I am being stalked by a newspaper, and it’s getting sorta creepy.
When we first moved to Southern California five months ago, I took my kids to an Angels game. While walking the concourse, I spotted a table. A sad table. A sad table with a woman selling Orange County Register subscriptions on the cheap. Because I’m a journalist and a newspaper loyalist, I morphed into the sucker who paid for a print subscription. It was a really cheap deal, and it came with an Angels T-shirt, and a couple of coupons, and …
I hate the Orange County Register. I don’t mean the bash the hard-working staffers who remain, but the paper is a shell of a shell of a shell of what it once was. Unless you’re particularly loyal to one of the writers, I can’t really think of a good reason for subscribing. It’s paper-thin (literally) and overloaded with crap fluff. The weekend opinion section is stuffed with irksome Grade-C right-leaning lunkheads. I mean, the paper is brutal.
And I can’t make it stop.
I called to cancel my subscription, oh, three months back, and couldn’t get a human on the phone.
I called again shortly thereafter, got a human on the phone, confirmed the cancellation—and it still comes. And comes. And comes. And comes. I mean, every morning I wake up, generally with a skip in my step. I call Norma for her walk, grab a poop bag, open the front door, step outside … and there it is. The damn Orange County Register.
Here’s the new beauty. Received this in an e-mail today …
Please, dear God, make it stop. In fact—I’m being serious here. As readers know, I’m not a religious guy. But if somehow the Register stops coming to my home in the next, oh, two days, I’ll credit Jesus. I’ll accept Christ and eat the wafers and believe in miracles.
Because the Orange County Register ain’t just a newspaper.