Below the Fold

What Google Doesn’t Know (and never will)

Inspired by a colleague who proclaimed that “books would be dead” in five years, I posed a tongue-in-cheek question on my Facebook page, asking “what will disappear first, books or the book review section” of newspapers?

Expecting similarly tongue-in-cheek answers, I instead received this:

“I read a story today in the New York Times Magazine about a guy who gave up his Ph.D. and work in intellectual think tanks to become a motorcycle mechanic. This was a fantastic article that no search engine would ever have found for me. I do not do searches on PhD, think tanks or motorcycle maintenance. Thank you, New York Times. That is what newspapers and magazines can do. Bring you the things you didn't know you wanted.”

Now, you can analyze this position in many ways, but for me, it boils down to this: There are search engines that learn from us (Google) and search engines that teach us (Journalists). We need both, and neither should diminish at the expense of the other.

The Next Level of Search

 “Search” may well become the most overused and misunderstood word or phrase in social media since, well, “social media.”

According to a recent white paper issued by my company, there are four kinds of search: Paid, Optimized, Reputational and Social. While correct, the paper overlooks one key fact – for content to be found, people need to know that they want to find it.

Most search strategies and methodologies today are about creating visibility and order – learning what people want, taking them to it, and helping them organize it. As a result, search is moving closer to that Web 1.0 dream of “intelligent agents” roaming the web, fulfilling your every request.

But what if you don’t know what you want until you see it? It’s great to have search that understands me, but I want a search that teaches me. I want serendipity.

Computers learn, people teach -- and this is where journalism and the printed word can still lead.

Journalists as “Search Agents”

Those “intelligent agents” we all wanted? They are called reporter and editors. They are magazines, newspapers and, yes, books.

These are the search agents that advance us and force us to confront what we didn’t think we needed or wanted to know. It doesn’t matter how well a search engine learns to learn if, in the end, it teaches us nothing.

So the next time you are in Barnes & Noble or Borders, look around and remember that you are standing inside a search engine, a vast repository of knowledge that is waiting for discovery. Pick up a newspaper (if there are any left in your town) and see what the “search agents” found for you to read.

Many people today believe that if the news is important enough, it will find them. Perhaps – but I’d rather find it for myself. With any luck, I’ll find exactly what I don’t want.

The Last Newspaper

Daniel headed for the darkest corner of his local Starbucks, the Last Newspaper clutched snug against his chest.

He opened it slowly, carefully, as if he were cradling an ancient parchment. The crinkling sound it made drew a few stares, and then a few more as those around him realized that they were sitting just a few feet from history.

Daniel pretended not to notice. He wasn’t much for attention or conversation. But even he couldn’t deny the significance of this stubborn relic that had struggled against the future and lost.

So he didn’t cringe when several customers put down their Kindles and slid over to his table. After all, he had heard the questions over and over for months as he executed his daily routine of “offline” media consumption. He knew that this day would come, when the Last Newspaper rolled off the press and he alone would be left to feel the ink seep into the creases of his fingertips, turn the oversized pages and engage in a forgotten literary ritual.

The questions often took the form of puzzled amusement:

• "Isn't the news old by the time you read it?”
• "How do you search?"
• "What do you mean you had to pay for it?"
• "Why would you want a bunch of content you don’t care about?
• "I’ve got all the news that’s fit to click right here."
• "What is ‘ink’”?

Daniel took it all in stride. He nodded politely, laughed lightly, and answered what he could with all the patience and quiet pride of a museum curator.

He reminded his rapt audience that what they now refer to as “content” used to be called “stories,” delivered by trained individuals known as “storytellers” and “journalists.” These people didn’t work for companies like Google or Amazon as they do now, culling “content” from armies of information aggregators and feeding it into computers which analyze and pull out the relevant information by keyword. Before news was fully automated, Daniel said, individuals wrote entire stories themselves. They researched and crafted linear narratives – unheard of today, he admitted, but at the time people found value in following a certain flow.

Of course, people had more time back then, too. The move from stories to content was slow as well, and its tipping point went largely unnoticed. Before anyone knew what was happening, stories became shorter, sliced, repurposed and packaged as do-it-yourself news. Where once we read stories, we now consumed content.

Maybe this is why it happened, Daniel thought, as the crowd went back to the soft glow of their Kindles and mobile media devices. Maybe the descent from stories to content was the fait accompli of the printed page. 

Stories are personal and transformational. Stories have definition and character. Stories are history personified.

But content is cold, distant. Content is a commodity – a finite consumable of fleeting value. Content is artificial intelligence.

When storytelling is reduced to content, ideas die.

And with that, Daniel stood, folded the Last Newspaper back under his arm and walked away, leaving the future behind for the last time.

Newspapers Can Win by Being Last

My boss, who given the nature of our work is a savvy digital guy, noted via Facebook how the news about Gen. Colin Powell’s endorsement of Sen. Barack Obama for President broke first on Twitter, before the Washington Post, New York Times or Wall Street Journal. This is interesting as a piece of trivia, but what it says about the psyche of the American news consumer is far more powerful.

It says that the past decade or so of 24-hour news, infotainment, halfwit commentators and Internet-born drivel has taught us nothing.

It means that we still celebrate speed over substance, accolades over accuracy, and timing over truth. It means that winning is only about being first and not about being right. It says that getting out of the starting blocks first matters more than finishing the race.

I know this isn’t true for everyone, but it’s true for many and that is troubling enough.

Newspapers aren’t dying solely because of an outdated business model or modern means of distribution – they are dying because things without speed are viewed as having little to no value in a 21^st Century world.

The Los Angeles Times, my hometown paper, is getting thinner not for lack of advertising but for lack of news. A redesign to make stories and sections easier to find via call-outs and color coding hasn’t changed the fact that there is less relevance to the stories for people who already got that morning’s headlines via Google or iPhone.

Newspapers – and I’m talking specifically about the print product – need to stop chasing television and the Internet. We get plenty of news fast, but what we need is a place to slow down and digest.

Let the Web side of the house be more about the “what” and the newspaper side more about the “so what.” Give us analysis and investigation, and use the paper’s web site to fill in the gaps between editions and keep us on top of the breaking stories. And bring back the afternoon newspaper – the news will be timelier and the analysis more welcome at the end of the day when we’ve had our fill of RSS feeds.

If newspapers want to win, they need to finish last.

Hmm, that sentence is short enough to tweet. But I’m sure someone has already beaten me to it.

Jay Mariotti and the Dead Newspapers Society

Sportswriter Jay Mariotti, who quit the Chicago Sun-Times and then told a local television station that “newspapers are dead,” raised the ire of many in the news industry including (former) colleague Roger Ebert. In a not-so-private open letter to the Sun-Times staff, Ebert called Mariotti “a rat” and, in essence, a coward for leaving the newspaper business during troubled times.

Mariotti is of course entitled to his opinion and his career choices, even if his opinion makes him look like a childish jerk. Nevertheless, he is making the same mistake and suffers from the same misperceptions that most non-journalists have about newspapers.

Newspapers aren’t dead, they are not even dying. They are, in fact, changing, which is not a bad thing.

Change doesn’t come easy, and yes, change means that some papers won’t survive. But newspapers were never about the “paper” or print – they are about storytelling, and storytellers, and ideas. What is really changing – and why all media is going through a kind of metamorphosis – is the definition of news, both in terms or what constitutes a news story as well as what are “legitimate” sources of news and forms of delivery.

My nine-year-old daughter doesn’t read a newspaper and may never, but she reads news headlines delivered via our Wii game system. I read the New York Times on my mobile phone. Contrary to the name of my blog, nothing today is “below the fold” because our media universe is one big front page that we control.

According to a recent Pew Report on changing news habits, young people are losing interest in news – 34 percent of those under 25 years old get “no news” in a typical day, up from 25 percent 10 years ago. But Poynter’s Amy Gahran challenges the findings, noting that the study perhaps didn’t investigate “social” avenues to news and information or the impact of search engines or mobile technology.

News, like most all other forms of communication today, is both accidental and on-demand. We often get news online when we aren’t looking for it, and we also get news when and how we want it (we also seem to get only the news we want to hear, but that’s another issue for another day.)

So let’s not confuse the changes news is going through with its impact. News still matters, even if the news itself is not always recognizable based on long-held perceptions.

And the Chicago Sun-Times? I predict it will still be around in some form ten years from now. And Jay Mariotti, the latest member of the Dead Newspapers Society, will still be talking – after all, if you ever read his stuff, you would know that talking is the only thing he’s good at.

 

Tim Russert: Citizen Journalist

“Feels like the country’s biggest game is about to be played without the referee.” – Elizabeth Wilner, posted on the “Missing Russert” Facebook group.

