Tuesday, November 25, 2008
I Hate: The Re-formatted Chicago Tribune
It’s all bloggy now. I can’t even wrap fish with the new Chicago Tribune because of all the gross colored ink. If I wanted USA Today-style graphic charts and a rip-off of The Daily Beast, I’d write it myself. Worse, navigating this new Trib is like smacking at a piñata without the benefit of arms. Where did my newspaper go? I can't reach it!
Sam Zell (Tribune Owner/Grave Dancer) must think we are the stupidest rubes in the whole world. He can continue riding his motorcycle to work everyday and park it in his rear for all I care. Zell is a complete anus, so I’m sure he can easily fit a Harley up in there.
One day I was enjoying credible journalism printed on real paper. The next day, my news was printed on a whisper-thin suggestion of paper, and it looks like tabloid-ish puke. The new Trib is loud, too, like a pair of fingerpainted clown shoes. I’m supposed to have my coffee over that? What a great idea. I think I’ll try trepanning with a jackhammer during lunch hour, too.
Fewer people buy newspapers these days, so the papers are trying to be more competitive by designing themselves to look like on-line news sources and blogs. The end result for news, in most cases, is something that should be set on fire while simultaneously flushing it down the toilet. It’s not like this stuff would clog the pipes or anything. It’s too thin to cause any damage.
The new Trib is the broth of a newspaper – a sodium-packed bouillon cube that causes hypertension. It is bad for you. Sure, it looks pretty and it’s packaged well. You know what else comes wrapped in a fun package? Cancer. Cancer arrives in exciting cigarette cartons, or it is marketed as a colorful sugar substitute. While the new Trib certainly makes a visual statement, I am utterly convinced that it’s going to kill us.
Zell – this is what I want: if you can’t print this blog of yours on decent paper, at least print it on feminine napkins. I might find that useful. Ease up on the colored ink, please. I’m sensitive down there.
God, please send a wave of locusts to the Chicago Tribune. Amen.