I love to read. I'll read anywhere: on the sofa, in a grocery checkout line, while I'm eating, in bed, when I wake up, in the backyard. And I'll read almost anything: novels, biographies, history, philosophy, religion; hardcover, softcover, magazines, comic books, flyers, cereal boxes, and matchbook covers. If it's printed, I'm happy to read it. But there's one thing that I'm about to give up reading, an important part of my life. It hurts me to say this, but I think I'm done with daily newspapers. I say this reluctantly, because it's long been part of my daily routine to enjoy the morning newspaper over a steaming cup of coffee. And Sunday brunch always seemed better when mixed with the Arts or Book sections. No bloody mary ever tasted better than the ones served with the New York Times Book Review.

But now I've come to the conclusion that whatever purpose the great dailies served in the past, they no longer perform, or they've been replaced by other more efficient means, delivered over the internet.  Where newspapers told me what happened, when it happened, who it happened to, and where it happened, they now concentrate on what might happen, or why it happened, and what they think it means. In short, the opinons of the reporter or editor are now presented as the news. That's information that I don't need, or sometimes ( and most likely) don't care about.

In the past, newspapers provided information for its readers to evaluate, data which educated, made us (hopefully) better citizens and informed, responsible members of society. Perhaps it was a myopic view, but after reading for example, a story about a natural catastrophy, we knew the facts of what happened. Now those kinds of stories are peppered with criticisims of weather forecasters, government agencies, recommendations on preparation for future disasters, and the expected effect on the economy, and several tug-at-the-heart-strings stories of victims. Most of what is presented  are suppositions, with a brief sprinkling of only those facts that support the conclusion of the reporter. Reporters now seem to search for a greater meaning in stories, not the cold hard facts.  

With rare exception, the front page of a typical daily newspaper looks like the bastard child of People magazine and The Daily Worker. On any given day, there will be a human interest touchy-feely story, profiling someone toiling in the ranks for the oppressed or endangered (fill in the name of your favorite endangered species); a story based on a study by a group which benefits from the study; a news story (but perhaps not the most important story of the day); and an opinion piece masquerading as a news story. Forgive me, but this isn't news. I'd like my news stories to tell me what happened, and when, and where. I don't want studies on the ill effects of grilling my hamburger medium rare. Leave the lectures on my health to my doctor, please. And don't tell me that I should be working in the rain forest to save a frog, like your hero of the day. I have to make a living the old fashioned way, not with a grant, but by earning my money.

Do I sound bitter? I am. I'm tired of being preached to, of having snippets of news spoon fed to me, snippets that support an agenda. I'm tired of reading half the story. So, now I won't read any of the story. I'll build my own newspaper from the internet, reading different reports of the same stories, from several sources, and draw my own conclusions.

You know what I'll miss most? The sports. It's the last holdout of what the newspapers used to do so well: tell the story. At least with a story about a  baseball game, there's an objective truth: the score at the end of the ninth inning.