 

AS MODERN JOURNALISM LAY near death, with its entertainment-driven news, pomp and punditry, Tim Russert was its life support. Now, with Russert gone, we can only wonder how long journalism can go on.

Russert’s ability to hold an entire profession together was never fully noticed or appreciated. But as reporters, broadcasters, colleagues and competitors flooded the airwaves in the hours after Russert’s death from a heart attack, the void left by Buffalo’s favorite son was painfully obvious.

There was Keith Olbermann, the antithesis of objective journalism, talking to his partner in polemics Chris Matthews about Russert’s objectivity and dedication to his craft.

There was Wolf Blitzer and Larry King from CNN, saying all the right things but looking lost, as if without Russert the nation would have to turn its lonely eyes to them for its political coverage – the thought of which scared them to death.

Certainly Russert can never be replaced, but there’s no one left in television news that is even in the same league. It was as if Paul McCartney had died, and the only people left to deliver the eulogies were Miley Cyrus and Right Said Fred.

Olbermann’s tribute was beautiful and heartfelt to be sure, but the real proof of Russert’s impact will come when Olbermann tapes his next edition of “Countdown.” Will he, as Russert did, learn everything he can about his guests’ positions and then take the other side? Will he use his obvious intellect to inform us or just keep us pissed off?

And will Matthews, on his next “Hardball,” let his guests finish a complete sentence? Will he, as Russert did, force politicians to go beyond their well-practiced sound bites?

Will anyone – can anyone – remember Russert through their actions and not their words? Or with Russert’s passing has the plug been pulled on journalism, on objectivity and discourse forever.

I want to say yes to the latter. I want to just give up on a profession that, save for a few serious journalists, gave up on itself a long time ago.

But that wouldn’t befit Tim. This was a Bills fan after all – he was a man who always believed in the next play, the next game, the next season.

Russert was the true definition of a citizen journalist. His questions were ours, and he never forgot for whom he worked. His authenticity, unlike that of so many of his contemporaries, was unimpeachable.

Journalism changed and Russert survived. The question now is whether journalism will survive without the likes of Tim Russert.

We Are the Firemen

In May 1993 – the exact date and time escape me – my inner world, the one where thoughts are born, developed and processed, lost its ability to be silent. I since have lived with constant noise, the result of a tumor that, in an ironic nod to God’s comic grace, left me deaf in one ear yet covered in a perpetual blanket of ringing static.

Sometimes it’s not too bad, other times it’s so loud it sounds like there’s a KISS concert in my cranium. But it is always there, never fully abated, never completely quiet. It will never be quiet, and it has been so long I have forgotten what quiet is, what silence sounds like, what kinds of thoughts stillness brings. How much smarter, how less painful the headaches and seizures, how more aware of my environment would I be if only I could hear more – and then, like most people, dial down the volume and hear nothing but thinking.

Rather than go insane, I did the next best thing – I went into marketing. Turns out my decision was less pathos than it was prescience, as I watch my former trade of journalism in some cases melt away, in others morph into a new kind of socially-driven journalism enabled (if not always ennobled) by modern technology.

THE DESCENT OF PRINT alone is not a problem for a our society. But the descent of thought is. And this death of reasonable thinking and discourse has given rise to a ringing in all our ears, a cacophony of “social media” for its own sake rather than the sake of the consumer.

Don’t get me wrong (though I guarantee someone will) – I love technology and Web 2.0. I believe in the power of conversation and the promise of connecting people to each other with authentic communications. But in this new silicon rush we far too often discount what’s gone before, throwing judgment into the intellectual pyre like so many worn newspapers.

In other words, in our well-meant effort to broaden and share our knowledge, are we also destroying the very knowledge and reasoned discussion we so boldly claim to seek?

Because we can connect with people like ourselves, we do. And then we act as if other opinions don't exist -- or if they do, then don't matter. We do this within our social networks, the pseudo social media intelligentsia do it at conferences and on their blogs, and the news media does it by giving us news tuned to whatever ideological frequency we desire.

We jump to conclusions and applaud hyperbole until the slightest chance of digesting an idea is gone. That idea is destroyed forever, lost in the echo chamber of self-important consultants and rash Twitter feeds.

Never before in human history has so much information been available so readily to so many. Yet although we are creating and writing more, we are saying less.

IN FAHRENHEIT 451, RAY BRADBURY’S seminal novel about censorship and intellectual intolerance, a “fireman” was someone who burned books. Well, we don’t burn books per se, but we burn discourse. We don't destroy newspapers, but our actions are killing them off just the same. We are the firemen.

