first light, I relocated him a ways down the road to a beautiful spot overlooking the river.

I know it’s cold out, but he can visit someone else’s house until summer. It could have been worse for him, that old Maxply is still around.

Memories of Christmas Past

Nobody enjoyed Christmas more than my grandmother, Gaga. She was like a kid . . . chomping at the bit to open presents and watch her family open presents. For years she had a big Christmas party at her house on Long Island Sound . . . complete with a motorized Santa who stood off to the side of the entryway, rotating from side to side and wishing everyone a “ho ho ho.”

We spent a lot of Christmas celebrations in Vermont, crowded around the tree in the living room and later over in the playroom. Friends, family and nary a worry in the world. My parents filled the house with decorations, presents, a fresh tree, the smells of cooking and cookies. My musical aunts often used to give me records for Christmas, hiding them in larger boxes so I wouldn’t detect the gifts until that morning. My sister and I used to enjoy sneaking over and shaking boxes and playing “Christmas detective.” Mom and Dad making each Christmas special for all of us.

A trip up the mountain the Chapel of the Snows to sing hymns and Christmas carols and wonder if someone holding a candle would set a fur-wearing worshiper on fire. In a packed chapel filled with fur and parka-clad people, it’s a wonder nobody got burned.

Yearly Christmas and New Year’s parties with friends up there are recorded on yellowing photos . . . did we really wear those colorful pants, shirts and sweaters? Unfortunately, the photo evidence still exists.

And speaking of photos, among the wonderful presents I’ve received over the years, one of the best was a photo album Gaga put together for each of her family members. I still have mine on the shelf in my office. Filled with photos of friends and family, each photo a flashback to an earlier, simpler time . . . when the most important thing we talked about was the skiing. 

A simple gift . . . and a chance to reflect on our lives, our youth and those who have been important in to us through the years. A simple gift from a time when Christmas decorations didn’t go up until after Thanksgiving and we didn’t hear Christmas music in store until the snow started flying. A simple gift from a time when maybe we didn’t know it all or see it all, but a gift that reminds us now that nothing is more important than family and friends.

God bless you all . . . and Merry Christmas.