Monday, April 03, 2006


I don’t read much – I generally prefer naval-gazing and entertain myself with my kid, cats, and self. I’d like to be considered a well-read person, but frankly, I lack the focus and the discipline. Magazines are my preferred medium – I like the pictures. Chicago Public Radio comes in a close second. I like to see images, hear voices, and catch the subtle meaning only a face or voice can betray. Occasionally, though, I indulge in text. This morning, while consuming my daily brew, I read yesterday’s New York Times.

I’ve been in Chicago for nearly five years and I still subscribe to the Times. I tried the Chicago Tribune for a few months while my husband protested much. Then NY was struck by disaster and I couldn’t stand my dependency on the networks to bring me the information I craved. I switched back, never fully immersing myself in local news, issues, politics or culture. It struck me during this last local election what a loss it is not to read Chicago. All the delicious popularity wars I missed out on – I was a clueless bystander.

Newspapers, especially the Times, seem to present the world’s greatest contrasts. Inequalities. In the same Sunday magazine that I read about the genocide in Darfur, I read whether childcare is work or leisure (for me, both, the hardest work I’ve ever done, yet easily the most enjoyable), and how pomegranate juice may save my life. I can peruse ads for some of the world’s most expensive apartments, vacations and jeans that at $950 a pair, are called denim trousers. Finally, I realized that I had passed hours and hadn’t paid any bills, washed any clothes, dishes, floors, nor myself. Indulgence, indeed.

PS: Barbie is really a brunette.

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