Here's Why You Buy the Paper

I have more than a few co-workers, friends and relatives who have given up on the printed newspaper. How many times have we all heard it, "Why should I buy it when I can get it free online?" This is typically followed by the plea, "And your fingers don't get all inky when you read it online."

Well, the second argument hasn't been valid for the better part of a decade, since newsprint and printing presses improved.

The first one? Some days it is hard to argue with. I realize I'm old school and like to actually flip through the real thing. I like to see the story placement, the front page mix, the layout, the design. I know too that you miss the graphics quite often online and much more.

I do still read online sometimes. Even I admit, it's often easier for the lazyman in me. This morning, I was dog tired and the kids got up too early so while they lounged with a half hour of morning cartoons, it just seemed easier for me to pop open the computer than wander onto the porch to see if the papers had arrived.

Today I went Globe first and scanned the headlines for anything I had to care about, then went on to things I just cared about. Never in the mix was a story simply listed under local news under the header "A healing touch."

Why would it be? It just smelled to me like a sappy feature about a nurse or a doctor or a professional healer. Either way, I'd probably seen it before, I figured, and moved on to reading about John Edwards and paternity tests.

A half-day later, when I hit the mid-afternoon lull of quiet around here, Heidi tossed the Globe Metro section my way and said, "You have to read that." As soon as I saw the front page of the section, I knew I would have even if she hadn't drawn my attention to it. The picture with the story was killer - an elderly man curled up in a hospital bed next to an elderly woman. It drew me right in, along with the story's sub-headline, "Auburndale man uses hugs, kisses to cope, help bring his wife back from the grip of Alzheimer's."

Those two minor things separated a story I was happy to read from one I was happy to skip.

Sure, all of this met me just now when I clicked on the link on the Globe website. But I never got there from the simple header in the morning. The difference between figuring out you want to read "A healing touch" on the main page here and reading this story on its own page here is stunning.

Can this be fixed? Of course. The Globe and other papers have done a lot to try to replicate the in your hands experience online. The local news tab of the Globe offers another avenue for web layout to showcase good stories and good photos. Unfortunately, today's local news page features a photo from the Vineyard story from Metro front - not a bad story, but not the showcase feature as the true news editors who lay out the print edition intended.


The Globe is good at putting a PDF of the front page on its opening page so you can see how the paper looked. That's great. But why not do it for Metro front, Arts, Sports, etc.? I think the Herald completely dropped this feature from its page, which is a shame because some days the Herald page one is a work of art - to wit this week's "Vote for Change" splash about the nickle and dime stealing pol running for reelection.


There was a period when papers tried to reproduce every page online so you could digitally flip through the paper. I always thought that was a good idea, but I guess it didn't really catch on. A quick search tonight didn't find the links to that kind of feature at the major local dailies or the Times. Correct me if I'm wrong, please.


So if you didn't read the story about the Alzheimer's husband, take a minute, click the link above and read it. And, next time, go out and buy the damn thing, will ya?

Billy Joel’s New Heir

I always felt like Billy Joel epitomized that great crooner oddity – that all the ladies, and I mean all of them, love guys who sing. Walking down the street, Billy the Kid wouldn’t get a second glance from women, let alone good looking women … let alone Christie Brinkley.

But the guy sings how she’s got a way, belts out that she ought not go changing to try to please him or how the boys will all go down together and suddenly hot chicks get weak-kneed. This is all well-worn territory and Billy certainly has his company (I’m talking to you Mssrs. Springsteen, Jagger, Bowie and Bono). But Billy always stood out most to me as the best example.

But there is a new heir: Chris Martin of Coldplay.

This guy is all Brit, through and through. He’s got the accent, the lanky frame, the moody affect. But there he is, married to Gwyneth with a kid named Apple and all the ladies – all the ladies – loving him.

I saw Coldplay Monday night and there were honestly moments of screeching young ladies where I felt like I was in Shea Stadium with the lads from Liverpool 43 Augusts ago instead of the Garden with the newest British import. They were absolutely swooning. And one of my good friends, with no prompting whatsoever, leaned over to me about three songs into the show and said, “You know, I think I can see why everyone thinks he’s good looking.” She certainly wasn’t alone.

I thought, “Right, that white afro and five-day growth really does it for the ladies these days.”

But I watched, and I learned. Give the man his due, he is quite a performer, a great singer and very engaging. And I will give full credit that Chris Martin knows he’s ugly, he even went on a riff at the show when they played an acoustic number in the crowd, saying, in effect, we aren’t as pretty up close are we?

Do I have a man crush? No. Maybe on Bruce and Bono but I draw the line when the guys get downright homely, sorry.

I am just jealous? Well, other than the fact that I love my wife and wouldn’t trade her for Gwyneth, Christy or anyone else, you betcha.

But that’s not the point. The point is, well, wait, what was the point? The point is, I see through you Chris Martin, I know your game. I’m on to you. And I’m just glad Heidi couldn’t make it to the show Monday. You can have all the rest of them.

Soundtrack Blashphemy

Now, I'm not exactly a child of the 60s - though I suppose I was conceived then, but that's a story I don't even want to know. Still, there are some 80s-60s movies that are somewhat sacrosanct to me - "Platoon" being one, "The Big Chill" being another.

