The man with the long beard makes an unlikely Santa Claus

I haven't written a post here in about two and a half months and that post was about a trip my dad and I made to Nebraska for his brother's funeral, and in the time since that post was made two of the people we saw on that trip have also died.

The latest call came today. My dad called me while I was at work. He never does that. My parents rarely call, but when they do it's almost always bad news.

When I got the call in early November about my Dad's brother in-law Doug dying, that was not too much of a shock. He was not in good shape when we saw him in September. He was 86 and in failing health. It was sad, but not a stunning development.

One of the reasons I felt it was important to make that trip was to see and spend some time with family because I knew some members of the family might not be there the next time I was able to get back there. My dad is the youngest of his siblings and my parents are now both in their early 70s. I think I've only been back to Nebraska four times in the last 27 years. All four of those trips were for funerals. There have been funerals I've missed too, like my grandmother's. I'm not a big fan of funerals. I'd skip my own if I could, but missing Grandma's was hard, even though I had said a tearful goodbye to her when she left Oregon for Nebraska not long before her passing. I didn't go back for my Uncle Doug's funeral either, but was glad I got to sit and talk with him and hear him my dad share stories just a few weeks before he died.

The call today threw me for a bit of loop though in a very different way. Dad was calling to tell me that my cousin, Mike, had died. I have a lot of cousins that are quite a bit older than me, but Mike is not one of them. He's actually younger. It's also upsetting because a member of my family is gone and I didn't really know him that well, and now I never will. Sadly, there are far too many members of my family that I don't know very well. Too may years and too many miles separate our time spent together.

The amazing thing I experienced on the last couple of trips to see family is that the years and the miles didn't seem to matter. The family bonds are still there.

My cousin Mike served as host on the last trip my dad and I made to Nebraska together. Mike gave up his bed during our stay and he made sure we felt at home. He also helped us catch up on the happenings within the family and took us out on the town one evening.

I was quite impressed with Mike. His mother has been quite ill, recovering from a stroke, and Mike has been taking care of her. He had become her full-time caregiver. I remember asking myself: "Could I do that?"

I didn't know the answer, if push really came to shove. The best I could come up with was maybe. And then again, maybe not.

Mike had also cultivated a distinctive look for himself with an amazingly long beard. He looked like he was auditioning for a spot in the ZZ Top lineup. I kept expecting him to flip it over his shoulder, or swoosh the hairs back and forth in dramatic fashion like Pai Mei in Kill Bill Vol. 2. How did he manage to ignore that thing dangling from his chin?

I know Mike had a keen interest in music and played guitar, but I never heard him play. There is much I don't know about him. Over the years I've been much closer to some of his siblings. His sister Tammy was my babysitter when I was young. Mike's brother Bill was a little older than me, but I always looked up to him, almost like a big brother. I always wanted to hang out with Billy. I wanted to be like Billy. He just seemed so cool to me. Mike's brother Randy was older still, and I didn't know him as well when I was young, but we have got to know either other quite well in more recent years. Randy moved in with me for a while when I was living and working in Hermiston about 20 years ago. He is funny and can always make me laugh. Because he was older, and had maintained his ties to Nebraska, even over years of working in Oregon, he knew more about the older generations of the family. He was my connection to the family. Their oldest brothers, Steve and Keith, were already out of the house by the time of my earliest memories. They were more like uncles than cousins.

When we were children, I didn't spend much time with Mike. He was the same age as my brother Ron and I felt too old, too mature to hang out with the younger kids. Ironically, I did every thing I could to hang out with Bill, who was about as many years older than me as I was older than Mike. Bill was much more magnanimous with his time than I was with mine.

I regret that now. The regrets are piling up with age. I used to arrogantly tell a former girlfriend that I had no regrets. It may have been true then, back in my college days, but then there wasn't much life lived to realize the mistakes that would haunt me. Now the haunting spirits of regret emerge with frightening regularity.

I got an e-mail from Mike a few days ago. It included a whole bunch of pictures of a guy who builds scale model airplanes out of metal. I thought about writing back just to see how things were going. But I was annoyed too because all the photos attached to the message were clogging up my e-mail program and it was taking forever to see the text of the message and the photos. In frustration I just tossed the message into the trash and never hit the reply button. Hindsight, being what it is, I certainly regret that now.

If I could go back a few days, I would write to Mike and say something, anything. And if I could go back to those college days I would not be so boastful about lack of regret with a certain young woman. Isn't that how it goes? Once so proud of a lack of regrets, now here I am facing regrets about things said and things left unsaid.

It's easy to forget that I come from a big family. I'm glad I got to go back to Nebraska in September to spend some time with Mike and Uncle Doug and so many other members of both sides of my family who I now so rarely see. We don't get all the time we want to do all the things we want with all the people we want. I'm thankful for the time I got and for the chance to learn how strong family ties can remain, in spite of time and distance.

Grieving can be a lonely experience, but it's mitigated when it's shared with others close to you. I'm so sorry for the loss Mike's death will mean to family and friends, particularly to his mother who has been able to live in her own home with Mike's help.

I really haven't been looking forward to Christmas this year for a very pathetic reason. Finances are tight and I am not going to be able to buy gifts for as many people as I would like to and won't be able to spend as much on the gifts that are given. I was even thinking about not going to see my parents and brothers to avoid any awkwardness over gifts or the lack thereof. Silly. And sad that it takes the loss of a cousin to remind me of what I should already know. Certainly there will be a some grieving over this holiday season, but I shall attempt to make this also a season for celebrating life and family -- those I will be fortunate enough to see for Christmas, those far away, and those gone but not forgotten.

Mike, Steve and Keith West at graveside services for Clyde West in September 2009 at the Mitchell, Neb., cemetery.

Heading back up the Oregon Trail

My dad and I headed back to Nebraska for his oldest brother's funeral last week. It was good to see family, but I wish it were under more pleasant circumstances.

Happy birthday, baby brother

Tuesday, Aug. 25, is my brother Dean's birthday.

The year Dean was born was an eventful one for our little branch of the West Family Tree. As my mom was getting ready for labor, my dad was buying a business in the thriving metropolis of Echo, Ore.

About a month after Dean was born, my dad piled all of our belongings into a moving truck in Western Nebraska and then he piled my mom, brother Ron, me and newborn Dean into a small plane and flew us to our new home in Oregon. We landed literally right outside our new backdoor. Our new home, on a small private airstrip out in the country, was also the home base for my dad's new business.

I doubt my brother remembers the trip. I was about a month shy of my 8th birthday. I can't say I remember a lot of it myself either.

It's hard to believe all of that was 36 years ago.