So this is my warning and my plea: don’t get caught up in the social media panacea. Instead, experiment and decide what works for you and your company. Focus on the customer first and the technology second. It’s okay to take small steps, to do what’s best for your business, to embrace new tools at your own pace even if it goes against the “purists” who argue that there’s only one way move forward.

And above all, take time to think, to plan, to discuss and learn. Embrace the unknown and reject those who insist they know it all. Find some silence and make decisions without being surrounded by so much noise.

I would give anything for just a few seconds of mental peace and quiet. Don’t squander yours.

Journalism's Next 100 Years

I got a call from the University of Missouri Journalism School, my alma mater, reminding me of the 100th anniversary celebration this year. Founded in 1908, Missouri was the world’s first journalism school and is still regarded as one of the best.

Yet while overall it was a great first hundred years for American journalism, it’s the next 100 I worry about. Or in the prescient phrase uttered by ABC News anchorman Charles Gibson at Pennsylvania’s recent Democratic presidential debate, “the crowd is turning” on how professionals report the news.

History is the art of hindsight, so writing about an event before the ink dries and the digital bits settle is at best unfair. Nevertheless, you don’t need Galileo’s vision to see that the Pennsylvania debate marked another in series of dark turning points for the news business.

The financial pain we’ve known for while – as this year’s State of the News Media study revealed, advertising revenue is still going down, as are pre-tax earnings, profit margins and stock values. Even online newspaper advertising, while up 20 percent in 2007, is growing slower than online advertising as a whole, and is 10 percent lower than last year.

Newspaper owners answered with widespread staff layoffs, leading to less local reporting and therefore fewer readers which – you guessed it – resulted in less revenue. It’s also meant narrower reporting, with issues like Iraq and the presidential elections representing the majority of coverage. And it’s meant an unhealthy attraction to transient stories that are the equivalent of chewing gum, the media smacking its lips long after the gum has lost its taste.

All this came to a head in Pennsylvania. What should have been a debate about the future of the country became a Fox-style reality show about flag lapel pins. And the people responded, with boos in the audience and thousands of comments on ABC’s web site. The media itself became the story – a story prompted by ordinary people now with extraordinary access to the once powerful press.

Last year’s YouTube debates will be remembered for authentic questions about real-life issues from a mosaic of American culture. The ABC debate will be remembered as the day modern journalism died in a cacophony of tabloid-style interrogations, punctuated by the nervous laughter of a once proud newsman, gasping to stay afloat in a sea of discontent.

ABC should have known better. It should have known that news in the next 100 years will be more “service” that product, something that people will look to for intellectual guidance. News is a conversation, or as the BBC’s Richard Sambrook has said, a partnership – and in this sense, ABC failed its partners miserably.

Consider this: When asked about his debate performance, ABC News’ George Stephanopoulos said, “The questions we asked…are being debated around the political world every day.” A commenter on ABC’s web site said, “"Some of us actually live in the real world and care much more about real issues like food and gas prices.”

This is where we need to start the next 100 years of American journalism – in the real world. The crowd is turning, indeed.

                           

I got a call from the University of Missouri Journalism School, my alma mater, reminding me of the 100th anniversary celebration this year. Founded in 1908, Missouri was the world’s first journalism school and is still regarded as one of the best.

Yet while overall it was a great first hundred years for American journalism, it’s the next 100 I worry about. Or in the prescient phrase uttered by ABC News anchorman Charles Gibson at Pennsylvania’s recent Democratic presidential debate, “the crowd is turning” on how professionals report the news.

History is the art of hindsight, so writing about an event before the ink dries and the digital bits settle is at best unfair. Nevertheless, you don’t need Galileo’s vision to see that the Pennsylvania debate marked another in series of dark turning points for the news business.

The financial pain we’ve known for while – as this year’s State of the News Media study revealed, advertising revenue is still going down, as are pre-tax earnings, profit margins and stock values. Even online newspaper advertising, while up 20 percent in 2007, is growing slower than online advertising as a whole, and is 10 percent lower than last year.

Newspaper owners answered with widespread staff layoffs, leading to less local reporting and therefore fewer readers which – you guessed it – resulted in less revenue. It’s also meant narrower reporting, with issues like Iraq and the presidential elections representing the majority of coverage. And it’s meant an unhealthy attraction to transient stories that are the equivalent of chewing gum, the media smacking its lips long after the gum has lost its taste.

