The Sad Bear

March 6, 2011

It's raining here.

Since the beginning of the week, I've dipped into the writings of men such as Clifton Daniel, James Reston and Tom Wicker. Introduced to this cadre largely from the works of Gay Talese, I've found myself browsing many of their pieces, and those of other prominent 1930s writers, on seemingly ancient newspaper fronts. The assassination of John F. Kennedy, the Charles Lindbergh landing, etc.

It's become a sort of rewarding form of catharsis I'd never forecast for myself -- looking back through these old accounts, beyond the curtain of new journalism and into the industry's rich history. The details in some of these stories have left me speechless. Literally, without speech. In many ways, this silly "discovery" is almost as exciting as my most recent accomplishment, having made my way through all nine seasons of The X-Files (see: brilliant).

I decided to begin today with a newspaper (I say this with full transparency: I normally wallow in bed on the weekends until around noon). I didn't anticipate it to become a three-hour experience, but, in hindsight, it was completely worthwhile. If you're interested, I'd suggest giving these a read:

* Talk Doesn’t Pay, So Psychiatry Turns to Drug Therapy
* Discovered: The Happiest Man in America
* Hairnets, Yes; Fried Foods, No
* Off the Catwalk, the Battle for Hermès
* For the Brewers’ Axford, It’s Closing Time
* Fan Helps Game Designers Open Doors in Virtual World
* Now Just a Muggle, With Song and Dance
* The Billionaire Who Is Planning His 125th Birthday
* Nightshade Is Growing Like Weeds

I've omitted the good stories I've read so far today about the conflict in Libya. It would appear that much of their coverage has been updated online since press time yesterday evening.

It's raining here, and it couldn't be better.

Labels: Gay Talese, history, journalism, New York Times, weekends