I was trying to figure out what to do for my brother for his birthday. My first thought was to shave part of his head, so he was a hairstyle more like the ones sported by my dad, brother Ron and I. But since I won't actually see my brother on his birthday, I opted instead to embarrass him long distance with a few photos from his recent past.

Happy Birthday Dean!

Waking up from a long slumber

Life had gotten boring. I didn't realize how boring until things turned around. And when it turned, it turned dramatically.

I'm not quite sure where to begin. A big project at work has resulted in long days and long weeks. And it the midst of all that, I almost moved to Portland. Twice.

There are many things about the prospect of becoming a commuter and the living arrangements being considered that were a cause for concern. I didn't know if my old truck could take a 90-mile round trip every day. Plus, I've lived alone for 5 years, and I came very close to becoming the roommate of my two young nieces and their mother in a two bedroom apartment.

It would have been a major lifestyle change. And I have to admit, I was excited about it. Most of my friends who live anywhere close live and work in the greater Portland area.

Unfortunately, the move fell through, not once but twice. But the prospect of the move got me excited again. It got me looking forward to a new life. The project at work, the launch of a new website, though taxing and sometimes frustrating, also revitalized me.

The pace of life accelerated rapidly. I now realized I had not been moving toward or working toward anything in some time. I'd merely been hanging on and trying to get by. That's no way to live.

I don't know yet what that next goal, that next objective is, or even what the next project might be. But I know I need to have something to work toward, to climb for, rather than hanging here trying to maintain a grip on a life that is not all I want and need it to be.

I wasn't ready to start my day yet

I was awakened at 3:30 a.m. by a nose bleed. It's not unusual. I get them a lot and often in the middle of the night. The unusual part is that I was not able to go back to sleep. So now, two hours later, I realize a return to sleep is hopeless. It is morning now, the alarm will go off soon and it will be time to start the day.

This one just started way too early.

Now who will tell us the way it is?

One of my earliest memories is of sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of a black-and-white console TV watching Walter Cronkite's coverage of one of the Apollo moon missions. I was too young to understand the complexity of the science in sending men to the moon, but I knew that this was a big deal. There was something about Cronkite's coverage of the event that told even a young boy that this was a big deal.

My parents still have the console TV I watched the broadcast on. It hasn't functioned as a TV or a radio or a record player in decades. Now it's mostly a long, extremely heavy side table along a wall in my parents living room. But, sadly, Walter Cronkite is now gone.

For much of my youth, the three major networks were all the TV we had, but when it came time for the evening news, like many American families, there was only one channel to watch -- Walter Cronkite on CBS.

Cronkite retired before I pursued my education and a career in journalism. As a print journalist, I don't know that I consciously considered Cronkite an influence, but I know he was a huge influence on my early knowledge and understanding of the world. TV news and journalism have changed a lot since Cronkite retired from the daily media stage in 1981.

I learned about Cronkite's death, not from the evening news, but from the Internet, specifically Twitter, and then read the story on the Wall Street Journal website.

I'll be curious to see how the media world covers Cronkite and his passing. We've been bombarded with all the minutia surrounding Michael Jackson's death for more than three weeks now. By all rights, coverage of Cronkite's death should eclipse coverage of Jackson's death based on the role Cronkite played in generation's of lives. But I know it won't. By Monday morning the media world will largely have moved on to other things, including more trivia about Jackson's life and death. It's a different world than it was in Cronkite's heyday.

At my current job, I have been consumed for more than a week with preparing for the launch of a new website. It's an exciting time and an exciting world. I love the conveniences of modern technology and the speed with which information can be shared with the world. But part of me missed the time when the world was as black and white as that old television set and we could tell the most important issues of the day affecting the world by where they ranked in Cronkite's broadcast and how much time the segment commanded.

So long Walter, and thanks for keeping the issues of the day in perspective.

Scenes from the Waterfront Blues Festival

Photos from Friday, July 3, at the Waterfront Blues Festival in Portland, Ore.

If you need me, why do you treat me so bad?

If the corporate community and federal and state governments are expecting me to help lift the country out of this recession/depression, they are all in for a long wait. If it's consumers like me, in similar circumstances, that will eventually signal a return to financial prosperity, then we are in for a few more years of rough sledding.

It's not that I am opposed to spending money and wouldn't be willing to do my part, but I've got nothing left to give. Every bit of my income out goes every month. I won't be further mortgaging my future with credit cards to stimulate the economy either. The banks have jacked up my interest rates so high and dropped my credit limits so far that there is not enough spare credit available to pay attention.

I am one of the fortunate ones. I still have a job, unlike an estimated 1 in 10 people in the country who are unemployed.

There is certainly stuff on my wish list of purchases to make. I could use a newer, more fuel efficient car, but that's way out of the budget. My daughter starts college in the fall, which strikes terror in my heart and my bank account.

Even more modest things are out of reach or have to be prioritized. My work and weekend wardrobes are getting threadbare. I need new shoes. Those are the type of purchases I used to put on a credit card.

To cope, I've made some lifestyle changes. I used to eat out for virtually every meal, spending about $70 to $90 a week on food. Now I try to eat at home whenever possible, eating as little as one meal a week outside the home. Of course my food budget was pretty modest before, so I'm not eating a lot of premium cuts or name-brand products and I try to not to let any food go to waste. I've also downgraded my cable service (and may still drop cable altogether. I'm also debating a change in cell phone and Internet services to reduce those bills every month and dropping my landline completely. But those will only leave a few more dollars available every month. Other unattractive, but increasingly prudent options include either seeking out a roommate or downsizing to a smaller apartment.

And those are just to get through the next few months or so.

So don't count on me to spend more, Uncle Sam. I am still looking for ways to spend less. I like to think I've learned the lesson of easy credit and getting over extended. I mean, this is what I'm supposed to do, right? Only spend the money I have?

I'm trying. But it's not going to help put my neighbors back to work so their paychecks can eventually come back to help ensure I will still have a job for the foreseeable future.

Maybe some of those banks that were too big should have failed and taken their bank records with them to oblivion. I would be willing to try living without the credit cards. I'm trying to now. But it would sure help to do without the bills too.

Sadly, to the banks, I'm not too big to fail. They seem to be betting on it. But it's a bet they win either way, because they are charging rates so high they have already made back their money, and then some.

GM and Bing saturate the airwaves

Either I watch too much TV or GM and Microsoft are spending some serious money on their new TV campaigns.

In the case of General Motors, about every other commercial break seems to feature GM's "Chapter 1" commercial, putting a positive spin on the company's bankruptcy filing.

As a print/online journalist, I hope they funnel some money to newspapers and their websites too. But the cynic in me wonders how long it will be before some politician throws a hissy fix and complains about how much money the company is spending on advertising now that taxpayers own most of the company after the latest bailout. So I expect the ads to be pulled in short order. But media companies can sure use the money, especially as so many of those local dealers, which aren't selling many cars for either GM and Chrysler and thousands of them are about to get their signage pulled. Many of them may not be around when American car buyers return to the showrooms.

Come to think of it, with FCC control of the airwaves and government ownership of GM, maybe their new commercial actually qualify as a donated airtime PSA.

The other commercial assaulting the airwaves right now is the one for Microsoft's new search engine, Bing.com.

Will Microsoft's new search engine pose a threat to the Google colossus? Only time will tell.

In the meantime, have you Binged yourself?

I did. So far I like it. But maybe that's because on Google, there is a millionaire with the same name as me who shows up first on the search. My work blog profile comes up second. I come up No. 2 on Bing too, but the No. 3 item is also a reference to me. The millionaire dude doesn't show up until No. 5.

I have to like a search engine where I outrang someone on the Forbes 400.

But in the interest of full disclose there is an obvious flaw to Bing. The No. 1 person on the search is a reference to a neurologist named Gary L. Miller. WTF? I searched for Gary L. West.

So keep working on it Microsoft. But I have already found something to like there. But I do have a question, does Matthew Perry get a residual for the use of his "Friends" character's last name? I sawy his recent appearance on Kevin Pollak's Chat Show. Perry seemed like he might be looking for work. At least hire the guy for a frickin' commercial.

And thanks GM and Microsoft for eating up some of those commercial spots that probably would have been filled by Viagra and Cialis ads.

I heard a god today

To say I didn't like country music when I was young would be the ultimate understatement. I hated it. I was a rocker. I was a head banger. I like AC/DC and Van Halen. I liked Ozzy Osbourne, Cinderella, Queensryche and the like.

Country was my parents' music.

But one summer when I was in college I met a guy from Texas. Our musical tastes were not directly compatible. Tom's musical tastes tended more toward alternative music. It was music I was somewhat familiar with, since some friends at the college radio station had similar tastes. But it's wasn't stuff in my personal musical catalog.

Tom and I were both interning at the Corvallis newspaper. (I wrote some about Tom and Texas in this post.) One day we had no particular assignment, so we were just cruising around the city and talking. We got talking about music and both expressed a dislike for country music. But Tom surprised me by saying there was one guy who's stuff he liked. The artist's name was George Strait.

I'd never heard of this George Strait guy. We ended up going to a record store and bought a couple of cassette tapes "Ocean Front Property" and "Greatest Hits". We drove around Corvallis with the music playing and before I knew it I was singing along. Good thing we weren't on the normal payroll because we were not working. As we listened to those tapes, the music got into my head. It shouldn't have. It contained all the things I thought I hated about country music -- those steel guitars and that twangy sound. When Tom left town, he left the tapes with me and I kept listening. The music was infectious and I grew not just to like it, but to love it.

I've been listening to George Strait music for nearly 22 years now and have seen him in concert more than any other artist. I saw him perform first at the Pendleton Round-Up at at his country music festivals featuring other up-and coming artists in San Bernardino, Anaheim and Las Vegas and with another artist at the Forum in Inglewood, Calif.

CBS broadcast the all-start concert tribute to George Strait as the Academy of Country Music's Artist of the Decade tonight. Congratulations Mr. Strait and thank you for decades of great music. And thanks, Tom, for introducing me to the King of Country Music. Fifty-seven No. 1 songs, and he's not done yet.

Now, in this digital music age, I don't buy as many full albums as I used to. But George Strait's music I will continue to buy by the album because each one is well worth the price. Here's to many many more years of George Strait music.

Read and watch news with a critical eye

I am proud to be a journalist. I am also pleased, in this difficult journalistic climate, to still be a full-time employed journalist. But sometimes people need to realize that the things that get reported as big news isn't necessarily important news.

This current swine flu static is a good example. What's largely missing from this story is context. People obviously care about this story. It's resonating with the public. But should people care? Probably not, at least not as much as they the media and general public seems to right now.

As of this writing, Mexican health officials say there have been 159 deaths and 2,498 illnesses so far in that country. Mexico has a population of just under 110 million people. That means that 0.0024 percent of the population afflicted, sick or killed by swine flu in Mexico.

My dad told me something once that put some of what I -- and my media brethren -- do into context. My dad is a pilot. One time he had a problem with the landing gear on a plane he was flying. I don't remember all the details, but I think the nose wheel on the plane didn't come down. So he made an emergency landing at the Hillsboro, Ore., airport. To him it was no big deal, other than it caused some minor, but expensive, damage to the plane.

A TV crew showed up at the airport to cover the "story." He didn't see what made that a story at all. No one was injured. As he put it, it was the aviation equivalent of a non-injury traffic accident. A fender-bender really.

TV stations and newspapers don't show up for non-injury fender-bender accidents. They pay no notice really, unless of course it ties up a freeway during rush out. In that case the collision isn't the story, the story is that large numbers of people are stuck in traffic.

Fifty-five people have died this season of the plain-old flu in the United States, according to the Centers for Disease Control and more than 24,000 have gotten sick from one of the non-swine flu strains. The CDC also estimates that each and every year 36,000 people in the U.S. die from some sort of flu related cause.

Where are the screaming front page headlines over that one? Why don't the stock or commodity markets react to that?

Why? Because it's normal. It's ordinary. News isn't always just what's big or what's important. A critical component of news is often just what's new or different. The old journalism saying is that when a dog bites a man, that's not news, but when a man bites a dog, that's news. Why, because it's unusual.

People are getting sick from something called swine flu. That's new and different. Of course people are getting sick and dying from regular ol' flu too. But that's normal, everyday, run-of-the-mill life and death.

It's sort of like reality TV. Just because everyone is talking about it doesn't mean it's important. It's a distraction for a while from the economic recession, high unemployment and layoffs.

So buckle your seatbelt tight. You are at more risk driving your own car than riding in a plane or from swine flu. There's far more important stuff to worry about. The Blazers have to go back to Houston and play the Rockets on their home floor, after all.

Prom night

Tonight is prom night for my daughter and her boyfriend. Here are some pictures of them getting ready for the big night with a little help from my daughter's mom.

Spring in Salem

Every year, I seem to miss the peak of the spring cherry blossoms on the Capitol Mall. Either the weather's not right, or about the time the trees are reaching optimum bloom, we get rain and the blossoms are decimated by a spring storm. But this year, I timed it right.

Last week, the weather was great on Monday. The skies were clear and blue and I ventured down to the Oregon Capitol, which is only about a mile or so from where I work, to get some pictures. I wish I had borrowed a camera from work, but got a few pictures I liked anyway.