All this came to a head in Pennsylvania. What should have been a debate about the future of the country became a Fox-style reality show about flag lapel pins. And the people responded, with boos in the audience and thousands of comments on ABC’s web site. The media itself became the story – a story prompted by ordinary people now with extraordinary access to the once powerful press.

Last year’s YouTube debates will be remembered for authentic questions about real-life issues from a mosaic of American culture. The ABC debate will be remembered as the day modern journalism died in a cacophony of tabloid-style interrogations, punctuated by the nervous laughter of a once proud newsman, gasping to stay afloat in a sea of discontent.

ABC should have known better. It should have known that news in the next 100 years will be more “service” that product, something that people will look to for intellectual guidance. News is a conversation, or as the BBC’s Richard Sambrook has said, a partnership – and in this sense, ABC failed its partners miserably.

Consider this: When asked about his debate performance, ABC News’ George Stephanopoulos said, “The questions we asked…are being debated around the political world every day.” A commenter on ABC’s web site said, “"Some of us actually live in the real world and care much more about real issues like food and gas prices.”

This is where we need to start the next 100 years of American journalism – in the real world. The crowd is turning, indeed.

                           

Making Newspapers Matter: The Tragic Value of Content

“Hey Gary: After a year of unanswered emails to the editor of the Portland, Maine, Press Herald pleading for better local reporting and editing...I started a blog a month ago…” T.C. Munjoy, Pressing the Herald (http://pressingtheherald.blogspot.com/)

ONE MORE BLOG IN THE WORLD is not the end of traditional journalism. Even the target of Mr. Munjoy’s citizen reporting, the Press Herald of Portland, Maine, will unlikely feel any pain, at least in the short term. But what Mr. Munjoy and countless others have done by starting blogs for the purpose of either enhancing or supplanting local news is nothing less than apocalyptic.

Consider this one simple fact: Mr. Munjoy distributes his product on a platform he uses for free. If he ever decides to charge a fee, it will be for his blog’s content, not its distribution.

And herein lays the Achilles Heel of newspapers: their costs are all in the distribution, not the content. In fact, contrary to what newspaper executives may want you to believe, newspapers have never charged for their content – which is why the newspaper industry is, and for the foreseeable future will be, in serious trouble.

The Big Mistake
Five cents, 10 cents, 25 cents, 50 cents…whatever the cost of your daily paper, that cost goes to pay for the means of distribution. Paper, ink, presses, gasoline, tires, vending machines and so on – all means of distribution. The same goes for advertising – the more ads you can sell, the more pages you can print, the more there is to distribute.

Obviously some of this revenue goes to pay for reporters and editors, but in a purely business sense, the content they produce merely allows the company to distribute a product. And as I said, that’s how newspapers make money, by distributing their product.

This worked fine until the Internet Age. Newspapers made the mistake of looking at the Internet as simply another means of distribution, assuming that people would come to their web sites and read the news, and more importantly read the ads that helped pay for the web servers and Net access fees.

But search trumped any vision of people reading the news only at a newspaper’s web site. Now they could read the news on Google, Yahoo, MSN or via RSS feeds straight to their computer desktops. The new media companies like Google saw value in the content, not the distribution, and traditional newspapers have been trying to catch up ever since.

Some newspapers tried to charge for content, but having not placed any value there before it was difficult to make that case now (there is, however, a legitimate argument over whether news aggregators can publish copyrighted material without permission.) Niche publications did better than mass market ones, but with the free content genie out of the bottle and more and more information available from more and more sources, content itself became commoditized.

As the public turned more selective, news turned more subjective. After all, if you want people to value content, you have to make it stand out. But in trying to save their business model, newspapers have injured journalism.

Where we are Today
Television had its role in this tragedy as well. In the Golden Age of TV news, daily broadcasts were not expected to make money. News was seen as a loss leader, its existence seen as nothing less than fulfilling a sacred public trust.

But television was also a business, and as profits rose from the entertainment side of the house, pressure mounted on the news divisions to earn some of that valuable ad revenue. So television news, because it came into people’s homes for free, looked to its content to attract viewers – to entertain them if not inform.

And this is where we are now, in print, on the airwaves and online – a journalism where placing value on news content means a world of infotainment and hyperbole, of diversion and distraction.

There is plenty of good work to be sure, but how long will it last? How long will newspapers focus efforts on the “paper” part of their monikers instead of the “news” – on supporting an obsolete distribution infrastructure rather than new business models that place value on content that is truly valuable?

