The Middle Ages: Tribune Lands in Duck Soup!

Tribune Names a President of Real Estate, Really

In all the news that fits my squint, as I must do in The Middle Ages, I read a headline that the Tribune Co. has created a new position. President of Real Estate. That may be code for President of United States. Really.

President of United States. Really. has as his stated goal to “assess whether Tribune is making as much money as it can.” 

If all else fails, he may run for President of Fredonia (see Duck Soup photo).
Or land a gig in Congress.

Newspapers imaginative scenarios are exceeded only by its executive bonuses.

A 20-year veteran TV editor with two kids was put on the Trib graveyard shift covering sports. Ooopsie!

A news CEO who alienated the hoi polloi walked away with mega millions.

A month ago, The Chicago Sun Times fired every one of its photographers in the name of democracy. 

Recently major newspapers won a ten-year court battle not to pay paltry reprint rights to freelancers. The argument went something like "freelancers get bylines why should they be buying Hondas?"

I freelanced many years for the Tribune. It was after the printing press had been invented but before incandescent light bulbs and analog television were outlawed

I wrote a weekly column at Tribune Tower on Michigan Avenue in the Old Country, aka Chicago.

But, with a new regime, freelancers were banished from the Tower. That’s when a Macintosh joined the Hart house—it was square with a black and white display.

Husband Number Two, also a writer for the Trib, bought the bundle-of-joy from an editor at the Tribune and carried it home on the el (that’s the elevated train).

One day out of frustration, I did so many keyboard functions, I literally saw on...the...screen the Monopoly banker man wearing his top hat, moving around then hiding behind two curtains!!!

Two years later, actor Jeff Goldblum hawked the simplicity of the candy-colored Mac computer on TV, and we bought it!

We called it a Fat Mac. Luddites, we still got the paper and good Chinese food delivered.

Two years later the turquoise fat mac was obsolete so we got a laptop. Two years later the laptop crashed and we got a better laptop. By then we knew Goldblum had lied to us in his comforting way.

When we moved to L.A. we immediately had the newspaper delivered to our door in Pacific Palisades. The view was gorgeous, the Chinese food stunk.

We again had to upgrade the Macinstosh.

By the time we moved to Studio City, we had a new best friend: Tommy the Mac repairman/genius from Mac My Day. He would chastise us about the dirty smudges of newsprint all over our latest version of the ibook.

All our relatives are reading their news online or on their smartphones. 

Sadly, I barely have time to read the delivered newspaper. First I have to find my magnifying glasses which are sometimes stashed in the coffee table cubbyhole with three remote controls; two dog brushes, comb and mat scissors; Country Living; Time Warner list of cable stations currently available. And sometimes not.

If only my iphone could find my g**d**n glasses I could see what a small balance I have in my checking account, Mr. President of Real Estate. Really.