By midweek, the weather turned gray and rainy and conditions have not been as good since.

Timing is everything, particularly with photography. You have to be in the right place at the right time. There's only one right time around here every year. I think I got the timing just about right.

We now return to our previously schedule clouds, rain and gray-skied gloom.

Much too old to feel this damn young

My daughter turns 18 today. I'm not quite sure how that happened. I mean, I've been witness to her growth and maturity over the years, so I know it's her and she is, indeed, a young woman. But I don't feel like I'm old enough to have an adult daughter. Some days I don't feel like I'm adult yet myself, particularly in my after-work-hours life. At work, I feel mature and in control, but afterwards, not so much.

Oh, sure, I see signs of the middle-aged dude I undoubtedly am when I look in the mirror. The gray hair is not young-guy hair. The wardrobe is no longer a young-guy wardrobe. But inside my head, I still feel as mixed up, confused and insecure as I did on the day she was born. OK, maybe not that confused.

That was a very confusing time. Little did I know that tiny little girl would change my life so such massive ways.

Our story could have been much different. I feel lucky to have her in my life at all. The time around her birthday has always been a special time. Even when I lived far away, I used to time my vacation to spend her spring break with her, which always fell right before her birthday. Now that I've moved back to Oregon, I get to see her much more often, but I miss those intensive week-long visits sometimes, especially near her birthday.

Suzanna is a senior this year and will graduate from high school this summer. Then it will be college and all too soon she will be starting her only life with her own career aspirations and life. There is no guarantees that we will be able to be together for birthdays and holidays and family outings.

I've learned to appreciate every moment, every conversation. Each one is one more than I thought I would have.

Suzanna is very much her mother's daughter. She is beautiful and smart and a loving, giving person. I could not be prouder of her.

Happy Birthday Suzanna. I hope you have a great one and I look forward to celebrating with you this weekend.

Dreaming of sunshine, blue waters and blogging bliss

I've made a big decision. I've decided to quit my job. I'm moving to Phoenix and becoming a pool boy and professional blogger.

April Fools'!

OK, so I know I probably didn't fool anyone. Anyone who knows me would know I'd never do any job that requires manual labor, even if it is only fetching towels, and I don't blog often enough to be a full-time blogger.

I've never been any good any good at coming up with clever April Fools' jokes. It's not one of my talents. I think part of the problem is that I can't sell the joke because I'm a terrible liar.

Don't get me wrong, I couldn't qualify for sainthood. It's not that I don't fib, or stretch the truth or tell a whopper from time to time. But, I'm must not good at looking someone in the eye when I do it. The lie is painted all over my face.

That's not a good trait for pulling off the gag.

So any and all attempts at pulling an April Fools' joke always had to be quick, before my face cracked or my transparent acting skills were exposed.

One thing I've never figured out though is the tradition of an April Fools' edition for a new publication. I admire the talent, like this piece from The Guardian, but if you are a news outlet, do you really want to be good at publishing a piece of fiction in your publication and "fooling" people?

I hope you have a great April Fools' day and don't get fooled too much, or by anyone with a sense of humor that is too cruel. It's always much better to be the fooler than the fool.

Some people just ruin things for everybody

I knew the minute I walked in the door that something was different. I hadn't actually been inside the bank in a while. Usually I do my transactions from home on my computer or outside the bank at the ATM. But it was getting late in the afternoon and I wanted to make sure the deposit got posted as quickly as possible so I can pay some bills this weekend.

The first thing I noticed was that the lobby had been rearranged and some more desks added right where the table used to be where people filled out their deposit slips. But that wasn't the only change. That honor was reserved for the bullet-proof glass in front of the tellers. I fell like I was back in Southern California again.

When I moved to Southern California 14 years ago this month, I was shocked to see bullet-proof glass when I walked into the bank to establish my account in California and get checks with my new address on them.

My friends told me that bank robbery was fairly common in the town where I was sitting up residence. Welcome to Southern California.

After living in California for more than 10 years, I got used to bullet-proof glass in the banks. In fact the only bank branches I was in that didn't have the see-through security walls were the bank branches inside grocery stores.

I got used to the glass, but I didn't like it. The glass made banking more impersonal. It didn't help that the tellers didn't seem to want people coming to their windows anyway. At one point the tellers starting asking me on every trip if I had tried using the ATM to make my deposit. For a while, they even set up an ATM in the lobby and had a bank employee going around to people in line offering to show them how to use it. I soon took the hint and started depositing my checks at the ATM and didn't have to shout through the little slots in the glass wall to deal with the tellers.

Eventually banks went to drive-up ATMs and then one employer offered direct deposit and I quit having to visit the bank at all to make deposits.

When I moved back to Oregon in 2005 I had to start going to the bank again from time to time. While my employer does pay me once a month through direct deposit, in order to get paid twice a month I have to take a draw, which is paid by check. Usually I deposit the check at the ATM but sometimes it's actually nice to go into the branch and flirt with the tellers. Maybe they don't consider it flirting, but given my lackluster social life of late, a smile from a lady qualifies as flirting in my book. Banking has been more personal and intimate on those visits because there was no bullet-proof glass. That is, until today's visit.

The branch I visit most often is on Market Street here in Salem. It's on my route between home and work, which makes it a convenient place to stop. Apparently it has proved convenient for people with less scrupulous intentions too, because that branch has been robbed twice in the last year, most recently in January. I guess that was too much for the bank. Now there is bullet-proof glass. So, now the tellers are certainly safer. But banking has become more impersonal again. I miss a lot of things about Southern California.

However, I learned today that impersonal banking conducted through bullet-proof glass was definitely not on the list of things for which I was longing.

Goodbye P-I

Starting Tuesday, Seattle is a one-newspaper town.



When I heard the announcement today that Tuesday's edition of the Seattle Post-Intelligencer out be its last print edition, I though maybe I would write a long, philosophical post about it. But I just don't have it in me. But I just can't. It's all too sad. Layoffs, furloughs, pay cuts, papers folking. It's just all so bleak. Every newspaper journalist I know has been touched by this. Even those left with jobs have seen 401(k) plans shot to hell and they are left to wonder if, or when, their livelihood might evaporate too. Journalists can relate to those who have lost jobs in this economy, because we all know someone who has joined the ranks of the unemployed. And we all know the competition for future job openings, at least in the short term, will be fierce.

We are like the former newspaper employees who set type in hot lead or did paste-up work in composing rooms. Their jobs were lost forever to technology.

Now, news staffers know the feeling too.

The P-I name will live on, at least for a while, in cyberspace. But it will have far fewer people doing the journalism that covers the issues important to Seattle and the Pacific Northwest.

Emerald staff on strike?

