Did it deserve another shot because of poor marketing and bungled scheduling. Yes.

Was it a well acted, written and directed drama on a cable network still looking to create an identity for itself with scripted shows? Sure.

Was it a chance to see a new side of Ray Ramano and a reminder of all the things we love about Andre Braugher, and – yes, yes! – Scott Bakula? Absolutely.

But none of this has anything to do with why I think it was awful to see “Men of a Certain Age” go away. I’ll miss it because it was one of the few shows on TV today to offer up compelling and, more importantly, relatable characters. To put it plainly: Ray Ramano and Mike Royce made a great show about what its like to be a guy, and TV could use more of that.

Which sounds all kinds of stupid when you look at a TV schedule that is littered with men. But none of those shows has the charm, mood and patience that made “Men of a Certain Age” a great drama and standout example of the kind of nuance (more on this in a second) that TV needs more of.

This may not seem important in itself. Because who the hell would want to watch realistic portraits of life on TV? It’s supposed to be an escape, if even a limited one, so who would want to see a show about about the exploits of 50-year-old guys going through divorce, suffering through a crisis of purpose or getting colonoscopies? This non-child/divorce/colonoscopy-having 31 year-old. Which says something.

I’ve got little in common with 50-something guys other than a bad back and faint, but not urgent, desire to go to the gym more. And “Men of a Certain Age” still resonated. This was a show about the sometimes (OK, oftentimes) unsexy and downright depressing aspects of hitting the midlife marker. Stories about trying to survive divorce and decode life as a single parent or coming to grips with the burden of running a car dealership are not instantly relatable to everyone. But then again I don’t know shit about space travel or being a PI, but I’ve been known to be entertained by those things on TV.

What “Men of a Certain Age” had was uncomfortable, yet comfortable characters, fleshy and flawed, with stories that mined the boring experiences of life in the way any good TV drama exploits a premise, working through tension by finding unexpected truth with just enough laughs.

But it also gave us some healthy nuance in what it looks like to be a guy on TV. Look, there are plenty of tough cops, playboys, cranky geniuses, slackers and schlubby husbands to keep the networks happy for years. And frankly, there’s nothing wrong with that. TV needs guys in the mold of Barney Stinson, Jack Donaughy or Dr. House. But it also needs the likes of Coach Taylor, Louie CK, the lads on “The Inbetweeners” and the trio on “Men of a Certain Age.” All of these are guys I can recognize, who I’m instantly drawn in by and can get the type of loyalty showrunners and executives love, even if sometimes it doesn’t easily translate into ratings.

They’re all part of the same continuum of guyhood that exists in life, and should be reflected in what we watch on TV. If this is sounding familiar it’s because it’s a sub-strand of the “TV needs more diversity” argument, but instead of lobbying for more women, gays or brown people, it’s a case for different kinds of guys. Which, again, sounds silly, but I think is valid. Because in the service of telling stories, new, unique (and hopefully entertaining) stories, guys, as it turns out, can be plenty complicated if you look through the fantasized and bastardized archetypes. “Men of a Certain Age” was small, difficult and (on paper) boring, and in the end that may be what killed it. But sometimes small, difficult and boring is where the kind of winning stories TV needs can be found.

We BS in the classic tradition of all fathers and sons, because, well, that’s who my uncle’s been to me for my 31 years. It’s why he’s getting a card that should have been mailed earlier, but sat in my bag before I remembered to put a stamp on it.

In more ways than he may care to recognize, my Uncle (Al, if you’re curious. “Skipper” if you were my grandmother. Again, another story), is partially responsible for me being the man I am today (though I’m sure it’s completely transparent to my aunt and mother. Also, these two women, as well as my grandmother, have equal shares of the blame. Still another story). My uncle is the reason I got into Star Wars – he saw Episode IV in the theater somewhere numbering in the double digits, as he tells it, and thus was one reason I saw Phantom Menace multiple times in the theater (Maybe he shouldn’t get credit for that one). He’s the reason I’ve been a Star Trek fan since the first time I saw Kirk, Spock and Bones beam down to a planet. My love of bacon? He surpasses it. Gets fresh – meat market fresh – bacon and sausage, and has for years. And as an old family folklore goes: My first beer was his. A stolen Blatz when I was a toddler.

