I’m a fossil. A calcified, backward facing, stuck in the past guy who loves the feel of newspaper ink on my fingers. A folded paper in a plastic bag, lying in my driveway each morning, pregnant with news articles and sports and comics, that’s what makes me happy.  

Oh, I know I’m part of a dwindling demographic. Most folks don’t have time to read a paper in the morning, and are content to rely on the happy news blaring from a TV in the kitchen as they heat their Pop Tarts. Or, they just get headlines on their smart phones.           

These days, even I spend a fair amount of time on the internet, reading online offerings like Slate and Salon. I could easily get all the information I need without getting my daily paper. But I know that the day they shut down the printing presses, I’m going to be very sad man.           

It’s not like I have an outstanding local paper. The Nashville Tennessean is all right, I suppose, but I grew up in a house that got both the Washington Post and the long-extinct Star each day, newspapers that had extensive world news sections and more than one page of comics. (I delivered the Post as a boy, and those fat Sunday papers almost crippled me.) But The Tennessean is part of the Gannett chain of papers that condenses in-depth articles on national or world events to one paragraph on page A-6, and uses most of the other space highlighting local news, fashion and celebrity coverage. The paper gets skinnier every day. But I don’t blame them, I’m sure they are just trying to provide what they think their customers want in a changing world.           

When I travel as a musician, I always seek out the local paper. Last winter I was in Toronto, Vancouver, and Dallas, all cities that have wonderful newspapers. I’m almost always the only one in the band reading a paper—the other guys always give the impression that they think I’m a little odd for doing it. And maybe I am. But I’m not going to stop.           

Because there is something about holding a newspaper in your hands, turning pages, folding it this way and that to read a particular article. It’s a tangible link to my past, sitting at the kitchen table with my dad, the smell of coffee brewing, discussing the day’s news, and squabbling with my siblings over the comics page.           

Right now I’m sitting at my computer near a front window, glancing out now and then. My paper’s late today, and nothing about my morning routine feels right without it. 

Ahhh! There it is!