I like the paper, not the news. There’s something about the discovery of opening the paper, one section at a time and reading it from cover to cover (except for the boring parts). Also, the Sunday paper tends to include more lifestyle fluff. A little world events so that I stay informed, and then articles about baseball umpires, or a new burger joint in Tribeca; the baseball scores and the book reviews. I can read the same articles on my computer, but it’s not the same thing.
One of the problems with the internet (and modern technology in general), is that it’s too easy to scan for only the things you think you want to read. In the old days, after remote controls, but before digital programming guides, you channel surfed. You might pass by something and stop, watch for a bit and get hooked. That rarely happens when it’s just a title on the screen of your television, let alone something you recorded on your DVR. The same is true with online news. You skip a lot more of the things you didn’t know you were interested in.
Another thing about the paper. I’m definitely one of those people who likes to read the paper in order, and in pristine condition. I will pull a paper from the middle of the stack to get one that is in good condition and I bristle if someone rifles through a part of the paper I haven’t read yet. If I’m paying six dollars for this thing, I want first dibs and you can have whatever I’ve read when I’m done with it. Not before. Is this strange and uptight? Probably but I don’t care. The newspaper is a singular thing. Taking a section out of order, or before I’ve read it is like me grabbing the book your reading to read a chapter, three chapters ahead of where you happen to be. And dogearing several pages while I’m at it. You just don’t do it in civilized society.
My one caveat is that I’ll let Jane have the magazine first because she doesn’t usually do much damage to it. It’s bright and shiny and attracts a lot attention, but for the most part, it’s even fluffier than the Sunday paper.
And the funny thing is, for all my concern about the paper, when I’m done with it, I either throw it away or put it in the mud room for use as a fire starter at a later date. For something that is so disposable, it’s strange even to me that I hold it such high regard.
But I also know I’m not alone. Not even close. Habitual newspaper readers are notoriously particular about their habits. I’m sure a quick Google search would turn up plenty of essays, articles and rants on the very subject.
Jane has told me, “My father was just like that.” And while she admits that I am not alone, she is completely oblivious as to why something like this would matter. She simply doesn’t understand.
But then again, she dog ears pages of her books which sends me straight up the wall. My books generally look like they haven’t been read when I’m done with them. I don’t know why. I don’t know why I care that hers look like she slept on them (which she probably did). I just know I do.
And that’s the thing. If you’re sitting next to me reading YOUR paper, I don’t care what you do with it. Desecrating books still bothers me, especially if they’re library books, but you can’t solve all the world’s ills yourself. But there’s no earthly reason why I should accept anything less than what I want with MY paper.
I just took a break and tried to light a fire in my outside fireplace. I used half a newspaper (or at least what seemed like it) and because everything has been wet here for going on a month, I had to resort to a chemical firestarter. The newspaper wasn't even good for that.
Maybe I'll just read the paper online.
No comments:
Post a Comment