It started innocently enough.
My unit lecturer suggested that we read more newspapers and magazines so we could have better knowledge of publications to pitch ideas to. I’ll admit that was a stretch for me. My reading consists of my Bible, whatever novel I have on the go at the time (currently Looking for Alaska on the recommendation of Bec), my course workbook, IBOT links and whatever Facebook throws in my news feed on a particular day. Adding in magazines and newspapers feels like too many words (although, can you ever have too many words?).
But I’m a diligent student, and so I headed to the newsagent, determined to find some kind of publication to interest me.
It was a bit disappointing. I’m not a magazine girl. At all. It’s not that I don’t like the content, I just don’t like the ads. I don’t really care what’s on trend in clothing or homewares which is pretty much what women’s mags consist of. I take the same amount of interest in looking at a perfectly decorated room as I do when I flick through one of Boatman’s fishing mags and I come across a new type of outboard motor; in other words very little.
I’m sure there are magazines without lots of advertising, and if perusing the newsagent for an extended period didn’t get me weird looks from the staff, or see me distracted by the book section, I’m sure I would find them. But I haven’t and so I decided that sticking to the newspapers was the safest way to go.
It was this that earned me a dubious comment and look of consternation from Boatman one day. It was a few weeks ago, and one of the most perfect days that winter has thrown at us all year. The sun was shining, the temperature was slightly warmer, and it was the perfect day for getting out and doing stuff. So we coordinated with friends and decided to head out to Memory Cove, a wilderness sanctuary in the Port Lincoln national park.
Now this post isn’t about Memory Cove, but there probably should be one, because it is beautiful. Incredibly beautiful, and the drive out there reveals so many wonders of the Australian outback, that you could almost argue visiting the rest of Australia is pointless. (Well that’s a slight exaggeration, but it is amazing how the scenery encompasses such vastly different sites.)
Anyway, I digress. Because Memory Cove is a Wilderness Protection Area, you need to obtain a key to enter it (easy enough to do). So we packed up the car with food, fishing stuff, the footy and the Webber Q, (almost had a run of pure F’s there), and headed into town to get the key, which is when I said it.
The terrible thing that earnt me the look.
‘Can we stop at the newsagent on the way? I just want to get the Weekend Australian.’
I heard it at the same time Boatman did; my dad’s voice. Last year when Dad visited us, he would always make sure we got to the newsagent to get a copy of the WA. In fact one weekend, we took him to one of the most amazing beaches around (although they area all pretty great), and he spent the entire time in the car reading the paper. My Dad loves the paper; has always loved the paper, and now, I fear, I’m following in his paper-loving footsteps.
You see that week, it was ok. Because the moment Boatman looked at me with ‘you sound like your dad’ eyes, I could justify myself. ‘It’s ok! It’s for TAFE! I don’t read the paper!’
But as the weeks have gone on, and I’ve picked up several copies of the latest news, something has changed in me; I’m starting to enjoy it.
Not so much the big papers; I feel like most of their really interesting stuff ends up on FB anyway, but our local rag is slowly worming its way into my life with heartwarming stories of canola. And wheat exportation. And water treatment plants. Never once in my life have I been excited by water treatment plants, and now I’m all ‘oh yay! Good for them! That’s wonderful news!’
I put it down to living in a small town, where everyone knows everyone or knows someone who knows everyone. Where the abundance or lack of rain is actually treated with concern for the farmers. ‘Oh the farmers will be happy,’ is not a weird thing to think when it starts raining after you’ve hung your washing out. Reading the paper has become so much more than just catching up on the news, it’s more about finding out what matters to people; in fact I’ve become so enamoured with it, I briefly considered taking to Periscope to do my own ‘read the news with EssentiallyJess’ (A La Sandy Rivers from HIMYM), but that might be taking it too far. A blog post written on the excitement of booming canola crops and water treatment plants will have to do instead.
Even if it does make me sound like my dad.
And so I confess, while it started innocently enough, it’s not forced anymore. My name is Jess, and I like to read the paper. Just like my dad.
Do you read the paper?
Have you ever heard yourself sound like one of your parents?
Anyone want me to read the news on Periscope?