Ladies and gentlemen, kind readers, accidental readers, and people who only picked up the paper because the sports section was stuck to it — thank you for being here.
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Tonight I rise to deliver what I believe is the most eagerly anticipated address in American journalism, right behind “We regret the typo”: the State of the Column. This is that rare occasion when a columnist pauses from observing the world to observe himself, which is dangerous territory for anyone who owns a mirror.
Let me begin with the central fact facing this great column: every single week, without fail, it must contain approximately 600 words. Not 300. Not 900. Six hundred. This is not a suggestion. This is a lifestyle.
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People often ask, “Is it hard coming up with a column every week?” This question is usually asked by someone who has never tried to fill 600 words without using the phrase “in conclusion” by paragraph three. The answer is yes. It is hard. Painfully hard. Some weeks the words flow like poetry. Other weeks they arrive one at a time, dragging their feet, asking if they can lie down.
The challenge is not simply writing 600 words. Anyone can write 600 words. You can do it right now by describing what you had for lunch and slowly running out of things to say about it. No, the challenge is writing 600 words that someone voluntarily reads to the end.
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Each week begins with optimism. Monday arrives, and I think, “This will be easy. Something will happen.” By Tuesday, nothing has happened. By Wednesday, I am considering whether a detailed reflection on the history of paper clips could be stretched to 600 words. By Thursday, I am staring at the screen as if it personally betrayed me.
And yet, every week, the column appears. Why? Because I do it for you, the people.
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I do it for the reader drinking coffee, hoping the column is long enough to finish the cup. I do it for the reader hiding at work, scrolling slowly so it looks like an important email. I do it for the reader who doesn’t always agree but keeps reading anyway, which in journalism is the highest compliment there is.
Now, some of you may say, “But the column is free.” And you’re right. Mostly. Yes, you pay for the paper, but that’s for the front page — the city council, the crime, the stuff that raises your blood pressure. I come free with purchase. I am thrown in at no additional charge, like a mint on the pillow.
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People assume columnists sit around all day waiting for inspiration. This is false. We sit around all day waiting for deadlines. Inspiration usually shows up around word 487, just when it’s too late to use the really good stuff.
Still, I stand before you tonight to report that the state of the column is strong. The words are resilient. The deadline remains undefeated, but we are competitive.
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In the weeks ahead, I pledge to continue bringing you 600 words — sometimes thoughtful, sometimes humorous, occasionally questionable, but always written with affection for the people reading them. I will continue to write not because it is easy, but because it is there. And because Friday comes whether you’re ready or not.
Thank you for reading. Thank you for laughing when appropriate. And thank you for never actually counting the words.
God bless the column. God bless the readers. And may the deadline show mercy, just once.
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My View From the cheap seats 