I think I liked The Big Chill for the college friendships, the great lines ("I'm going to wash my hair and puke." "Puke first").

But it was also the music. My dad got the soundtrack and it turned me on to Marvin Gaye, The Temptations, Otis and even the great one-hitters of the day, Procol Harem. But there was one scene in the film and one song I loved that didn't make it on - I always figured the Stones felt they were too good for it - that was "You Can't Always Get What You Want." Great song, perfectly used in the movie.

"And now," the priest says at the funeral of Alex (bonus point, who played the dead Alex?) "Karen Bowan, an old college friend of Alex's will play one of Alex's favorite songs." She strides to the organ and blasts out the chorus - much to the amusement of friends in the audience. But the film moves it right into the acoustic opening and on into the song. Perfect for the scene. Etched into my memory to this day.

So you can imagine my horror last night when I saw the attempt to have it used, ridiculously, to the same effect in "21." All in all, an average movie, the book, "Bringing Down the House," was great. But just as the movie made-up storyline of Harvard Med comes to pass, in comes that same acoustic guitar.

Now I don't blame the Stones, they can use the money, I'm sure. I blame the director. Imitation may be the sincerest form of flattery, but this is Hollywood theft and, to me, soundtrack blasphemy. Sure, the Stones sold out to car ads years ago and the song even ended up in the show 'House' at one point. But a movie, with the same acoustic opening at a key part in the plot, shamefully non-inspired.

Hey, you might say, Procol Harem was used in "The Commitments" and "The Big Chill," same song, "A Whiter Shade of Pale." But in truth, I don't even remember what scene it was used in during "The Big Chill," but I do in "The Commitments" - so what's that tell you? And "The Commitments" used it in an inspired scene (can't beat a priest joking about vestal virgins leaving for the coast).

So there you have it, a good reason to blow off "21" - that and, well, it isn't nearly as good as the book.

As you were.

4th of July, Asbury Park

Two days from now, DJs around the states will cue up a lot of trashy Independence Day songs. One you will be lucky to stumble upon is the one I always love to hear driving around in the summer - the 4th and beyond - with the window down ... "4th of July, Asbury Park (Sandy)."

It's just got that feel, the boardwalk, the sights and sounds. And it's got the characters, led front and center by Madam Marie, the fortune teller I didn't know was real until I saw her myself my first trip down to Asbury. I figured, like most, I'm sure, that she was as made up as Sandy was, a device or a fake name for the real fortune teller who might dare to tell fortunes better than the cops do.

Anyway, it's a great song and a great image.

Thanks to my good buddy Tronz, I learned that Madam Marie died the other day, 94 years old. The Asbury Park Press had a great little obit. Even better, I found the last interview she did, also in the Press. In that interview a couple years ago, she talks about a punk kid named Springsteen who used to come by and, as the story goes, she predicted would become famous one day. It's a great read ... and a good reason we should invest in local newspapers (imagine a blogger trying to get an interview with a 90-year-old Jersey lady who'd been telling fortunes on the boardwalk since the 1930s?).

Anyway, Marie is gone. The boardwalk probably too, maybe even Asbury Park. But the song will live and the tales will probably get taller as time passes. But that's what's great about music and storytellers like Springsteen, the legends are sometimes better than the real thing.

Speaking of which, I wandered by Marie a couple times the two days I spent down the Asbury Park boardwalk. I never went in though. First, fortune tellers really creep me out. But more importantly, I think I knew the legend would be better than the real thing.

Here's to Marie, to Sandy, to Bruce and the song.

Happy 4th.

UPDATE: Bruce posted on his own blog, check it out here. Among other things, he says "She always told me (my future) looked pretty good - she was right." Indeed.

It's 9/11, and I remember

It’s 9/11 and, more than anything, I remember two friends – Dennis Mulligan and Mike Lynch.

Dennis and Mike were two firefighters among the 343 who died this day six years ago.
They were two among the 2,974 who died as a result of the attacks. They were two friends.

It feels strange now to call them friends, especially when so many knew them so much more than I did and since they’ve been profiled on CNN, in the New York Times and beyond. I Googled them one year on the anniversary and some random guy with a blog carries around a scrap of paper with Dennis Mulligan’s name on it. He never knew him, never met him. But Dennis personifies the brave firefighters and cops who ran into the buildings when everyone else was running out. Pretty amazing.

But to me, Dennis and Mike were pals, guys I played soccer with in high school, had a few too many beers with beyond and who I saw too infrequently – like so many others – once I moved to Boston and left the Bronx behind.

Dennis was 32 that day, assigned to Ladder 2. He had the day off but he jumped on the ladder truck anyway. Mike Lynch was 30 that day, assigned to a rotation on Engine 40. He was due to marry his longtime girlfriend two months later.

So many of my friends are cops and firefighters in New York that I had a nagging feeling one or more of them might have died on 9/11. It took a few days for me to get word about Mike and Dennis. And I’ve thought of them and their families many, many days since.

Today is their day. It’s a cliché but, as so often, clichés are clichés because they are truisms repeated too many times. 9/11 is about remembering them and the thousands of others like them.

It’s 9/11 and I remember.