Why I Love the Boston Globe

My routine is always the same. Mornings never vary and Sunday is sacrosanct. Feed the dogs. Make tea. Get the newspaper at the end of the driveway. Read from cover to cover.

There's something comforting about Style and Arts, knowing that even in the rotten economy, there are still movies and plays, art in the galleries, fashion, commentary. The comics are like a lovely confection, a big piece of sweet roll or coffee cake, smothered in sugar and butter.
Metro gives a harder edge to life in the city. I read the obits to make sure I'm not in them.

Front page, world news. The state of the world and the nation. The pulse of life beats on. The editorial page is a familiar haunt, with right and left elbowing for bragging rights.

The printed page is an important part of my life. Holding a piece of paper with the day's news gives my day a kickstart. Reading it online isn't the same. It's hard to balance a computer and a coffee cup and read. Computers have no tactile comfort. They're hard and plastic. They make noise. Little advertisements pop up incessantly. They irritate and annoy.

The Boston Globe is a newspaper legend. Loud and brassy. It bellows when others merely raise a voice. I grew up with the Washington Post, that staid and decorous gray lady of Washington news and Watergate headlines. In college, I had to learn to love the Globe. It was yellow and bold, grandly opinionated. It made your eyes water. But it was news. It was blue collar and the Red Sox. Fenway and Back Bay. The great equilizer in a town with brahmins and guys from the 'hood.
Keep The Globe. It's an institution that is part of the foundation of a very great city. To lose it would be to lose the soul of the city that threw the first Tea Party.