Everything is lost.
Newspapers are doomed.
You’ve read it on the Internet. You’ve heard it on the TV. You can even read it in the papers (for the moment).
If you weren’t listening carefully, you might even say you’d heard it from me.
But the thing is, I don’t think that’s true. I think newspapers are spectacularly well designed to do what they do- to give you information, entertainment and a sense of commonality with other readers.
I just don’t think that existing newspaper publishers have come up with a way to keep paying for their big buildings full of people with the money collected from selling them.
But, as I hope I’ve mentioned at least once before, I still want to read a newspaper. An exciting, unpredictable current newspaper. A pungent burst of now in my hands. It’s going to have you in it. You’re going to write something for me that I’ve never even thought of. I can’t wait!
Gerald Cunningham wants to deliver it to me. I can feel it. He’s straining to get a lovely, lively miracle of newsprint into my hands. I want him to.
More than that, I think I need him to. Possibly, we will all need somebody to come up with something when (or if) gravity starts to tug the giant graceful zepplins above us.
And even if they stay up there, with their plush lounges and slowly whirring propellers, the rest of us can still enjoy our own lovely balloons on a string.
Go, tell him what you want. Write it on your own blog, or comment on his post. Twitter it. He still needs to know what you think. That’s what makes it better.