Not now Lisa, Daddy's on his high horse.

I think history will remember Jerry Seinfeld as the father of the blog. Without him, nobody would know how funny “someone cut in front of me on line today” could be. Of course blogs – blogs! – are killing newspapers, so I’m not sure if that’s a compliment.

(I’m feeling a bit pontifical today…bear with me.)

I started reading the newspaper in third grade, and the stacks of them have made my room a fire hazard ever since. Precocious brat that I was, I wanted to do a sixth grade report on Butros Butros Gali and my teacher (hi Mrs. Guterriez!) wouldn’t let me because she didn’t know who he was.

Newspapers are on hard times. Readership is down, they’re in the Bush administration’s pocket, uh, YouTube fits in there somewhere. There’s no time for Iraq when there’s a dick in a box. They aren’t a media stepchild. They’re more like the oldest sibling who gets shoved out of the way in favor of a flashier younger sibling who offers brighter colors and sound effects. And dicks in boxes.

When I worked at a newspaper, the immanent demise of our industry was not well received, for some reason. Sure, nobody wants newsprint on their hands, but without newspapers we’re back to nailing notices on church doors. Or finding the nearest town crier and gathering at his feet as he shouts at us. I get enough of that on the subway, thanks.

In a small media market, there’s predominantly slovenly newspaper reporters and don’t-you-know-who-I-am pompous TV personalities. Our reporters would come back from house fires and car accidents shaking their heads that someone would actually tell a police officer, “Excuse me, but I'm allowed to stand here. I’m Stephanie (redacted).”

I shouldn’t laugh too hard at that, because my dad was in TV news, and they really are treated at local celebrities. One year, at the county fair a local entrepreneur made marionette puppets of my father to sell at his booth. (Go ahead, let that sentence sink in.)

But there’s no such glory for a newspaper reporter. I did run across an Ernie Pyle doll once, complete with it’s own typewriter, but I imagine it wasn’t a hot seller come Christmas. I’m holding out for Tickle Me Ernie.

Back in Hometown, if a high school basketball game ran long, the sports anchor would show first-half highlights and then ask viewers to call in with the score. We can get an astronaut to drive 900 miles in adult diapers but we can’t find a better way to get the people their sports scores?

I suppose it was the bitterness of being shoved aside that led our sports department to call the TV station almost every week with made up scores. And with the sure-there-are-weapons-of-mass-destruction school of fact checking, almost every week they’d get on the air.

The saddest thing to me is when newspapers try to hip themselves up. Like your grandfather saying “waaaaaaazup” eight years too late, it’s just embarrassing for everyone involved. Case in point, the survey. TV and newspapers both offer pointless questions because you, the audience, is so important. I do not understand why someone would read this and think, “They NEED my opinion on this matter!”

(It’s like my favorite Simpsons moment of the last few years. The doorbell rings, and Homer leaps up like a puppy, going “I’m needed at the door!” )

My favorite local TV one I ever saw was, "Have you had a flu shot this year?" and the choices were yes, no and I don't know. Almost 10% of the respondents who called in weren’t sure if they’d had a flu shot, but still had a compulsion to share their thoughts.

Here’s the latest cringe-worthy one I saw: