the Times in pictures

Sunday, January 10, 2010

We get the New York times delivered to us on Sunday mornings. Actually, Peter gets the paper delivered. Maybe it's my affinity for the classics, but watching someone read the New York Times is, to me, the quintessential picture of a smart and sexy person. It's romantic. The person obviously gets all their clothes tailored and pressed, wears perfectly made and un-ironic circular rimmed glasses, goes to art museums on free nights, and never had to study a day in their life because their brain is a glimmering specimen of memory, natural talent, and common sense. This is what I think every time I see someone with a cup of coffee in their right hand and the Times in their left.

Oh, perfect smart and glamorous person, why can't I live in your world?

You see, I cannot read papers. I get instant ADD. Reading articles in a paper is like mapping out a trip while maneuvering a vehicle.

Every Sunday I get so excited for Peter to open the door, reach down and pick up that blue translucent bag that contains all things I love in the world. I watch as he orders it to his liking; first taking out the crossword puzzle (extra smart points), putting the sports section in the 'fire' pile (oh, adorable music nerd), makes his way through arts, world news, throws out the travel section.....wait, what? Why aren't you looking at the travel? Wait, what are you doing with the Style magazine? Actually, can I look at the Arts?
And what do I do with these sections? I look at the pictures. I'm like a child. I go through the encyclopedia of papers, and look for fucking pictures. I insult myself with this admission, but every week I think I'll be different. Every week I hope that I will one day be the one who will get tailored clothes, be naturally smart, and wear horn-rimmed glasses.

Sadly, I am not. All of my clothes have holes in them, I have never not had to study until my eyes burn, I cannot remember historical facts--though I can remember meals from years ago-and lastly, the nail in the coffin...I read magazines. With big pictures in them. Gasp. Smart person fail.

Ok, I also have a rather voracious book reading appetite, but it doesn't matter. The New York Times is my Harvard, my MIT, my Julliard. I will never be that romantic, dashing, perfectly coiffed person whose brain is a well oiled machine. I will be the sophomoric, disheveled, poor music girl reading the news on the internet. Do I know they have the Times on the internet? Yes. Do I read the articles? Sometimes. Is there a difference? The internet is not romantic and therefore doesn't count.

Romance is the only thing that counts.

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