Sunday, 22 March 2009
As I walk past my hallway mirror, I notice black smudges all over my face. The familiar markings of an afternoon well spent, reading the Saturday newspaper. As much as I love and have come to depend on the internet, I am still one of those fossils who pay good money to have daily piles of waste paper delivered to their doorstep. Because nothing can beat the feel and smell that is the print experience.
When I was in college I used to meet my friends after class with a stack of newspapers. And we would sit, at a big table in our favourite bar. All day. Reading, drinking coffee, and contemplating the perils of the modern world, until we exchanged our coffees for beers, our informed discussions for inane folly, and would exit the pub just slighty more stupid than before we came. It was there that we heard out about the planes flying into the World Trade Centre, with our suddenly outdated newspapers still in hand.
Eight years, several wars, and one U.S. President later, those people and that bar are still there, but I wonder how much longer my beloved newspapers will be. As Clay Shirky so eloquently describes in his article, we are in the middle of a media revolution, and important as tradional newspapers (and their journalistic efforts) may be, they won't be able to survive the perfect storm of free information.
I would love to offer a solution for these very modern challenges, but let's not kid ourselves. I'm the girl who found her lost keys in the refrigerator this morning. So I'll just enjoy my dirty old paper for as long as I can. If you need me I'll be at my table. Smudged and content...