He was always ready to pinch hit as a dad beginning early on, starting with the annual father/son “fun run” that was usually held around one of Minneapolis’ lakes. He taught me how to drive (in a cemetery no less. It’s safer there, he said, everyone else is already dead), and twice moved me around the country; once an 8 hour trip to deposit me off at my first college apartment in Missouri, and a two-day, pan-state journey from Missouri to Maine (truly, you have not lived until you’ve seen the beauty of Akron and Hartford all in one road trip).

I didn’t have a dad, I had an uncle, and he was 10 times better, at least in my estimation (I also had a mom, who filled enough roles to supply an off-broadway show called “Raising Justin: I brought you into this world, and I can take you out.” Only later did I know she cribbed this from Cosby). In the basic math of fatherhood one guy was around, the other wasn’t. Growing up the only thing I got from my real father was my middle name, which brought its own stigma. (Granted, not because it came from him – OK, maybe a little – but because Eugene is a funny sounding name, especially in high school. It’s even more funny if your initials are JEE.)

And yet, for everything my Uncle was, he wasn’t my “dad.” A man by the name of Harry who I barely knew was. And this is the part of the story that has a familiar ring to it. That statistic you often see about little black boys growing up fatherless? I was somewhere in that percentage. Growing up without a dad wasn’t a trauma to me as much as fact: You can’t judge whether something is important if its not there. I didn’t wonder why my dad didn’t love me, why he wasn’t with my mother. He just wasn’t there. Early on I developed the kind of pragmatism you needed to grow up an only child of a working mother: Know how to make a meal, know how to get home on a bus, just know how to do. The same kind of logic that told me I couldn’t make a grilled cheese without some slices from Kraft, applied to my father: If it’s not there, it’s not there. You move on and make PB&J.

And so every June the cards went to my uncle.

And then one September a card came for me. It was 2004 and the card, addressed to me at the Press Herald newsroom, was from a Minnesota sender with the same middle as me. It was father. Caught up in the usual afternoon chaos of trying to not blow my deadline, I put the card in my desk drawer and went back to work, telling myself I’d come to it later. The card sat, eventually pilled over with notes from readers (a healthy mix of name calling, praise, and the occasional letter from the county jail that all reporters try to keep at a safe rubber-gloved length).

In the spring of 2009, the card still sat. I was talking on the phone with my mom, the typical stuff you catch up on with your mom – lots of “how’s” questions, as in “how’s Amy, the dogs, the job,” – when she tells me my father died. She found out after running into one of my half-sisters (my mother reminding me that I actually have half-sisters) at a store. Apparently Harry had died that previous January. The conversation ended as typically as it began, a “you coming back here this summer” question. We hung up, and I sat for a few minutes, phone still in my hand, like I was waiting for something to happen. And I was. I was waiting for the emotion that’s supposed to come when you get bad news, when you learn someone has died. But that same old grilled cheese logic kicked in again: If its not there, it’s not there. My biology – and my middle name – were what I shared with my father, and other than that he was an unknown, so it’s hard to mourn something you don’t know. But it’s also hard to overcome the Should Imperative. “Should I feel sad? Should I be crying? Should I reach out to find out more about him?” But it really came down to one: Should I finally open the card?

The thing about getting older is that you begin to appreciate the relationships and bonds you have around you, and the outlines of how they’ve shaped you become more and more clear. That’s just a part of becoming – hopefully – more observant, and if you’re lucky, wiser. It also turns into sharper focus as you contemplate whether you want a family of your own. As much as I defined my father by absence, that created what scientists would call ideal conditions for a void. And I could fill that black hole with an ever expanding list of questions about who my father was, what I inherited from him and what, if anything, that has to do with being a father. I could, and it would be a profoundly edifying experience that could land me a coveted book deal, or, at worst, a This American Life segment. Or, instead of probing what wasn’t there, I could look at what was: The guy who did the work. Biology, and even psychology, make way for words and deeds, so If the day comes when I’ve got to teach a little someone about Star Wars or Minnesota sports, hug them when they fall or make them a sandwich, I’ll know know it off the blueprint given to me by a man I call uncle. I’ll just misappropriate it and call it being a dad.

My uncle will most likely get his Father’s Day card on Monday, after we’ve talked about the Twins, about life at Harvard and about seeing the Sox when he and my aunt visit this summer. I’ll say, in the that joke laden, ball-busting, emotion-stripped language of guys, that I love him. That’s the thanks he deserves for a lifetime of more than just pinch-hitting or being a stand-in, of being a friend and role model more than maybe he even realizes.

