January 13, 2009 | Pics,Rants
It was Superman’s day job—when he wasn’t foiling villainous plots to divert the sun or otherwise pervert the natural universe, Superman would don a pair of spectacles (for which he took a not inconsiderable amount of ribbing) and sit out town council meetings. This was done in the hopes of getting the inside scoop on the zoning bylaws facing commercial properties adjacent to county-run parking lots in Metropolis’ downtown core.
Many have followed this noble path—not running around in pyjamas (except to fetch the morning paper when the family dog couldn’t)—but journalism.
The legendary, straight-talking Edward R. Murrow made a war-time generation equate a wholesome mother and apple pie with democracy.
His ego fills arenas, like girls fill bikini tops
Modern-day exemplars include Jayson Blair of the New York Times, a man who, unbeknownst to his employers, chose to use his post at the “world’s most trusted newspaper” to follow his true passion of “speculative journalism,” i.e. what the story could have been had he left his apartment in Brooklyn to pursue it. That same New York Times, has recently given us Bono, who will use its pages to sound off about dead singers, not creatively dead ones—as a U2 tour and album are forthcoming.
Newspapers have truly birthed legends.
Now though, digital media has made the newspaper obsolete, and newspapers have had to fill up their content with more salacious coverage, i.e. full color photos of the Westminster dog-show, rather than a capsulated review.
The daily newspaper has become increasingly insignificant. The city of Seattle now has as many newspapers as it does Space Needles, so the days of sussing out what’s wrong with you and yours in the Dear Abby column, letting out an involuntary bit of pee at the zany antics of Andy Capp and his gang, are increasingly numbered.
So, as you as you enjoy a breakfast of champagne and orange juice and try to forget the day ahead, remember the days when a newspaper was unfurled on the coffee table, before it was transferred to the cockatoo’s cage, as he sang his good morrow and shat on it.
Newspaper journalism was once famously described as ‘the ability to meet the challenge of filling space’, and we salute those of you who’ve attempted to do just that.
R.I.P.
