Saturday, October 2, 2010

Halfway to the dream

That's my doorstep, that's the New York . . . Observer.

I can't afford the Times. 

I've always had that dream of finding it outside my door each morning, in the city it's written about. (I dream small. hahaha.) The paper's not even about the city so much anymore, but here's the thing, the ads still are. Especially the movie ads--I can actually go to those cool indie films opening weeks earlier here. Those are listings for theaters just down the road from me.

(Imagine my thrill if I actually got musical theater! I don't get it. Yet it's somehow cool anyway seeing TV commercials for "Promises, Promises," cringing for a second and then smiling while I say (inside my head--where I do most of my saying) "I've gone right past that theatre a zillion times already. I could go see that show any time I want. If I could stomach it.")

So my point it, it might be the New York Times Pretend outside my door every (week), but there's something out there to remind me--I'm halfway to the dream and climbing like crazy.

1 comment:

  1. I remember living in DC, and having this epiphany of realizing the the Washington Post was my LOCAL paper. Took me a while to get over that when I moved back to the midwest.

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