Are you following the dust up at the Oregon Daily Emerald? If not, you might want to check out this story about the Emerald news staff going on strike.

I won't try to tell the story here. It's bizarre beyond words, but apparently the students objected to a job offer to Steven A. Smith, thinking bringing him on board would someone threaten the editorial independence of the student journalists. Yes, that's the same Steve Smith who has been editor of the Spokesman-Review in Spokane, Wash., Statesman Journal in Salem, Ore., and Gazette in Colorado Springs, Colo. Smith shares his side of the story on his blog.

Forgive, me, but I find the whole thing funny, but sad. Where is the reality of the working world in this whole scenario? Journalists at a financially troubled paper choosing to go on strike? Now?

Makes me glad I am a journalist trained at Oregon State University and gained some practical experience at the Daily Barometer, although the journalism program (part of the College of Liberal Art, not a Journalism school). But the reality is, what I learned in school only got me that first newspaper job and a lot of training has happened since.

One of the things I learned outside the student environment was a point perhaps too subtle in understanding the First Amendment when I was young and more principled than experienced. The thing about freedom of the press is that freedom belongs to the people who own the press, not the people the owners hire to run the presses or cover the news.

This would all perhaps be a lot more amusing if my daughter wasn't thinking that she may want to go to the University of Oregon and study, God forbid, journalism.

On, and all you purists out there lamenting the rise of social media, guess what? I learned about the strike on Twitter.

A video obituary of the Rocky Mountain News

This takes a while to load and it's long, but it's a moving tribute to the Rocky Mountain News of Denver by the folks there who are now out of work.

It's a scenario likely to play out in newsrooms, newspapers and cities around the country this year.


Final Edition from Matthew Roberts on Vimeo.

She was my first, but I'm starting to see the light

We've been together a long time. We've covered a lot of ground together. I wasn't sure our relationship would last this long. Family and friends tell me I need to move on. But it's not that easy.

When we met, I'd only been in California a few months. She helped me get through my first long hot summer in the Mojave. We've been together ever since that July day in 1995. I was only 29 then. And, well, she was my first.

She was the first, and only, car I've ever bought new.

Well, actually she's a truck. A 1995 Dodge Dakota.

I traded in a car I loved, a 1988 Honda Prelude, for her. But the Honda didn't adapt too well to life in Southern California. Someone punched the lock and stole some stuff out of it. But that wasn't enough to jilt her. The real reason for the breakup was that she didn't come equipped with air conditioning. That hadn't been an issue when I was in college in Corvallis. It wasn't even much of a problem during summers in Eastern Oregon. It certainly was not a problem on the Oregon Coast. But in the Mojave, where, if memory serves, every day in July that summer was hotter than 110 degrees, it was a different story. No air conditioning was definitely a problem.

So I traded her in. I decided to get a pickup, because I was a long way from home, family and friends and didn't know many people in town yet. My dad always had pickups I could borrow. I had a Toyota pickup part of the time through college. I might need a truck in California.

As it turned out in the nearly 14 years since, I haven't really needed a truck all that often. But I still have her, and she's taken good care of me over the years. There have been a few bangs and scrapes with inanimate objects. And one little fender bender when I couldn't quite manage the clutch and brake fast enough at a stoplight. Not bad for nearly a decade and a half.

When I moved back to Oregon in 2005 I thought maybe that might be our last summer together. But there was really no room in the budget for a car payment, so we've stayed together. The relationship was strained when gas got up in the $4 a gallon territory. When I first bought her I could fill her up for about $15. At one point last year it cost about $75. That kept both of us close to home on weekends.

The truth is, she doesn't get all the attention she deserves because money has been tight. The new tires she got late last year weren't really in the budget either. But she and I were both glad she had them when she we needed to navigate snowy roads in December in and around Portland and Salem. The guy at Les Schwab warned me that the brakes were showing wear too, but I knew I couldn't afford that bill with Christmas coming.

But we may not be able to wait any longer. A couple of warning lights popped up on the dash yesterday. The ABS and brake lights are on, glowing steady, and I can feel the mushiness in the brakes. I am nursing them all I can, but I know there is a trip to the brake shop in my immediate future.

Tires, brakes. That's stuff that need to be replaced from time to time. But that's not the only trouble she's seen lately. Last year after watching my daughter play in the state golf tournament she refused to start. Her battery cracked and the acid damaged the cables and some parts in the engine compartment. She had to be towed to a repair shop. It was the second time she'd been in for repairs since we got to Oregon. She needs other work too. She needs shocks. The windshield has a nasty crack. She leaks oil.

And the odometer reads more than 130,000 miles. Not bad, given her age. But I'm not certain how many miles she really has left.

I never thought she'd carry me this far. Or this long. She's been a loyal and trusted companion. I'll miss her when she's gone. And I'll miss not having car payments. But I won't miss the repair bills. I guess I know where my tax refund is going this year.

Too tired to sleep

I'm going through one of the periodic bouts of insomnia that visit me from time to time. I'm not sure what causes it. Maybe I need to keep an insomnia journal or something to see if I can find a pattern to the phenomenon.

After a fairly dry and sunny winter, the rains have returned this week. Maybe that's a factor. But I don't think that's it, or at least not all of it, because the really late nights started late last week before the weather really turned.

Unfortunately, I am not experiencing a period where I can exploit the long hours creatively. It would be nice to make some posts or read or do something with these hours.

Ironically, I'm very tired, but can't bring myself to go to bed. I can sleep for a few minute in the evening on the couch, but to get that long full night's sleep, particularly on a weeknight, well, it just doesn't happen.

I call it insomnia, but I'm not sure if it really is or not. I don't go to bed and toss and turn sleeplessly for hours. I just don't go to bed. I think part of it is the fear of lying in bed, tossing and turning for hours. I used to do that as a kid and earlier in my life. It was shear frustration and torture. I don't want to repeat it. So, instead, during these periods, I keep myself awake until overcome by exhaustion. I want to know the sleep will come when I crawl between the sheets.

I am going to try to sleep. I think. I hope.

Bloggers, be careful what you wish for

I don't think I've ever read an article in Salem Monthly before this week, but there was a copy of it sitting in the lunch room at work and the cover story caught my attention.

In typical tabloid style, the teaser on the cover was different than the headline of the article. The headline of the piece, by Kevin Hanson, is "Defining media: A question of credibility." I think the cover teaser posed the question of whether bloggers were journalists (I don't have the print copy to check).

I thought the piece was interesting. I have my own take, of course.

Most bloggers are definitely not journalists. They are more like columnists, or more precisely people who write letters to the editor, but also own their own presses. Bloggers, mostly, spout opinions, like those blowhards on cable news stations that don't actually cover the news, they just bitch about, well, seemingly everything.

