This blog post is about as long as my subject...

Sometimes I wish I had glasses. They would set the tone so nicely while working at the computer or catching up on reading. Even though I don’t have any need for a prescription, I think that glasses would help me focus on my work. Well, they would at least provide the illusion of productivity. As an accessory, glasses have become fashionable and it’s ironic that people who got laser eye surgery are now rushing to get frames for their 20-20 vision.

I think of myself as a voracious reader on Sunday mornings. Nothing makes me happier than plowing through the New York Times each weekend with a drawn-out breakfast and two cups of French pressed coffee. Where and when did this habit evolve?

Partially it’s genetic; my paternal grandfather was a professor at Cornell and would drive long distances to get his NYT fix. Friends and relatives describe him as a scholar and I enjoy following in his footsteps. Since he died when I was very young, continuing his tradition somehow makes me feel closer to someone I never really knew.

Like all behavior, this ritual also has roots in my environment growing up. Taking the time for a healthy breakfast was always expected of my siblings and me. Since my parents would read through the Detroit Free Press in the morning, it seemed natural that I would spread out the comics in front of my Life cereal with frozen blueberries. As I grew older, I transitioned to the front section of current events, but always starting with the comics (it seemed the more positive way to start my day).

I didn’t rebel much as a teenager but did stake out my territory while reading in the morning. I hated being interrupted so much that my family, mom especially, realized that if the newspaper was open, I was unavailable for conversation. With a bit more perspective as an adult, I’ve realized that hiding myself in the newspaper each morning was perhaps a coping mechanism against talking with parents who, having been up for at least an hour and a half, were much more cognitively awake than I was.

My love and loyalty to the New York Times can be traced to my three years living in a co-op during college. Competing against a pop/beer machine in the basement, a wok the size of a flying saucer sled and an endless supply of ice cream sandwiches, I always considered the Times to be the best perk of our house. And as the early bird of the house, I enjoyed the privilege of retrieving the blue plastic bundle each morning and being the first to open its pages. This is such a small thing, but reading through a newspaper that has already been read by 20 other people doesn’t hold the same satisfaction- the pages are never ever so crisply folded into each other (has it become evident that I’m a bit of a perfectionist?).

The Sunday Times is an especially hefty tome that requires at least two hours of attention. My old roommate, Steve, and I were scheduled to cook brunch for 40 people each Sunday, normally an all-morning task. But because we’d rather be reading the Wedding announcements, we found our culinary shortcuts. Did you know you can make scrambled eggs en masse in the oven? The trick is to agitate and stir the mixture around every so often. Otherwise, you run the risk of it turning into an unappetizing gray-green block with the consistency of soft plastic. Steve, it should be mentioned, was a master of cornbread.

During those mornings waiting for everything to finish baking, I developed a specific order for which sections to read:

1. The Week in Review
2. The Sunday Styles
3. Arts and Leisures
4. The New York Times Magazine
5. T: Style Magazine (not a weekly guarantee)
6. Travel
7. The Front Section
Sometimes: The Book Review (a recent because addition because it relies heavily on illustration.)

I rarely ever read Business or Sports. Go figure.

There’s so much more I could go on about my relationship with reading the paper- how it has become a tradition for my sister Amy and I to buy whenever we’re home on a Sunday, how I consider the $5 each Sunday to be a healthy investment, how I’ve fallen in love with NPR over the past year, how I sometimes feel like none of my peers engage in this type of involved reading…

What do you think this habit says about my personality? One conclusion that I’ve settled on is that there’s obviously a love for learning. I think that so much of what I do--my work, my art, my inspiration--can be explained by that one point. Where do I go from the realization…I haven’t yet figured that out.

And lastly, thanks Mom and Dad for reading to me each night while I was growing up.