The Week That Was

The Washington Post is currently running a series examining the lives of 30-year-old women named Jessica.

I guess I could just leave that sentence there.

I haven’t read these, although, to be serious for a second, I get it. I could see how it would be useful or at least educational to look at people of a certain age, understand how their lives have been different than, say, ours.

And the Jessica thing is just because it was a popular name 30 years ago. It’s a hook, the spark of inspiration that became a trick to get your attention. All of this seems fine.

Taking it in total, though, on this particular week, I feel as though journalism is not in good hands. This is hyperbole on my part. It’s just been a bit of a week.

...

Also on the newspaper front, the company I write for has a new website (for each paper), and my column is now behind a paywall. The archives have always been, after a month or so, but this is new.

No one told me, although there’s no reason they should. I’ve never assumed much traffic for these sites, as these are local papers that are usually available in local places to pick up, if not home delivery, but maybe that’s changed.

It’s just a little awkward. It means, for example, that my mom can’t read my columns anymore, at least not on their sites, unless she wants to pony up $3 a month.

I’ll probably mention it, see if this is a deliberate thing or if there’s a workaround, something. Again, it’s not my call, and I can’t really argue the economics, if that’s what this is. I write, they send me a check. My apologies if this is something that annoys you.

...

I get more mail lately than I ever have from newspaper readers. I have no idea what that’s about, although I’m seeing some patterns.

The other day, I got an email notification on my phone. I could just see the subject line and the first sentence, which began, “I’m 75, and...”

I smiled a lot. I understand who still reads newspapers.

It was just my first reaction, which was ah, the senior citizens are writing me again. I still carry an image of a 75-year-old person in my mind, someone bent by the years, white-haired. A cane is somewhere in the picture.

And then the math kicks in. I have friends who are in their mid-70s, and older. They don’t seem elderly to me, not at all, for good reason. I’m just amused by my stereotypes, sometimes. I imagine most of us have problems adjusting to our stage in life, considering that life moves pretty quickly. It just sometimes surprises me.

...

This is why I get a little bent out of shape about generational theory. It’s easy to grasp 30-year-old Jessica’s trajectory, because I was alive and adult. She was 10 in 1999. She started high school in 2003, and graduated in 2007. She was able to cast her first vote in the 2008 presidential election, etc.

It doesn’t help to call her a Millennial. That tells me little, other than she’s younger than I am, closer in age to my children.

That 75-year-old reader could be called a Baby Boomer, depending on how you want to define that group (Strauss & Howe would say she is). I am also a Boomer, in this system, although I don’t see it this way.

When I think about that classification, this reader is whom I see. Baby Boomers were my cool teachers in high school, the younger ones. They protested the war in Vietnam, etc. They were my babysitters when I was little.

Anyway. Maybe I’ll still be writing when I’m 75, and I’ll get letters from 90-year-olds, and I’ll think, old people again.

...

I’m just typing here. I’ve been typing all week. I’ve been posting nothing.

I’m a civics nerd. Or geek, whatever is appropriate these days. A buff, a fan, a hobbyist. I like watching the gears of our republic click and grind and spin and catch.

I spent two summers, when I was 14 and 15, glued to the TV to watch the Watergate hearings and then the impeachment of Richard Nixon get underway. I was fascinated, and continued to be. I read the books, watched the films, read some more.

This is a dangerous time. Of course. Big chunks of our government aren’t functioning very well at all, and there are never guarantees.

So it feels inappropriate to be as gleeful as I am. This isn’t about Trump, although I’d enjoy seeing him reap the consequences of his actions, or at least feel satisfied that justice is an actual thing.

But mostly, I’m just enjoying those gears. I’ve never felt as fortunate to be an American as when the system works the way it was designed to. I just don’t want to get carried away; I’d prefer to watch it play out, leaving the commentary to others.

Not forever. Just, you know. Until I have some idea of what’s actually happening. I have no particular insight, other than history.

I might, though. No predictions, no guarantees. No plans on writing anything, but if I do, it’ll be here. No paywall, either.