Anyone else having trouble getting in the mood for the big holiday feast? If you've been reading newspapers lately ... well, you're probably going to have to find another hobby. Two papers closing in Connecticut, buyouts in Newark, layoffs threatened in Cleveland and buyouts offered to half the newsroom here at the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. What are people who lose their homes going to sleep in?

I was in Washington the day after the election, and I saw something I couldn't understand: People lined up around the block to get into a hole-in-the-wall newsstand. I was baffled. What was the draw -- free lottery tickets? Booze? Bailouts?

No! People were lined up to buy newspapers, the old-fashioned dead-tree ink-all-over-your-hands please-recycle edition of The Washington Post. Newsstands all over the city were selling out. I was stunned.

"What's the matter, people?" I wanted to yell. "Looking at the newspaper on a screen suddenly not good enough for ya? You actually want to pay money for something you can read free?" Well, sure. Think about it. Not only is Barack Obama's election historic, but a report of it on a mass-produced folded sheet of newsprint is practically a rare antique already.

And that's a shame, not just because so many journalists are going to have to get jobs writing corporate employee handbooks or photographing dogs in Santa hats at Sears -- after all, they'll be making more money.

No, the sad part is that when paper newspapers are gone, we'll miss them more than we realize. Think of all the things you've used newspaper for in your life.

The Obamas, for example, are lucky to still have access to rolled-up newspapers for that new puppy. You can't swat an incontinent dog with a computer keyboard. Not unless you unplug it first, anyway.

And bird owners are going to have to start saving their fast-food wrappers to spread at the bottom of the cage. Frankly, the passing of that tradition will come as a relief to most reporters. It seems redundant to let a parakeet or a guinea pig do to a story what has already been done by an editor.

Ask any domestic goddess: Nothing cleans mirrors and windows like a handful of bunched-up newspaper. You can forget your paper towels and waffle-weave cloths -- they streak like the class of '75.

And I suppose your kids will just have to spread a roll or two of expensive parchment all over the kitchen table the next time they want to dye Easter eggs or paint some more cubist masterpieces for the fridge. What about papier-mache? A pinata made out of toilet paper isn't going to keep the rampaging little partygoers occupied for long. Neither is a computer mouse hung from the ceiling with a Hershey Kiss where its trackball used to be.

You'll have to stop making fun of Grandma and start helping her when she carefully smooths out and preserves used gift wrap on birthdays and holidays. Why? Because it's going to take a long time to collect enough to safely wrap all your dishes, stemware and framed antique historic front pages the next time you move.

True, gift wrapping all your household treasures would make unpacking more festive. "Oh, Stan, you shouldn't have! An ugly soup tureen we never use but can't throw down an embankment because your great-aunt made it! I thought I buried this in the yard!"

Will placemats be taped in the windows of shuttered stores? And what will we ball up under the wood in the fireplace? Grocery bags? L.L. Bean catalogs? Junk mail? Post-Its?

Maybe I'm overreacting. Journalism will survive. News will survive. It will change and adapt and travel in ways we can't even anticipate now.

But something will be lost. Not just the skill and experience of all the journalists losing their jobs now, but a tradition, a fixture of American life.

You can open your laptop on the breakfast table or in your armchair, I guess. But that little screen gives you no protection at all from your family.

Kinda makes you want to line up to buy a newspaper, huh?