I grew up the least clever child in a household of intellectual liberals. My parents were (still are, in fact) both geniuses - one reluctant the other aggressive and the only thing they could agree upon vis-a-vis the written word is Saul Bellow's soul and the immortality of The New York Times.
These three words I knew even before I knew how to read and once I did I too took refuge in this vast broadsheet capable of making order out of the chaos that is the world.
When I grew up, everyone read not one but several newspapers - their hometown daily, their hometown weekly and The New York Times. Today it's different; intellectually curious folks still read a lot it's just not necessarily the printed word they "read." Digital is where it's at now and anything that isn't digital suffers accordingly. The impact of this adjustment in reading habits has been catastrophic to all newspapers and the online subscriptions have never made up for the shortfall in revenue.
What concern me is that people (including myself) who hold this paper in such high esteem are contributing to its demise. On weekdays I honestly don't have (and cannot make) sufficient time to read it right so rather than tease myself with yet another neglected item roaming about my household (albeit one I can throw away each night without remorse) I just don't buy it. Instead I let Google News, a few meaningful blogs and a review of some of the better minds from their now free again online Op Eds sate my needs.
On weekends, however, I do do it right - buying the Big One at whatever newsstand is closest to my Sunday morning pillow. Immediately I pull out all the sections that I don't care about:
- Automobiles because my wife (and not me) is the one who decides what car we drive.
- Sports because I keep up online on any sport and/or team that I care about.
- Style because I feel cheap and voyeuristic reading the first part and jealous and petty reading the second part.
- Real Estate because I cannot afford any more properties and knowing about them would only infuriate.
- All circulars because my TV will last longer than I will and because I rely on Netflix - not retail - for my DVD habit.
The rest of the paper I read or at the very least skim with exquisite care. What draws me in depends on my mood. Sometimes its a picture or the opening line or an entire fatuous paragraph that inspires more time but it comes at a price - the opportunity cost of knowing I'll not be able to read another potentially interesting article. All told, I give myself about 42 minutes to read the Sunday paper and the only section that doesn't go to recycling pile is the New York Times Magazine and the New York Times Book Review.
The Magazine has come a long, long way and much of it IMHO is required reading. Even articles I ultimately decide to pass on still garner a minute or two of serious consideration. The reason the Book Review gets extra time, if necessary, is because it saves me, culturally, in so many ways. Knowing what's coming out and what's presumably good is of great help - especially as I know that I'll never have time to ready most of these books. It's really as close to reading them as I'll ever get so I try never to let a review (or a mere morsel thereof) go by without a glance.
While I do fear that the founding family will soon break over the economic liability of owning a newspaper in this print unfriendly age, I do not seriously worry that the paper will fold (pun intended). Instead I expect that some surviving private equity shop (likely run by a liberal intellectual or a lucky boy or girl who is not but whose parents were) will pick it up and shake it hard. The result will be that most of what is most cherished will stay and the remainder will go the way of the tabletop radio.
In the time that remains, I encourage all readers to relish the paper as it stands today and remember what it feels like - the ink smudges on your palms no matter what new printing technology they use, the crisp crackle as you fold it expertly into its ideal (for you) shape, and the soft sound it makes as you drop it back down to Earth having read it through in a way that makes you ready to face the day. These memories will be necessary not only so you can complain sentimentally about how the world has changed for the worse but for the next generation who may never know what it feels like to actually have the darned whole world, even if only for a few hot moments, in their hands.
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