There’s a chance, eventually, I’ll open the card still sitting in my desk. But for now my uncle gets the cards. Perhaps one day I’ll get mine.

Invitation design courtesy of Sean Wilkinson

Relocation is never easy, no matter what’s waiting on the other end. It is a stone solid fact that apartment hunting, packing and moving are among the worst of man’s creations.

Still, as I’ve become accustom to saying over the years I’m a fortunate man. Fortunate in this case that what awaits is a fantastic new job at Harvard (though technically I guess it’s not waiting since I’ve been working there almost 2 months), but that I won’t be going alone. Amy, Pal, Turk and I are packing up and ready to get our Clampett on as we head to our new home in Somerville (Cambridge’s not as high-maintence cousin.)

But before we do that we’re going out with a bang. Or, a bowl, so to speak. Sorry, the pun was too good to pass up.

On Nov. 26 we’re throwing a bon voyage party at Bayside Bowl in Portland starting at 8 p.m. We’re going to have music, food, surprises, and yes, if you so desire, bowling. We’re thankful to Bayside for hosting and excited for what should be a great night. Great, that is, if all of you show up.

So why should you come out?

1.) We’d love to see your smiling face

2.) Bayside Bowl is an outstanding venue, fun for hanging out just as much as league nights

3.) Dance, Dance, DANCE!

4.) It’s the day after Thanksgiving, don’t you deserve a break from family and shopping?

5.) The eye patch thing will finally be explained.

6.) A three-hour retrospective on Italian Greyhounds in Popular Culture, narrated by James Van der Beek.

Look, it’s gonna be a good time. That I can promise. There’s countless friends and family in Maine we’re grateful for, so please stop by and say Hi, have a cocktail and be ready to dance. If you’re on Facebook go ahead and RSVP.

Well now I know. This story starts with an email I received while sipping a margarita on a beach in Florida in May and ends today. I’ll save you the unabridged version and get to the point.

To paraphrase one of the more disastrous job announcements in recent history:

“This fall I’m taking my talents to Cambridge and joining the Nieman Journalism Lab.”

Jim Gray: “Nieman Journalism Lab, that was the conclusion you woke up with this morning?”

Sorry, that could go on forever.

Creative Commons image from CC Chapman

I’ll be joining the team at the Lab to write about the Future of Journalism. What does that mean? It’s writing about new business models, exploring innovations in newsgathering and new technology helping reporters and editors. It means talking to the people deciphering the state of media today and trying to transform journalism.

It means having a fundamental belief that journalism will actually have a future.

If you’ve checked out the lab recently (and if not, do so now), they’ve been studying things like the role of SEO and metrics in online news and the pitfalls non-profit news organizations face in becoming sustainable.

To say these are questions I’m deeply curious about would be an understatement. To say it’s something I’m passionate about would be spot-on.

For most journalists looking ahead goes only as far as the next day’s assignment or deadline. It’s not often we get a chance to step back and say “how are we going to make this thing not just survive, but become better?”

It’s an exciting opportunity to do work that has a real affect on journalism, not to mention a chance to work at Harvard University. (I’ll try not to bring the collective IQ down…too much.)

Sadly, what this also means is my time living in Portland is coming to a close. Portland was my first home as a “real” adult. I got health insurance (thank god), bought a real car here (Sorry Pontiac Sunfire and Ford Taurus, you were deathtraps and you know it) and lived sans-roommate for the first time.

And, luckily enough, I met a woman whose love of college basketball, 90s hip-hop and pop culture matched my own, and became the foundation for an amazing relationship. (And made a home for two tiny dogs.)

What I discovered here was a welcoming town that taught me as much about where I live as who I am as a person. With my family 1,500 miles and a time zone away, the many good friends I made here have become an extended family. (Albeit one with a lot of crazy cousins, loud aunts and drunk uncles…but in a good way) You put up with my pop culture references, my devotion to bacon, my baking and my at-times laconic nature. (Not to mention my sports-related meltdowns, which are increasing in frequency thanks to the Old Gunslinger)

Escaping Maine wasn’t my first thought when I left the Press Herald. But if you’re in the journalism game you always know that relocation could be on the horizon for the right opportunity.

Opportunity was the reason a guy from Minneapolis, left Missouri and took a chance on Maine. And if Harvard calls (or emails, as in this case), that’s a pretty good opportunity.

