The other day Catgirl told me that there was a story in the newspaper about one of her school events. She reported to me that this story was in the New York Times, which I just happen to subscribe to on the weekends.
Why do I describe to a newspaper, you ask? Me, who is more cyborg-digital than just about anyone else on the planet? Because there’s nothing else quite like reading the paper on weekend mornings over coffee.
So she grabbed the Times, excised it from its plastic wrapper and realized that she had no idea what to do with it.
Where is it? She asked, holding the folded paper and gesturing to what seemed to be some kind of magical miniature kitten hiding within its folds.
I explained that she would most likely find a Table of Contents on the first or second page. She kept turning the folded thing around in her hands trying to figure out where the ON button was located.
Her brother grabbed the paper from her hands and started gently unfolding it like origami, all the while explaining:
“My cultural knowledge tells me that one is supposed to grab the pages on each side and pull them open like this.”
And with that he succeeded in unlocking the mystery that is the newspaper, as a pile of advertising supplements fell at his feet.
Catgirl eventually found the Table of Contents and noticed that there were obituaries listed. She seemed to find that fascinating, but still had no idea where she’d locate the article about high school students that she was seeking. Within a few moments she gave up, leaving the newspaper in a folded heap on the dining room armoire (which, incidentally, holds a television set that we’ve never bothered to examine since moving into the house where we’re living this year).
