Reading my paper New York Times in Starbucks.
It's times like these that feel like such an artsy-farty, scarf-wearing, mocha-sipping liberal. But that's perfectly okay. Especially after hearing my own mother say "I don't really see anyone reading the real newspaper anymore," I proudly brandished my paper pages, gladly rubbing my thumbs into the inky newsprint and inhaled the delicious aroma of newspaper-and-coffeeshop. Yup, it's good to read a real newspaper.
I deserves mention that I spent the majority of the later afternoon in the same place, reading my library copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde. Pages yellowed with age, softened with use, creased by dog ears, I reveled in the non-electronic-ness of it all. I buried my nose in the antique and inhaled deeply no less than three separate times over the course of the afternoon. Even as I type this blog post on the battery-operated slab of metal and plastic we call a laptop computer, I say it's good to remember where it all came from. Good ol' fashioned paper, 100% tree.
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