What's He Building In There?

Last week, a colleague and I were yapping about the latest whittling at the Oregonian. Like lots of other folks, we speculated about the future of the Fourth Estate in general and the diminution of local arts coverage in particular. You see, in the latest round of paring, long-time arts writer and editor, Barry Johnson, accepted management’s buy-out offer, opting to dive into the brave new world of whatever.

The arts community (whatever that is) generally agrees that Mr. Johnson’s departure is a loss for the Oregonian and for civilization, though we’re confident that his next endeavor will be bright and shiny and smart. To divine what that next project may be we’ve been parsing his comments on Twitter, Facebook and elsewhere. We’re seeing hints of some kind of nonprofit arts journalism enterprise. We’re waiting … our breaths bated. As we learn more, we’ll keep you posted.

My colleague concluded our speculative conversation about Mr. Johnson’s plans by saying, “It’s like that Tom Wait’s song …” This is the song (really more of a poem)to which she referred: