Blathr Wayne Lorentz

It turns out, it is not possible to subscribe to the Chicago Tribune without an e-mail address.

Youʼd think a publication with the Tribʼs circulation numbers would make it easier for people to subscribe; not harder.

I shall work here today. But first, lunch.

Weekend project: Coming up with a harder, slower, less-reliable way to read the New York Times. Mission accomplished.

If thereʼs a feature article in the newspaper about how debutante balls have changed over the years, you may live in Texas.

Congratulations to the New York Times for not having to print any corrections on Monday, October 10^th.

That sounds bitchy, but itʼs not. Journalists donʼt take corrections lightly. Having issued a few, myself, I can tell you that it hurts a lot, and for a long time.

One difference between bloggers and journalists is that journalists let people know when they make mistakes, and print corrections. They donʼt just pop into WordPress and silently change things.

It was just a decade ago that newspapers were fighting for space in Chicagoʼs downtown newspaper racks. Now, nobody cares.

The racks were installed by the second Mayor Daley as part of his efforts to clean up downtown, where busy street corners would sometimes have ten, 15, or even 20 newspaper boxes all chained together, spilling out into the street and blocking both pedestrians and traffic.

The new street furniture brought order, but also controversy. Small and marginal publication accused the city of playing favorites. There was always room for a Tribune drawer, or a Sun-Times drawer, or a Crainʼs Chicago Business drawer; but neighborhood, non-English, classified advertising, and pornography publications couldn't always get in.

Lawsuits were threatened, but I donʼt know if they ever went anywhere. Perhaps simply because right around the same time, people en masse decided to get their news from the internet for free, instead of paying for dead trees. It didn't help that both of the big newspapers doubled their prices (or more) as the internet ate their revenue.

Today, about the only place to get a newspaper in downtown Chicago is in a drug store. And even then, you might have to go to two or three different stores to find one, since so few are printed. There's no need, since work-from-home has made a 2022 weekday lunchtime on LaSalle Street feel like the same location at 6am on a Sunday in 2012.

Anyone visiting Chicago can bring home a box of Fannie May, or a Drake Hotel flask. It takes a real professional tourist to hunt down a copy of both newspapers.

One of my newspapers didnʼt come today. So I tried to let the Houston Chronicle know it has a problem. Naturally, since the conglomerate that ate Houstonʼs paper of record doesnʼt have customer service people on the weekend, I have to fill out a report online. And, naturally, the web site doesnʼt work.

Even if I had to wait on hold for a while to speak to someone about it, a human being could solve the problem immediately. Instead, I have to remember to call the newspaperʼs customer service people during the week to get credit for the missed delivery.

Remember when computers were going to make our lives better?

A column in todayʼs newspaper suggests, “Try a plant-based sweetener like Stevia” instead of sugar.

So what exactly to millennials think sugar is made from? Rocks? Oil? The dried, ground up bones of boomers?

If the largest newspaper in America canʼt keep its web site running, what chance do I have?

The New York Times has “lost” this web page. I guess thatʼs not surprising, since it also lost my newspaper today.

If your beauty pageant has replaced the swimsuit competition with an animal slaughtering competition, you may live on the Big Rez.

The New York Times app sure knows how to load ads.

Too bad it doesnʼt know how to load the news that I pay for.

Coffee and seven newspapers (thereʼs a Chicago Catholic under there somewhere). My day is set.

Risk tiers that include the color turquoise are likely to be nonsensical to anyone who does not live in New Mexico.

This is what happens when your mapping database doesnʼt have coordinates for a town. It puts the town in Kansas.

In this case, the New York Times map jammed Newton, New Jersey in the middle of Kansas. It probably thinks other towns are there, too.

Never trust any data. Always check for NULL and improbable values.

My Sunday paper came with three comics sections. I shoulda bought a lottery ticket, too!

Due to a printing error, someone somewhere is missing the first two letters from page 30 of todayʼs New York Times.

Theyʼre “F” and “o.”

Youʼre welcome.

You know you live in the desert when the newspaperʼs big front page ballyhoo is over 0.04 inches of rain.

After 240 days, youʼd think we could do better than 0.04 inches, though.

Well, hereʼs a new DGPR fail. Not only can I not decline to be tracked by The Onion, I canʼt even accept to be tracked because the Accept button doesnʼt work.

Maybe this is some kind of subtle humor.

Saw this graphic in the Navajo Times today. It says not to make a COVID mask out of leather or coffee filters. I had no idea this was a problem.

I saw the paperboy for the first time today. She had lots and lots of newspapers in her arms for my building, so I don’t feel like weird old Uncle Bert for getting newspapers anymore.

According to todayʼs paper, you can now crush a car, operate heavy machinery, shoot a machine gun, detonate explosives, drive a monster truck, launch flaming arrows, blast flame-throwers, and drink yourself into a stupor all in one place. Because doing all those separately was too much work.

Oh, and thereʼs a brothel on the other side of the ridge.

I can only assume this started with someone from Texas saying, “Yʼknow, thereʼs just too many rules around here.”

Sunday, interrupted.

When Darcie was reading the Navajo newspaper, she mentioned there was a sale on new, low-mileage Rams.

This isnʼt what I expected.

Remember how the Navajo were advised to stay two sheep apart from one another? I guess the Nevada legislature is made up of cowboys, because this sign in the capitol was in todayʼs paper.

Today I learned that a sheep is three feet long.

Today I learned that one of my friends applied for food stamps because of the COVID situation. I found out about it from an interview in the New York Times. I think that makes me pretty much the definition of a bad friend.

When I was in J school, we were issued little pamphlets from the New York Times titled How To Read The New York Times. It was very useful, and one of those things that would be useful for people to read today since so many are burdened by information overload.

The instructions went something like this:

1. Throw away all of the sections you donʼt like.
2. Put the remaining sections in order of priority.
3. Look at the headlines on each page. If a headline doesnʼt interest you, move on.
4. If a headline interests you, read the subhead or the photo caption. If youʼre not interested or arenʼt learning anything new, move on.
5. Read the first three paragraphs of the article. Move on when you stop learning something new.

This method is still remarkably effective, especially for plowing through a fat pile of Sunday papers.

The only Times sections I toss are the Book Review and the Magazine. I like books, but I want to form my own opinion about them. And the Magazine is just hard to read. The paper is too glossy and the print too small for the stylish lighting in my abode.

Counterintuitively, I find the Sports section quite compelling. Even though I have near zero interest in sportsball, thereʼs always an article in there that is intellectually intriguing. A couple of weeks ago there was a good piece about how “home field advantage” is a thing of the past because teams are so pampered in their palatial practice facilities that even when they play in their home stadium, theyʼre playing on unfamiliar territory. Fun stuff.

Iʼm sitting in a Starbucks reading the New York Times.

Three children politely stare at me as they await their drinks, while their mother whispers privately to them.

On the way out, the mother quietly explains to me: theyʼve never seen a newspaper.

At a time when America needs journalism more than ever, there's a sign up at Starbucks stating that today is the last day that it will sell newspapers.

I wish I had a coffee shop alternative, but such is life in an American suburb.

There are twelve people at Starbucks this morning.

Three are reading the New York Times. Two are reading the local paper. One is reading a book. The rest are lost in their phones.

I guess journalismʼs not dead after all.

I shall drink rum and read a Los Angeles Times here.

I like living in a place where the front page of the Sunday paper is about the rodeo, and not about a couple of political tribes bashing each other and pretending that one is better than or different from the other.

I call it “America.”

Oh, good. Iʼve been wondering where I can get a fair deal on a quality, low mileage used cow.