The good news (aside from, you know, employment) is that I’m not going too far. Just a short bus/car/train ride away, along with the lure of Sox/Pats/Celts, concerts and more. And naturally, IVY LEAGUE SPORTS! (Yale has been added to my list of natural enemies, behind the Green Bay Packers and the University of Kansas).

The other good news? Since I made a big production out of my “early retirement” at the beginning of this summer, we have no choice but to kick out the jams on another outstanding party. If it can top the bacon/bourbon-fueled insanity of “Stay Classy,” I don’t know. But we can try.

My “Summer of Unemployment” (as some of you took to calling it. Thanks guys.) is – thankfully – over. Considering the overall job climate (not to mention the prospects for journalists) I count myself as lucky.

As much as I’ve enjoyed the most prolonged time off I’ve had since the summer of my junior year in high school, I’m ready to get to work.

As a fictional president famously once said, “Break’s over.”

One of my complaints about the whole affair is that by issuing an apology, particularly to all those voicing their anger over Facebook, Twitter, email and online comments, the Press Herald had “cede(ed) editorial control to the crowd.”

But how should newspapers use reader comments when it comes to making decisions on coverage, story placement or even the reporting process?

(For the moment let’s set aside the other debates on comments, meaning we won’t talk about whether they’re worthwhile or how to improve them. Though former Press Herald colleague Carl Natale has a good idea on how to try and make them civil`.)

The easiest answer is tips and story ideas, as evidenced by this blog post. In the previous post on L’Affair de Press Herald, a commenter said something that stuck in my head:

“And I disagree with you, in that in our web 2.0 world with all of its new interactions between big institutions and their constituents, in a world of declining circulation, and in a world of crowdsourcing, that all newspapers are missing the boat here by retaining 100% control over what stories are reported.”

(Thanks to the commenter who wrote that…but next time think about leaving your name for credit! Also, can we not use the phrase Web 2.0? Please?)

Reporters have a finite amount of time and sources for tips. While no one is suggesting it’s time to stop shaking down the guy who runs the sandwich shop in City Hall or trading calls with dispatchers, online comments could easily become a part of the mix when it comes time to look for story ideas. (And no one’s suggesting you run with the first thing that seems interesting in a comment thread. The same type of vetting applies of course.)

But my anonymous commenter hits on another good idea:

“If the Press Herald had posted their stories for the next day or next week and the timeline of those stories, a *conversation* could have been had. Ahead of time. And the editors could have made their decisions still.”

Ah yes, Transparency. While it’s beginning to boarder on becoming a buzzword (trying saying that phrase three times fast), it’s a valuable idea for newspapers, if not most companies. The tools are out there to give reporters, editors and photographers the chance to open up the newsgathering process. Skip the newsroom webcam and let your audience know what you’re working on through Twitter or Facebook. Keep a running newsroom blog explaining what’s being worked on and dissecting what’s already been published. And invite the public to participate.

Does this mean editors and reports should pivot every time they get word about a story their working on over Twitter? No. Does it mean newspapers should tip their hand whenever their working on exclusives or investigative pieces? Heavens no. But the day-to-day work of a newspaper, even when it may seem like sausage making to people inside, could be interesting to people outside. And it could also create a better bond with the community.

One last idea for using comments? The easiest one: Feedback. Yes, this is a no-brainer, and something the public is more than willing to do. (If I kept track of how many comments I got on my old blog about grammar and punctuation I’d likely have leapt from the roof.)

The problem is that “comments as feedback” sounds a lot like “let the public cut loose on us” to some in the news game, which is why its important to treat those comments constructively and respond. If someone fact checks you, respond and say thanks. If someone questions if something is missing in a story, tell them why or why not, also, say thanks. If a reader unleashes an expletive-laden tirade against you, your abilities as a writer, your boss and your mother, move on. Or just simply say thank you.

But these are just my ideas. I’d be a jerk for not taking my own advice, so who has other ideas about ways to use comments constructively in the editorial process?

Readers of the Portland Press Herald/Maine Sunday Telegram may have been surprised to find an open letter from Publisher Richard Conner yesterday (and today), offering an apology for a story that appeared in print and online.

Was it a grossly inaccurate story? A clear violation of the paper’s standards and practices? Did it perpetrate a crime against the community?

No. They published a story and photos on Muslims celebrating the end of Ramadan. And thanks to the date, Sept. 11, that drove some people into hysterics.

In his letter Connor apologized to readers for showing a lack of sensitivity and not balancing their coverage with 9/11 events.

