The Sunday Paper

I used to love going to get the Sunday Times on Saturday night. Sometimes the papers were not yet delivered. So I’d hang out at the newsstand and take one fresh off the truck. Well, after the guy put it together. And still, as I turned and walked away, I’d check to see that I had all the sections. Checking for all the sections was part of the ritual.

Not that I read all the sections. It’s like baseball. I love it in theory. Love that the Cubs and Mets – my favorite teams — are in the playoffs. But I get bored, watching a whole baseball game, reading the whole paper.

The waiting for the paper, securing the paper, checking the paper, reading the paper – this was my sacred Saturday night ritual. Now half of the paper gets delivered on Sunday morning; the other half delivered on Saturday morning, including the magazine, which I love so much.

This week, the profile piece on Nicki Manaj, the self-proclaimed ‘boss bitch,’ was awesome. The writer Vanessa Grigordiadis, shares her vulnerability and her own stupidity at the end, describing how she asked Nicki if she thrived on “drama,” a question she immediately regretted. Manaj calls her out on it, saying you wouldn’t ask that question to a man. So right. But good for Grigordiadis for sharing her foible, her regret.

In the front section, I like to read the long cover article, and debrief with coworkers or friends about the story – the wages of nail salon workers or the greed of landlords for the homeless. The NYTimes still runs great long investigative pieces. But not everyone reads the paper. I don’t read like I used to.

I might even discontinue delivery service, just so I can resume the ritual of hanging out at the newsstand again on a Saturday night, waiting for the truck.

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