When I was in ninth grade, my English teacher instructed our class to read The New York Times on Sunday. She wanted us to follow current events, but even more, she wanted us to read great journalism.
So I would lie on my stomach on the Oriental rug in our living room, flipping through the Arts & Entertainment section.
“You need to read more than the Arts section,” my mother would say, looking up from the crossword puzzle.
“I do,” I’d mumble. “I’m reading the Style section.”
I still read the Sunday New York Times religiously, but I rarely veer off my well-trod reading path. I pick up the paper from my front step, or the bushes, or wherever the paper guy has thrown it. I remove it from its plastic wrapper and pull out the sections of interest, which I read in this order:
Style. The Book Review. The Magazine.
I mostly read the Style section for the Modern Love column — despite my bitterness over being one of the legions of rejectees — and the Vows section. Then I move onto The Book Review, where I mostly read the reviews of non-fiction before I scan the bestseller list. Finally, I settle down with The Magazine. If I find the cover story compelling, I read that, then the Eat section, then Lives, and then the crossword puzzle.
Before I had children, i.e., back in the days where I know not what I did with my time, I did the crossword puzzle more or less in its entirety. I’d usually get through half of it on Sunday, then keep it in eyesight during the week, so I could fill in an answer that came to me when I was peeing, or loading the dishwasher.
For years, I got the New York Times everyday, but as my budget got tighter, I cut it down to Sundays only. Now that I’m trimming the fat from my single mother budget, I find it hard to justify paying $35 a month for Sundays only. So I’m considering the previously unthinkable.
Canceling my subscription.
I can read most of what I want to read online except for the crossword puzzle, which I never have time to finish anyway.
But what I’d miss is the ritual. Opening my front door to find the paper waiting for me. Turning the pages as I drink my coffee. Reading Modern Love, half the time being duly impressed, the other half sniffing that I could do better. Filling out a few squares of the crossword puzzle — always in pen — before I reluctantly abandon it for kid stuff or my never-completed-to-do list.
I’m leaning towards canceling my subscription. The guilty is starting to outweigh the pleasure.
But today, I’m thankful for The Sunday New York Times.
I’ve so been there – we cut ours down to the Sunday only as well – but I don’t know what I would do without the magazine to read at my bedside throughout the week…Just isn’t the same in digital format.
Did I write this article? No, the digital format is just not the same.
Personally, I treat myself to one Sunday NYT on a prn basis.
PRN!Love it. Maybe that’s what I should do.
I held on to my subscription for years and years and then finally cut it off. I miss it, to tell you the truth and even seeing your pretty color photo made me yearn to have it back. However, I continue to scan the headlines of the Times online and read the entire book review online as well. I rarely look at Modern Love anymore unless it’s reposted on someone’s Facebook page.
Aw. I wish you could keep it. I understand the cutbacks tho
. That’s why you’re such a talented writer, the NY Times.
I used to read the Times when I was growing up. And I managed to get quoted in an article in the magazine section last summer. They had an article about stair climbing races, and I got in it. That was kind of fun. I found out who among my friends and co-workers read the Times.
Stan, how exciting! That makes you almost famous!
It’s the small sacrifices that hurt the most. Death by a thousand cuts… You want to hold on to one of the little things that became a tradition in your life but the $35/month could go to pay for a tank of gas, the sewage bill, or some groceries. Online is ok, but not the same as smelling the newly inked pages, the feel of the paper pulp’s weight, or the ability to pick it up and doodle in the margins. Ahhhh…. tough decision.