Unfortunately what Connor’s done is created a self-inflicted wound to his newspaper. By apologizing for a factual story portraying part of the community it covers, the Press Herald has damaged its ability to educate, betrayed the journalists who work there, alienated a part of their audience and shown that editorial control can be won by the power of the mob.

In offering the apology, Connor was taking a reactionary stance to an outcry from readers, over email, phone calls, Facebook and Twitter. Since I’ve never sat in the big seat reserved for publishers, this may be guesswork, but taking flak for (and defending) stories is part of the job. As he outlines in his letter, the work of assigning, editing and placing stories is a serious one that involves a large group of people, all of whom just got thrown under the bus in favor of the commenting class.

As someone who has often been a supporter of online comments and engaging readers through things like Facebook and Twitter, I’ve always believe those tools were important to connecting with the community and creating a dialogue. Comments can be informative and illuminating, but they can also be hateful and vitriolic, and it’s the job of newspapers to manage those interactions and learn. It’s not the job of newspapers to cede editorial control to the crowd, which is what the Press Herald has done here.

Editor’s notes and letters are reserved for the biggest of occasions and errors. But in this case nothing was done wrong. A factual, well-written and photographed story was published, which, most days, is considered a win in journalism. Let me repeat: Nothing was done wrong.

The “error,” in this case, was not playing to some sort of notion of balance between a religious observance and a national tragedy. But more on that in a second. Even though Connor says he agrees that the story is newsworthy, the act of issuing a letter to readers over an error that does not violate the paper’s standards, is a betrayal to the writers, photographers, copy editors and everyone down to the pressmen at the paper.

Worse, the apology, in trying to make amends with one part of the community, does it at the expense of another. In trying to mollify the outrage and indignation of readers upset over showing Muslims practicing their religion, the Press Herald has now helped to alienate Muslims in Portland and around Maine.

And it’s here where the Press Herald made it’s biggest failure: By apologizing for this episode they’ve injured their ability to educate readers. In this case the lesson lost is simple – tolerance. Like newspapers around the country the Press Herald covers its religious communities through their observances, whether it’s Rosh Hashanah, Easter or Ramadan. This matters because people of faith aren’t just newspaper readers, they’re part of the community that journalists are responsible for covering. Through writing about these events we’re supposed to gain greater insight into where we live and the people around us.

Within the last month, in it’s editorial pages, sports page and even today from one of it’s most well-known columnists, the Press Herald has written about people of the Muslim faith living in Maine.

And with one letter, Richard Conner undid all of it. Whether they like it or not, by apologizing for a story about Mainers practicing their religion that ran on Sept. 11, the Press Herald has conflated the Muslim religion with the terrorist attacks of 9 years ago. Instead of taking this episode for what it is, a “teachable moment,” (sorry, I hate that phrase too, but it fits here) the Press Herald has lent credence to intolerance, caused hurt to their community and insulted the intelligence of their readers.

As a disclosure, it’s important to note that for more than seven years I called the Press Herald home. It was a place that gave me incredible opportunities to grow as a journalist. I cherish the stories I wrote, the people I met and the colleagues I worked with. When a financial decision forced a new rounds of layoffs and buyouts at the paper this spring, I took one in what was arguably the toughest decision of my life.

Since that time I’ve never spoken out about my former employer. Maybe it’s my “wholesome Midwestern upbringing” or just common sense to not burn bridges and speak out of class. I still know plenty of good people working there and I respect what they do.

I say that as means of context: For the first time ever I can say I am embarrassed to have worked there.

I can also say I’m happy I don’t draw a paycheck from there any more.

Because a good name is half the battle, right? Would you read this blog if I called it “half-baked stories from a Midwestern transplant in the New England.” Actually that’s not bad.
Meat Raffles are fun and surprising, a pastime that brings people together in a simple, familiar way. But they’re also a little weird, right? (You WIN! Here’s some brisket!) Also, in Minnesota it’s not uncommon for groups to throw together a meat raffle to raise a little money or awareness for something.
I’m not a VFW (and I don’t need your money…yet), but I thought it was time to raise a little awareness of my writing since I call myself a writer. And some of the best advice I ever got from an editor is to write every day, no matter what the subject.

Also, it’s a scientific fact that meat raffles are more fun with a few beers in you. So crack a few before you read here. Trust me, it’ll go down smoother.

OK, so how do Meat Raffles work?