We don’t have the answers yet – but like any good journalist, getting to the answers starts with asking the right questions. Let’s hope there are some good journalists left to ask them.

Good luck, Mr. Munjoy. The future of quality journalism may someday turn its lonely eyes to you.

In CNN’s Hands, YouTube Loses its Voice

As a former newspaper reporter, I never had much respect for television news. More style than substance, more sound bite than serious, TV journalism was media junk food. I preferred a good steak and still do.

There were exceptions – Walter Cronkite, Jim Lehrer and, going way back, Ed Murrow (though he served up his share of sugary snacks as well.) And in the early ‘90s, there was a decade-old network called CNN that, with its blog-like first person coverage of the Gulf War, showed that television and journalism could indeed coexist and add reason to public discourse.

But that was, as they say, then – and this, unfortunately for our country and its conscience, is now.

I accepted CNN’s financial need to compete with Fox and MSNBC by taking a side – not conservative like Fox or liberal like MSNBC, but a kind of neo populism characterized by anchor-driven “mad as hell” histrionics. I looked away when the “maddest” of the bunch, Lou Dobbs, made illegal immigration his clarion call.

Then last week, CNN went too far. The network, which hosted the Republican “YouTube Debate,” went from ranting about the election to attempting to rig it.

CNN is no longer a news organization; it is a political action committee. It has gone off the deep end not in search of ratings, but rather in an obsequious bow to Dobbs, his quest for book sales and a possible third-party Presidential bid.

Consider this: the first one-third of the debate centered on immigration, Dobbs one-trick pony, despite national polls showing that only six percent of Americans believe immigration is an important issue in the 2008 election. What are the top issues? Iraq, the economy, healthcare and energy costs. What other topics did CNN producers cull from the 5,000 YouTube submissions? They chose gun control, the Confederate flag and whether the Bible is the true word of God.

I don’t mind the YouTube format – in fact I love its raw sense of immediacy. But don’t for one minute think that the format makes the debate any more real; CNN took care of that, manipulating the event to serve its own puerile purposes.

CNN not only crossed the line, it went into uncharted waters. It used the electoral process, hardly free of abuse itself, to serve its hunger for relevance and ratings. CNN has gone from being an inspiration to journalism to being its enemy – a voice beyond mere bias now bent on Machiavellian power.

Hyperbole? Perhaps. CNN is, after all, just a network – just a business. As I said before, I never had much respect for television news, so maybe I should go eat my steak and shut up. Just sit back, relax and listen -- the news is on.

Facebook is the New Corporate Intranet (and Other Things I Want to Mention but Would Rather Not Discuss)

Glenn Beck is an Insensitive Prick – Beck told his national radio audience that “a handful of people who hate America are losing their homes in a forest fire today,” referring to the wildfires that started in Malibu. First of all, one of those people, Steve Dark, is a conservative who loves America and goes to church every week – or at least he did until his church burned to the ground.

So what does that mean, Glenn? Does God hate America, too? Steve and his Malibu neighbors are looking forward to your answer.

Facebook is the New Corporate Intranet – Why not? Create a Facebook Group, set it up as “Secret” – so it’s not visible to search, only invited members can participate and the group is invisible on members’ profiles – and voila, instant Intranet. Members can post, discuss and share information, even upload photos or host audio or video podcasts (and don’t forget the ability to create custom applications.) Simple to be sure, but for some companies simple is good enough. Goodbye HTML, hello FBML.

Social Media is Not Just About a Set of Tools – Will someone please tell this to Ragan and PRSA? Please, before they hurt somebody? It’s often those who profess to know the future that turn out to be the most shortsighted.

Twit This: Twitter is Good for Something – I know, hard to believe, but San Diego PBS station KPBS used the popular micro-blogging tool to keep residents in touch with the latest wildfire news via their mobile phones. If you do crisis communications, Twitter is a great way to spread the word.

I Gave it an Honest Try, and "Cavemen" is Just Not Funny – I wanted to believe, ABC, I really did. But…damn.

The Audience is Still Smarter Than Us (and Generous) – I don’t know if professional photographer Alex Miroschnichenko’s decision to brave the Santiago Fire in Orange County and distribute his images for free was simply a random act of citizen journalism, but it was a significant act of citizenship.

New Glasses Don’t Make You Any Less Bald – Hey, it was worth a shot. At least I still have time to grow a beard and dress up as Phil Gomes for Halloween (sorry, I know I shouldn’t make fun of a guy about to get married, that’s supposed to happen after the wedding.)