And there's nothing wrong with spouting opinions.

Bloggers have a point of view and express it, something journalists in the traditional media try very hard not to do in their coverage of stories. Journalists (with the exception of opinion writers and columnist) spend most of their working time reporting other people's opinions rather than sharing their own (and opinion writers actually share the opinions of either their editor board or their publisher, which may not be their personal opinion). The job of the journalist is to cover an issue as objectively as possible, to give both sides of the issue (or as many sides as are practical given time and space constraints). Journalists attempt to be fair and balanced. Bloggers have no such limitation.

But let's be honest here. Not all journalists, or all media, are created equal. Not all have the same level of skill or training or experience. This is largely a function of staff size. Papers with small staffs often do not have the luxury of having specialists or people who can spend an entire day, let alone several days (or weeks or months) working on one story. In my earlier life, as an editor in charge of local news reporting staff's at a couple of different newspapers where I worked, I used to have a saying. That saying was repeated often to let the reporters I supervised to remind them of what was expected of them.

"Two stories a day keeps the editor at bay."

I even made up an 8-by-10 sign that hung on my desk to remind reporters of the slogan even when I wasn't at my desk or speaking the words.

Given the number of reporters we had and the general amount of space we had for local news, we needed an average of two stories a day. The New York Times may boast that it's pages contain "All the news that's fit to print," but many papers print whatever news fits. Sometimes the stories have to be whittled down to fit the space, and sometimes you have to make sure you have enough stories to fit the space that will be available.

When a reporter writes two stories a day, those stories are not going to be in-depth investigative pieces. You do what you can, talk to who you can reach quickly and you write quickly.

At the bigger (and better) of the papers where I used that mantra, having most of the reporters meeting that "quota" meant that we could afford to have a reporter every week concentrating on an in-depth story, and we could have a reporter or two a day focused on the biggest story, or stories, of the day for our front page or local section cover. A story could fall through and we wouldn't have to scramble. It gave us flexibility.

Bigger news organizations have more flexibility. They can hold a story if it isn't good enough. If it doesn't pass muster. More people get a chance to read a story it before it makes it to print. Check for typos. Ask questions if things aren't clear or don't make sense. There is someone to ask/deman someone make one more phone call, get one more source, check one more fact.

That doesn't mean a one-person blog or website can't employ journalistic principals. Heck, there are still a few newspapers in small communities out there that have newsrooms that size, or are not much larger.

In the Salem Monthly/WillametteLive.com article, it uses as example of a blogger who wanted to cover a closed session by a government body as the crux of defining just who, or what, a journalist is in Oregon. It's ironic, even comical. I won't comment on whether Mark Buntner, aka Torrid Joe, of loadedorygun.net is a journalist. He's the reporter mentioned in the article, if you didn't follow the link. But I do know that government agencies like the Lake Oswego City Council cannot and should not define what a journalist is or a legitimate news media outlet is.

Journalism is not the government, nor is it is licensed or sanctioned by the government. Oregon has some great open meetings and public records laws, which allows representatives of the news media to attend most types of executive sessions, however discussions in those meetings are not supposed to be reported. A media representative is there, ostensibly, to make sure the members of the government body doesn't do something they are not supposed to do in one of those meeting, like take a vote or discuss a topic other than what they said they were going to discuss in closed session. But one thing I learned as a journalist working for more than 10 years in California, where the laws are not so favorable to the media or the public, it is possible to report the news without having access to closed-door sessions. It makes the job harder, but not impossible. I wished I could have taken Oregon's laws to California with me, but I worked with some damn fine journalists in California who kept government bodies accountable to the public quite well, in spite of laws that made it damn hard for journalist to get some information or prove laws were broken (or at least bent) by government agencies behind closed doors.

If Buntner/Torrid Joe, or any other blogger wants to behave like a "mainstream" media member -- want to be considered a journalist (or citizen journalist) -- and have the opportunity to attend executive sessions, I have one simple suggestion.

If you want to be treated like the news media, then act like the news media. Oregon Revised Statute 192.640 says:

Public notice required; special notice for executive sessions, special or emergency meetings. The governing body of a public body shall provide for and give public notice, reasonably calculated to give actual notice to interested persons including news media which have requested notice, of the time and place for holding regular meetings.

If a blogger/website operator regularly attends a government board's meetings and requests notification of all meetings -- and if the government body complies and includes the blogger(s) on their notification list -- it will be a lot harder later for the government body to say you aren't part of the news media. If you work like the media and are treated like the media, you are the media.

I don't know if Buntner/Torrid Joe did that or not. But if a blogger uses his or her forum to let the public know when government meetings will be held so the people can participate in the public debate too, in council chambers where the actual votes are cast, that's what the media do. If the blogger provides some measure of coverage of issues out of those meetings regularly, that is part of the role journalists play. It's not the sexy part, or the glamorous part, and it is rarely a fun part. Go figure, it's a job. It's work.

Like it or not, along with the First Amendment rights many bloggers so wish to enjoy, there would/will also come some news media responsibilities.

Oh, and one more thing. There may be such a thing as a professional journalist (as in someone who gets paid to report the news), but journalism is not a profession, in the classic definition. It doesn't pay well enough for one thing. But more importantly, journalists are not licensed and journalism does not require a doctoral degree. So for those bloggers that aspire to be considered journalists, you can become one. But if you just want to spout off about your passion for your pet or your personal politics or your shitty day, go for it. People may find that stuff more interesting anyway.

Hell, I'd much rather be a professional blogger -- that is unless blogging becomes a profession. I don't want to have to take a test and get a license.

Sunset on Sunset Bay

A visual reminder of why it's important to stop and enjoy life once in a while.

That's right, I'm not from Texas (but I've been there)

Facebook really is a pretty amazing thing. I think I found a guy who was an intern at the same time I was back in the late 1980s at the Corvallis Gazette-Times. He was from Texas and at the end of the internship, he invited me to drive back to Texas with him.

Perhaps it was because I had passed up any opportunity to visit Texas a couple of years earlier. I had dated a woman who was from Texas and she used to talk about taking me there. I really wasn't interested in going someplace I had never been before and where I didn't know anyone. It was outside my comfort zone. I came to regret that lack of interest and adventure.

So when the opportunity presented itself that summer, I think it was 1987, I decided to go and had a great time. It was a trip full of firsts.

Tom and I went out of our way to drive through Las Vegas, just because we could. It was the first time I had been to Vegas. It's ironic that in later years I came to love that city so much, because on that road trip, seeing Vegas in the middle of the day in late summer, it didn't impress. It was hotter than hell. The middle-age people roaming the streets in their polyester garb looked tacky as did the shiny, glittery facades of the city. I don't even know what part of the city Tom and I saw. It seemed so hellish and surreal. We didn't linger long and got the hell out of town and down the road.

