I never thought it was right when newspapers wrote about themselves to make up the news.

It always seemed too self-referential; like the newspapers were deciding that their own internal machinations were important enough for anyone, apart from journalists, to care about.

And so the extensive media coverage given to the closure of the Seattle P-I was a little too much for me, feeling that the closure of a newspaper shouldn’t be any bigger news than the closure of any other business.

But in the past few weeks I’ve had a few people want to talk to me about what happened to the P-I, and this scary concept that I keep hearing about – The Death of Journalism.

I had this very conversation with a good friend the other day. He’s a pretty sharp dude, a former pilot and a current buddhist and someone who keeps his ear to the ground. His concern, and I think this is the concern of most people, was that the demise of a daily paper equated to a reduction in the amount of news available to people.

He said he was one of those who liked to have the paper product in his hand, a tradition passed on through fathers and grandfathers, at the table, breakfast, morning coffee.

That is where the conversation about what is happening to journalism really changes.

The way I see it there is more great journalism, better insight, more accountability in government and business, more analysis and better analysis, than ever before. It’s just that the web has changed it all. By not adapting people are missing the boundless resource available.

I said to my friend, 15 years ago, if there was an outstanding, groundbreaking journalist covering vital world events for some paper in London, like Robert Fisk writing about Lebanon, how would you get to read that guy, even if you knew about him? Get a subscription, have it shipped over a week late?

Now, works like Fisk’s are available to anyone with an internet connection, instantly.

What is a problem for people is the shear volume of words – everyone with a keypad is an expert, every blogger, every journalist online.

It spooks people, I think, and often shadows what they are trying to find, makes it seem like there is less information when really there is more.

So what it boils down to is this: the demise of the Grandfather’s Breakfast. It is the time to read that we really miss, not the availability of things to read.

Lives have sped up to the point of aerodynamics; no one has that hour of leisure every morning, we are getting to work earlier and leaving later and working more at home. I am just one of the people that feel there doesn’t seem to be enough time for all the other things we want to do these days. And I think this is what we mourn, the lifestyle more than the actual information.

And, I admit, the change of the medium is certainly grounds to discourage readership – we are still connected enough to good, organic traditions – but I can’t see that this will continue to be the case for many generations more.

The pace of things is definitely hamstringing us, putting more energy into speed and not enough into consideration. But the dynamism and immediacy of the information available to is casting light on everything, all at once, and if journalism is about information then it is not declining.

My ideal media future? In addition to the same online coverage, a once a week paper slash periodical, of the week’s news nationally and internationally. Let’s say it comes on a Saturday, thicker than a normal paper (less insert ads), with considered coverage of selected recent issues. A bit of history and background, putting the most recent event in perspective, sober analysis.

I’d read the thing on Saturday morning, put a few hours aside to get a bigger picture.

I can get Robert Fisk online, and podcast the King County Council meeting. I heard that they just removed the media ban on the bodies of soldiers returning from Iraq and Afghanistan.

I think journalism is serving us now better than ever before. It is the time to read the morning paper that we need to resurrect.