: Roger L. Simon is wistfully nostalgic for the days of Jerry Brown. And he quickly adds that he’s not joking. I get the point. Jerry is creative; he tries to solve problems; he has vision and courage and all that is lacking in the current California crop. He’s still Jerry, though.
Which leads me to a question: Back when I covered Brown and Sacramento, Gray Davis was, of course, the power behind the throne, the guy who made crazy Jerry real, the one who made things happen. So what the hell happened to him and how come he can’t do that for himself? Is he meant to be a behind-the-scenes guy and just doesn’t act or seem human in public? Does he need a visionary so he has a vision to implement? Is it age? Just wondering.
: Matt Welch just wrote the best overall piece on blogging that I’ve read. He did it for the Columbia Journalism Review. Great lead:
his February, I attended my first Association of Alternative Newsweeklies conference, in the great media incubator of San Francisco. It’s impossible to walk a single block of that storied town without feeling the ghosts of great contrarian media innovators past: Hearst and Twain, Hinckle and Wenner, Rossetto and Talbot. But after twelve hours with the AAN, a much different reality set in: never in my life have I seen a more conformist gathering of journalists.
: From Unstrung:
Raley Field, home of the Sacramento River Cats, the national leading Triple-A baseball team, is quickly becoming one of professional sports
: My, my, we certainly do get two different perspectives on the new French book on 9/11 by Fr
: Today, when I was down at the World Trade Center today talking with a French TV crew about the memorial competition (more on that later), I walked by an open gash in a building off West Street and I was struck by the smell. It was the first time I had smelled the smell in well over a year. It was that odor that overtook New York after the attacks, an odor of electricity gone mad, plastic turned bad, water, and concrete dust; it was the smell of September 11th. I turned to the TF-1 bureau chief, Loick Berrou, and asked whether he smelled it. He recognized it immediately: the smell of September 11th. It’s a flat smell, distinct and strong and, of course, unappealing but not disgusting. It opened scars in my lungs and my soul. The anniversary is approaching and I did not expect to smell the smell again.
I got back to the office and read James Lileks’ Bleat and he writes about that block and that building (scroll to the bottom).