We stopped at tacky souvenir shops. I wonder whatever happened to the Texas flag and set of steer horns I picked up on that trip? For years I had the University of Texas tank top I picked up in Austin. I was not a Longhorns fan, but it always reminded me of that trip and I loved that shirt.

Many of the memories of that trip have grown fuzzy with time. But some impressions of that trip have stuck with me. I remember seeing the El Paso city limit sign long before seeing El Paso, and then not seeing much of anything for hours and hours after passing the west Texas border town.

I would have loved to spend more time in San Antonio or San Marcos or Austin, but was only there a few days. The people there were amazing and made me feel so welcome. Maybe it was the soft Southern drawl so many spoke with, particularly the young women Tom introduced me to on the trip. They would say y'all and I would melt. I even started to say y'all too. I remember Tom chastising me for that. I think he thought I was making fun of his friends and the way they spoke. Far from it. I was fascinated, hypnotized by it. I wanted to be a Texan too.

Years later, I would think of that whenever I would hear Lyle Lovett's song "That's Right (Your Not From Texas)." I think if I had stayed there any longer, I may never have left. But all too soon I flew out of Austin and returned to Oregon. I left Texas, but I still carry parts of that trip with me.

I have a soft spot for Texas, or perhaps more accurately, Texans. Other than those few days, I've only been back in Texas to change planes at Dallas-Fort Worth. But Texans have been pivotal figures in my life. One is a friend who stood by me at my lowest point and helped me climb out of that pit. One is a friend who has shared his home, his cooking and his martinis and conversation and is willing to call me on my careless grammar (thanks Gene). And one was a former gymnast who introduced me to seafood and taught me to look beyond the outer image a woman presents to see the person inside.

And then there was Tom, who disliked country music except for a guy named George Strait, who's music I had never heard. Tom talked me in to traveling to Texas. And now, thanks to Facebook, I may be able to connect with someone I haven't talked to in decades. And, if nothing else, it got me thinking about some great times, great places and great people.

Remembering The Day The Music Died

He died before I was born, but Buddy Holly's music has been part of the soundtrack of my life, just like it has been part of so many people's lives for generations.

When Holly, Ritchie Valens and the J.P. "The Big Bopper" Richardson were killed in a plane crash on Feb. 3, 1959, it became known as The Day the Music Died.

Of course music lived on, as did the music of Holly, Valens, and even The Big Bopper. But losing those talented people at the peak of their creativity and fame must have been a crushing blow to their fans.

The day the music died for me came more than 30 years later, on Aug. 27, 1990 when Stevie Ray Vaughan died under similar circumstances, in a helicopter crash following a concert. My roommate at my first newspaper job had introduced me to Vaughan's music less than a year before. His blues-infused guitar captivated me. And just after I found it, found him, he was gone. And I felt an emptiness and loss as sure as if a friend or family member had died.

I still love and listen to Vaughan's music. It still moves me. But there is no sense of sadness when I listen to the energy and power of Vaughan's distinctive sound. I feel happy. It makes me feel energized.

I can't help but wonder what more Vaughan could have done musically if he had lived. But his music lives on. As does the music of Buddy Holly, who was only 22 when he died. So much music lost.

I bought some Buddy Holly music today. It was an obvious gap in my music library. Rest easy Mr. Holly, you and your music did "Not Fade Away".

And in spite of Don McLean's iconic tribute, "American Pie," that day 50 years ago was not The Day the Music Died. It was a day a generation -- several generations -- learned to love and appreciate the music and all those who made it and left the stage far too soon.

The curse of couch cushions being so absorbent

I get these great ideas for blog post throughout the day. They are brilliant ideas and would make the best blog posts of all time. If you read these gems you would have no choice but to agree.

Sometimes a send myself an e-mail to remind me of my flash of genius. Sometimes I use my little memory trick of turning my watch around backwards, which forces me to remember throughout the day why I turned my wristwatch around. Sometimes I scribble a note on a piece of paper. And many times I just make a mental note, telling myself that I just have to write about that.

Then I get home. Fix some dinner. Deal with the dishes. Check my e-mail, catch up on a few odds and ends, get engrossed in mind-numbing television. And before you know it, the enthusiasm and energy to be brilliant is gone.

Oh, sure, I still want to be brilliant, but I find I no longer remember how.

So I watch more mindless television and then go to bed.

It's like all the genius gets absorbed by the cushions the moment my butt hits the couch. I guess that's what I get for carrying by brainpower back there.

Happy Groundhog Day

Here's to hoping that furry little varmint doesn't see his shadow and winter will soon be over.

But who am I kidding? This is the Willamette Valley and it's been unseasonably dry so far this year. There's still lots of rain left to fall and my amateur prognostication tells me that winter-like weather will last far more than 6 more weeks.

Group tries to put out fire heating calls for Sam Adams to resign

I hate acronyms. It seems there's an acronym for everything. But I heard about a group today that is just begging to be known by an acronym.

The realization came to me while watching the 11 o'clock news on KATU, the ABC affiliate in Portland. They were leading the newscast with the latest story on the scandal surrounding Portland Mayor Sam Adams.

The story prominently featured Hollie Teal, a supporter of Adams, who believes he should stay in office in spite of his admission that he lied about a sexual relationship he had with a young male a few years ago.

Hollie is working to rally support for Adams. She's started a blog, Sam is Still My Mayor, and a group on Facebook that already has 130 members.

In Teal's interview with KATU she gave the group of supporters an unofficial name. "We are the People in Support of Sam," Teal said. Seems an appropriate name to me. People in Support of Sam -- P.I.S.S. -- because Adams has undoubtedly pissed all over his political career.

I'm fascinated by the Adams scandal story, but the things I want to know aren't the things that are making the evening news, the morning papers or the media websites. I want to know the story behind the story. Rumors of Adams' involvement with the other man in this story were apparently circulating years ago, before Adams officially began his run for mayor. But I want to know what pushed it to the forefront now, after Adams was seated as mayor. I want to know what the conversations were like in the Oregonian newsroom, where Adams' partner works as an investigative reporter.

Sure, I'll check in periodically to follow developments in the story. My daughter lives in Portland, so how the city is run, and who runs it, are of obvious interest. But what I'm really interested in is finding links to the story behind the story of how this broke and the intrigue of how journalists and politicians are intermingled here, like the former Portland Mercury reporter who had been trying to track down the sex rumor and ended up on Adams staff.

