A Real Sunday Paper

My newspaper woes have come to a comfortable resolution.  I still don't like reading the daily paper on my phone, and while it's better on my computer as Rain suggested, I can't seem to remember to bring the laptop to the table along with my oatmeal and milk.  But I've figured out enough work arounds and short cuts and have given up the comics (for now) so I'm still connected to the local news and the Letters to the Editor.

It doesn't feed my soul in the way turning newsprint links me to my parents, but it gets the job done.

On Sundays, though, I've given myself a treat - a subscription to the Sunday New York Times.  There was a deal (there's always a deal) for a year at $4 a week. 

It is impossible to determine how much the paper costs at a newsstand without actually going to one in NYC and finding out in person.  Googling was a trip down memory lane.  In 2001 the price went up fifty cents to $3 in the city.  The next update came in 2012, when the daily paper felt the same increase, and was now at $3 per issue.  The Sunday paper still cost the same - $5 in the city.

There is nothing that Google could show me which would indicate what the single paper costs on the street today.  I tried to lookin the upper right corner of the front page, but it just says account with an icon to click.  That's where the price used to be, and maybe still is, for all I know.

Anyway, I gave up trying to make myself better about spending the money and I reveled in my first edition this week.  Reveled is exactly the right word.  I smelled it when it came in the house, and I was standing in the front hallway in Oceanside, balancing bagels and lox and rolls and The Paper.

I was with my family, Daddooooo reading the obits to be sure they're all older than I am.  Sister prying the comics from underneath the local paper as Brother and I lay on the carpet and read the Sam Goody ad, wondering what records to buy with our dividends ($10 every quarter from Columbia Gas, a gift from my grandparents that I appreciated as I got older).   

That was the best part, but the rest was equally wonderful if less personal.

It took me three days to get through it all.  I went straight to the crossword puzzle (finished in a jiffy, in pen), then devoured the rest of The Magazine.  There aren't many ads (the paper says it's solvent without them), which is sad because I always liked to see what A&S and B. Altman's and Saks 5th Avenue (on 5th Avenue!!!) were selling, but then I realized that most of the stores don't exist any more.  

Without the ads to slow things down, The Magazine felt more like an assignment than a lazy break, but I pushed that thought away and made my way merrily through it all.  There was Style and Opinion and The Book Review.  This is the only Business section I read; perhaps because it's the only one I can understand?  I kept the paper on the kitchen table, announcing to TBG that it is not a pile, it is a work in progress and that's where it's staying and that's where it stayed.  

It got me through lunches and breakfasts and afternoon snacks.  It amused me while I waited for the water to boil for pasta and while the hot sandwiches were baking in the oven.  It made me smile for three days.

The price will go up in a year.  I think it won't matter to me at all.  I'm addicted all over again.  The NY Times CEO predicts the end of the newspaper in 20 years.  I'll worry about it again then.  For now, I'm going to revel.