You buy a ticket, the wheel is spun and if your number is called you’re going home with a very lucky slab of raw meat. That simple.

Right, so what’s this blog about?

Are you familiar with the term Polymath? No? Oh you poor thing, have a cookie. A Polymath is someone who is knowledgable on a great many things in this universe! String theory! Nano Technology! Animal Husbandry! Impressionist art! Excessive use of exclamation points!

Yeah I’m not that guy. I know about the finer points of cake baking, the history of Yacht Rock music, the weaknesses of Green Lantern’s power ring and the correct proportions for a tasty manhattan.
But I’m also a trained (I swear) journalist curious about many things related to pop culture, news, technology and cuisine. Also sports. Did I mention I like sports?

Which is to say this blog is about all of the above. Keep reading.

I feel you’re not taking me seriously.

Maybe if you weren’t wearing that stupid hat.

So someone paid you to write? Seriously?

Indeed. I’ve been a journalist for almost a decade, working first at the Columbia Missourian (in Columbia, MO. Clever name, right?), then the Kennebec Journal, Waterville Morning Sentinel and Portland Press Herald. I’ve been a town government reporter, technology writer, podcast host, political reporter, and, on rare occasion, TV personality. In particular I wrote a blog and weekly culture column that people were not typically displeased with (unless I was making fun of the tourism industry). That all ended March of this year when I decided to leave the Press Herald.

Why’d you leave your job?

It was time to take my talents to South Beach. Of course by “talents” I mean “palatable writing skills,” and by “South Beach” I mean “any company willing to put up with me, offer a bacon allowance and is not constantly the topic of ‘will they survive’ speculation.” The truth is I took a buyout from my newspaper (a lot of that going around). I’m a journalist, I love journalism and I’d like to continue in it. But since I’ve got this time I’m open to exploring other options. Plus, it’s not often in life you get paid to leave a job (unless you’re the CEO of a multinational corporation of course.).

Could you explain what it means to “Bake Hard?”

I am a man. I have many aprons and a kitchen full of tools. I bake hard, son. Cakes, cookies, breads and bars. Can’t stop, won’t stop. What more is there to explain?

Why not write a journalism blog?

I gave that plenty of thought. There are plenty of great blogs about journalism, from how to change for the future, to finding new business models for news and keeping tabs on new technology that can help the media. In the end I wanted to write about more than journalism. But you better expect regular musings on the media around here.

I’m sleepy.

We’ve got some warm ginger ale and a cot in the back.

Astronauts or cavemen?

That is a damn tough question and a debate that will rage on forever. Astronauts are smarter, have superior technology and are known to be “astronaut tough.” On the other hand cavemen have amazing strength, ingenuity and a killer survival instinct, which has to make up for their fear of shiny things and fire. I guess it comes down to whether the astronauts have weapons.

1.) The news is damn depressing

Funny how stories about unemployment figures, the jobless rate and the stagnant pace of growth in the economy are background noise (albeit sad background noise, like a Sarah McLaughlin album) when you have a job. Now that I’m a free agent (my preferred term thank you), all that news seems to do is sucker punch you. That’s the best case scenario, worst case is it depresses the hell out of you, making the job hunt that much harder. As a reader of news I know you can’t easily stop those stories no more than you can stop the causes behind them, but still, NYT, could you take it easy on the fun-loving headlines using phrases like “jobless have only desperation?”

2.) You’ve got a lot of time with your thoughts

And depending on how much you like yourself, that could be a good thing…or not. Over a long enough period of time your brain can turn into that annoying roommate who never gets off the couch and leaves a thimble-full of milk left in the fridge. When your days consist of looking for work, evaluating (and re-evaluating) your worth and making a case for your potential, that’s just opening the gates to some self-debasement. At the same time, you’ve got ample opportunities for your mind to wander and discover that repressed ADD inside you. This is problematic only because when you should be looking for a gig you end up losing hours contemplating things like “whatever happened to that Mustang Steve McQueen drove in Bullitt.” (Answer: It is believed to be hiding in a barn somewhere in the Ohio River Valley.)