Media organizations are good at aggressively pursuing a big, breaking news story and political scandal revealed (in this case, finally, as I understand it, by Willamette Week, to home Adams first confessed his lie). But I am particularly interesting in the story behind the story and how the story made its way to publication/broadcast/posting. Now some of those details are coming to light, like Willamette Week's story on why Adams confessed. I also find it fascinating when media report on the actions of other media. It is, surely, one of the benefits of having a competitive media environment with watchdogs keeping and eye on the actions of government, elected leaders and public servants.

So many media outlet are in financial trouble now, along with the economy, and journalists are among those frequently joining the ranks of the unemployed. One has to wonder how many competitive media market, or how competitive those markets will be, after all the economic dust settles.

This story is fascinating on so many levels. Yep, it's a real P.I.S.S.er.

Just your average, ordinary day of historical significance

Seeing President Barack Obama sworn in today as the nation's 44th president forces me to admit that I was wrong about something I said to friends and associates early in the primary campaign season. I predicted, erroneously, that the voters in this nation would not elect a black man president. I thought that voters weren't ready, were too narrow minded to do that at this point in our nation's history.

Seeing the public reaction to today's inauguration events was a powerful message of just how times have changed. I don't assume that racism in this nation ended today. But I hope that today, and with each successive day Obama serves in the White House, that our nation truly gets closer to a nation where race is no longer a barrier, or an issue.

It was great to read the updates posted by friends who were in Washington, D.C., today to witness history first hand. And I was struck by the realization that someone of my generation is now Commander in Chief.

Obama and our nation face tremendous challenges. I am proud that my generation, in the person of Obama, was finally able to achieve a dream many may not even have dared to dream when this generation was born. But mostly I am proud that as my daughter comes of voting age this spring, there really is the possibility that anyone with the proper skills and campaign savvy could become president of the United States of America, regardless of race or gender. I'm not sure I'd want my daughter to be subjected to all the nastiness of a national campaign, but if she wanted to do that I hope she knows emphatically that she could. Without a doubt. Not any longer.

If he accomplishes nothing else, Obama has been the change, the nation has needed.

Oh, and one other note on today's inauguration: How cool was it to see the orange and black of Oregon State University featured so prominently during the inauguration in the wardrobe of Obama's brother in-law Craig Robinson, head basketball coach for OSU? Go Beavs!

They say we only hurt the ones we love

I guess I should be thankful I am not currently working in the mainstream media.

The news has been grim all year, and there is no sign of it ending anytime soon. Like so many industries, people are losing jobs and workplaces are being retooled in order to remain profitable or return to profitability.

Last week, the Seattle Post-Intelligencer was put up for sale with employees being told if it is not sold the paper may convert to online-only publication, or stop publishing altogether. This week my former employer, Gannett, announced that all non-union employees at their publication will be required to take a week off without pay in the first quarter of this year. This after enduring another round of layoffs at papers last quarter

I am so sad for my friends facing the hardships of losing jobs, losing pay. I am also trying to come to grips with realizing that I may never work in a mainstream newspaper newsroom again, due to jobs being lost and newspapers turning to a workforce shorter on experience that will cost less.

I love newspapers. I love the thrill of covering the news and providing information to the masses. I am a news junky. I love to know what's going on in my community, my former communities, my state, my country and to a lesser extent the world.

But I have a confession.

I do not subscribe to a newspaper. Not anymore.

I am a little ashamed to admit that on a public blog, but it's true.

There is no one single reason I don't subscribe. Perhaps not even a big reason. But the reasons add up to the point where it was easy to cancel my subscription to the local paper last year.

First off, I get my news from multiple sources throughout the day. I have a morning news program as I get ready for work. I listen to a news/talk radio station as I am shaving and showering and on my drive to work. I read a wire service at work, monitoring developments not only for the niche publication I work for, but also for other stories that are of interest to me. I also get bombarded with news releases from various government agencies, companies and organizations at work all day long. I visit multiple websites that feature or have news content on them. We also get a variety of general news and industry publications at work.

That's a lot of news. Too much really.

But I like the instantaneous nature of media today. I like watching events live on TV or online if they are important to me, personally or professionally. I like being able to choose from multiple sources of information when news breaks, like you can online.

It's not the same as stumbling across that story in a newspaper or magazine that catches your eye with its headline, or photographs, graphics or illustrations. It's fun to read stories that I surprise myself in finding I was interested in the topic. I like leaving though the pages to see what treasures are there.

But those treasures seemed to be becoming fewer and farther between. Mostly I found myself reading my local paper or the Oregonian and seeing a headline, or a story, and saying to myself, "I already knew about that. That's old news." It was easy to turn the page and I was left feeling empty. Disappointed.

I also try to be a responsible person and recycle my newspaper. But living in an apartment, I don't have curbside recycling. So gathering up the papers to be recycled was a pain. I still have a box of papers here that I need to take to the recycling drop-off site (along with several phone books, which I have no use for whatsoever, except at work, where they serve as a base for my computer monitor to bring it to eye level). Yep, there's still a box of newspapers to recycle, and like I said, I canceled my subscription last year, in June, judging by the papers at the top of the stack.

The subscription price just wasn't worth it. I don't want or need coupons. Canceling made sense to me. One less bill in the mail. One less payment to made.

The fact of the matter is, I don't really miss it. I pick up a paper now and again out of the rack. But both the Oregonian and Statesman Journal charge 75 cents for weekday papers now. Not a huge sum to be sure, but it seems a waste when I pay it and find only "old" news and then have to recycle the paper too.

I want to be a newspaper reader. I want to have the option of working at a newspaper again. But the fact of the matter is that newspaper companies are gutting their newspaper to remain profitable. They know they are losing readers, and advertisers to online, but still must maintain complex, slow production methods necessary to producing a print product (where the money still is for now) and can't fully focus on a web product and making that profitable.

My own industry and publication are certainly not immune to the economic effects or the trends spreading through the mainstream press like cancer. Our day of reckoning may be coming too, and perhaps it will be closer than we may know.

I realize I am one of the people holding a gun to the head of my own industry. Because my reading habits have changed, because I demand more information faster like so many in my generation and most people in the generations behind mind, there are new fewer people covering news in depth and with experience to do so in as objective a manner as is humanly possible (or probable). Oh, sure there are more bloggers sharing their own experiences and expertise in ways the traditional media never did. In many cases its more interesting, more focused and even more in-depth. But it's rarely balanced. Maybe the balance comes from reading so many perspectives, not getting multiple perspectives in one place. I do miss having a place to turn where people have compiled the news and event in one place that are deemed the most important for a community to know. Maybe that's the price we pay for having quick access to the news.

I do love the news. I love newspapers. I'm not sure if my first love abandoned me or I abandoned it. I dream of reconciling, but our differences may be irreconcilable. It's killing me. And killing newspapers too.