Yesterday I bought the paper edition of the New York Times. I hadn’t done that in a few years since I usually read it online. I remember buying the daily edition in 1970 for 15 cents. Yesterday’s Sunday edition was six bucks.
It’s about the same with everything else. I remember when I could get a short beer for ten cents. Cigarettes were 25 cents a pack. Coke was a nickel and so too was a cup of coffee back when I was a teenager. The local paper in the town where I grew up cost 5 cents.
I almost didn’t buy the Times when I saw the printed price. I could afford it, my hesitancy was the principle of the price, but I wanted to read and hold the paper pages like I used to. Once home, I sat on the porch, a cup of coffee at my side, and I flipped through all the sections. I didn’t read all the articles, but who does? I did stop to read a story in the business section about a Vermont Electric company empowering their customers to get on the solar grid. That’s the future I thought.
There is something about holding a physical newspaper that flipping through the screen pages on my computer misses. Somehow the tactile experience of touch gives more credence to the words. It shouldn’t, but it does.
It’s the same thing with a book. I have a Kindle, but holding a book in my hands brings a comfort denied a finger swipe.
It’s probably an atavistic holdover from my youth. I may go back to the old days.