newspaper envy

I just learned that a friend of mine reads newspapers for a living. Granted, that's not all he does, but apparently it's a significant part of his job. I mean no disrespect at all for this public servant, but this strikes me as a little like drinking coffee for a living. I mean, I can think of nothing I'd rather be obligated to do each morning, unless it's drink coffee. How nice not to have to rush through the paper in a guilty fashion, so I can get to my real work. How heavenly not to even have to choose which paper to read; I gather he has to read several, poor guy.

I, on the other hand, often agonize over which paper to spend my dime and my time on. I sometimes spend five minutes in front of the newspaper rack picking up first one, then another paper, comparing headlines, weighing the thicknesses, debating between the .50, .75 and 1.00 options. I find myself asking,"Is there anything worth reading in the Valley News today (or a feature on one of my children's activities), or can I skip it and pick up the Boston Globe" - meatier and better-written, with some regional news, but heavy on the metro Boston area which I'm not really interested in. USA Today often gets my vote, though I think it's kind of a lightweight when it comes to the news - sort of the People Magazine of the newstand. Once in a great while I buy The Eagle Times which features front page headlines like "Wolf-dog hybrids get loose" and "Women's pottery supports animals."

I sometimes bring The WallStreet Journal home with me because I like the editorials and the writing is good, though the business slant is not my cup of tea. Once in a while I have to get the Manchester Union Leader though I find its tone a bit rabid; occasionally there's some state news I just can't pass up. The New York Times has the strongest appeal, though I abjure its liberal bias. The wide-ranging interest of its stories, excellent journalism and depth of reporting often coax me to lay down a full dollar for a sheaf of newprint that will end up in the recycling bin by the next morning - if I even have time to read it.

If this sounds a bit neurotic, I want to point out that have made a lot of progress in regard to newspapers over the years. I can think back to the time when the Lancaster Intelligencer Journal was a daily necessity for me. We lived in a huge, gray stone rowhouse in a small, mid-Atlantic city with our growing brood of babes and toddlers. We tried subscribing to the paper for a while, but in those days of lots of diapers and little money we could never seem to come up with 18.00 when the paper boy was at the door to collect. So we cancelled our subscription (or maybe it was cancelled for us; I can't remember.)

Besides, we didn't need to subscribe because right in front of our house was a bus stop and a newspaper box. The bus stop was peopled by various regulars and exotics who sat on our stone wall while waiting for the bus. One was heavily tattooed before tattoos were mainstream, and usually arrived with a boa (live, not feathered) draped about his neck. Another suffered from some kind of delusion that he was a secret agent. He looked like a leaner version of Arnold Schwarzenegger and carried a large radio around on his shoulder into which he frequently spoke. He often ran several laps around the block before arriving warily at the bus stop. My children were fascinated by the bus patrons and their wildlife, but I was fixated on the newspaper dispenser.

The Intelligencer Journal was .35 a copy. Any combination of nickels, dimes and quarters would do, though the machine gave no change. Like any self-respecting addict I did not plan ahead; I never kept a stash of coins for the express purpose of feeding the machine; I deceived myself into thinking I did not need my newspaper fix - I could get through the day without it. But every morning after my husband left for work and the kids finished their Cheerios I began hunting for the requisite coins. I usually checked my husband's pants pockets first, especially the little coin pockets in his Levis. Then there was the tray on his dresser where he sometimes emptied his pockets. My purse usually was next. I have been known to look under chair and sofa cushions as well with varying degrees of success.

My last resort was always a huge glass water cooler jug that sat in the corner in our bedroom collecting loose change. We had begun filling it with pennies years before; it weighed maybe 20 lbs and was about half full. When it was full we were going to do something special with the money. Though it was known as 'the penny jar" we occasionally dropped other coins in. As a last resort I would dump the pennies out on the faded blue carpet, sorting through them for that last nickel or dime I needed to send my pre-schooler out to the paper box.

When I finally found the right combination of silver I would entrust one of my older children (they were all under six) with the precious coins and the responsibility of getting the paper for Mommy. Sometimes by the time I sent them out the dispenser would already be empty and my hopes were dashed. It could really wreck my morning! Other times, though not often, the heavy, spring-loaded door would get away from my four-year old and slam shut before he got the paper out! I was always understanding, but keenly disappointed.

So, I think I have made a lot of progress in my newpaper habit. I often go two or three days a week without touching one. It helps that the local papers where we live now are not nearly as good as the Intelligencer Journal. . . I may also have a bit more of a life, but I'm still intrigued by the idea of finding some way to get paid to read the news.