Last week I was thinking I should get home delivery of the Globe And Mail. I really like the paper, and much of the online version is only available with a subscription. I miss reading an actual paper, and home delivery seems like the way to go, here in suburbia.
No sooner did I have this thought than, on my way out of Loblaw's, a man stopped me: he was hawking home delivery of the Globe And Mail. I felt sorry for him - an older gentleman in a shabby jacket and tie, earnestly trying to interest busy shoppers. He was giving away $10 gift cards and free map books of the area as incentives. Having just bought a car, I thought a pocket-sized map book was a great treat. I'm sure I was his easiest sale all day.
Today, the first paper came to our doorstep.
I've blogged many times about my addiction to the Sunday New York Times, and how I thought I would miss it. Commenters have told me it's available in this area, but I'm not sure if I'll subscribe. In the weeks before we moved, I was too busy to even look at the paper, and I hardly missed it. That's partly because I already feel too swamped with too much to read, via the internet, and partly because I'm less interested in the Times's point of view.
So now I'll see if the Saturday Globe And Mail can inherit the place in my life that the Times used to own. (US readers: the "big" paper, with all the extra book, arts, sports and features, comes on Saturday here.)