3.) Finding that “book in you” is a lot harder than you think

So you’ve got all this time with your thoughts, right? And you’ve had interest (or maybe even experience Mr. Former Newsman) writing? You should get to work on that “book in you.” Who knew that time + passable grammar = your first novel! Writing is never easy, whether you’re getting paid for it or not, and adding a little desperation to the mix can just as soon hurt as help. Again, you’ve got a lot of time with your own thoughts, which can mean good ideas for short stories or non-fiction can shot down quickly or lost entirely in the wake of a Mythbusters marathon. Under the most ideal circumstances writing a book can be hard, and I’m not sure what those are outside of beachfront property, a case of rum, no cell reception and a laptop. Wait, that’s not a bad idea…

4.) The labor department leaves a lot to be desired

Ah yes, the government teat. I count myself as lucky that I am not in hopeless need for unemployment benefits, but I am happy that I have them to augment what meager savings I have. Problem is, getting that precious check is not as easy as you’d like to believe. You’ve got to have all your financials in order (keep those pay stubs folks), navigate which parts of your income count towards unemployment and undergo an interview to make sure you really deserve that check.

Anyone who says being on unemployment is a disincentive to working has clearly never had to wade through a phone menu only to be told to call back later.

5.) You have to think of the future

Do I want to be a journalist forever? Do I really have a book in me (someday)? Should I work for Yelp? What about going into academia? Maybe it’s time to get entrepreneurial? Is opening a bar really feasible? Where do I want to live? Being unemployed at 30 is like standing on a divide between who you were and what you could become. It’s potential, and it can be brutal. You start to think about what you want out of the next decade, what kind of timetable you need to be on, where do you want to live, and, whether it’s time to have kids or not. But here’s the best part: How often in your life to actually get to step back and make the decisions that shape who you are?

But somehow newspapers have become that kid, especially when it comes to online comments on their website.

Sure, that may be too simplistic an explanation, but consider this: Newspapers made the decision a while ago set comments loose and when they didn’t turn out the way they like they started threatening to end the whole game.

Sound familiar?

It’s no secret that online comments on news sites can be a babbling pool of filth, ignorance and bad grammar, so it shouldn’t be a surprise that some are considering doing away with comments or drastically changing how they handle them.

In a recent article in the American Journalism Review Rem Rieder argues that it’s long past time to end comments permanently.

The crux of his argument is this: Newspapers don’t have the resources or the time, and comments have proven to be nothing but trouble anyway.

But Rieder and others looking to shut down comments seem to miss one point, which is that comments are lowest impact way for newspapers to offer the community a way to interact with them. And if you shut that off you’re making a conscious decision to walk away from connecting with readers.

Of course some would argue that we don’t want to connect with readers after hearing what they think given the filter-killing gift that is anonymity on most sites. There are countless examples of readers hijacking comments, taking them off-topic, attacking people involved in stories or the journalists who wrote them.

The truth is that yes, sometimes people can be crap. Our readers, the ones we fight for to get information out of government officials, are not always nice or particularly thoughtful.

So let’s begin by facing up to the fact that humanity can be a downer some times, it’s human nature. And maybe that’s what ruffles some journalists. After you’ve been down in the mine of objectivity for a long time you can get disconnected from the fact that many people carry grudges, biases and fears.

And maybe that’s why journalists don’t want to deal with online comments, because it means having to get in the pool with everyone else, including the tubby, unshaven guy in the Toby Keith T-shirt who has his own ideas on what “the illegals” should do.

But if the original intent behind online comments was to encourage discussion among readers and create a community, jumping in the pool is exactly what we have to do.

Newspaper sites need more than moderators, they need something like a host, who doesn’t just moderate or ban, but encourages discussion. Making a bigger commitment to comments shows that the newspaper – and its staff – are part of the same community as readers.

If online comments are such a bane, how come they flourish on blogs and others sites while bottoming out at newspapers?

Consider the Huffington Post or Gawker, which have both doubled-down on comments by offering incentives and a share of responsibility to readers. Both see comments as more than added value to stories, but as a way of connecting with their audience and building community. And in a recent survey by the Reynolds Journalism Institute some community news sites said comments were the best way to reach out to the community.

This is typically the part where someone says newspapers don’t have the money or manpower (or willpower) to make wrangling comments a real job. But anyone who’s been inside a newspaper knows that staffing comes down to what’s important, and often that means beat reporters and photographers. And there is nothing wrong with that. But if newspapers want to innovate, fully utilize their websites and connect with readers, isn’t it time to make a commitment to comments?

No, it’s not going to be easy and there’s no Chicago Manual of Style to follow. In fact it’ll likely be awkward and difficult at times. But doesn’t that sound familiar to hounding sources, scratching away at documents and scrambling for deadline? If we never expected journalism to be easy before, it certainly won’t be now.